#found family? doing the impossible? finding yourself against all odds? finding the love of your life against all odds? choosing happiness?

[frvnkcastles]

hey i hope ur okay❤️ can you do Frank x Reader where she has an alcoholic and abusive father who has been in prison for two years and one day he is released and shows up at her house and she is very scared so Frank protects and comforts her

FIND MY PEACE OF MIND ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: When your abusive father turns up on your doorstep, Frank takes care of it.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse (not specified), alcoholism, hurt/comfort, feminine nicknames

Word count: 1.7k

Author’s note: I know what it’s like to have alcoholism in the family (parents especially) and how dire the consequences of it can be, so you have my absolute sympathy, anon! I’m sending you so much love, and I hope you’re doing alright <3 I added a little detail of Frank offering to make it a completely alcohol-free home because that’s something I’ve thought about a lot, I personally don’t drink at all because of my family and I don’t think I’d be able to share a space with someone who drinks regularly. We see Frank drink occasionally on the show but I don’t think it’s ever implied he has a problem? So I 100% feel like he’d give it up if you asked. Anyway, I hope you enjoy :)

Upon meeting Frank for the first time and subsequently learning he had been in prison, you were understandably sceptical about getting involved with him. You already had a man in your life who had deep-seated anger and hatred within him, manifesting in violent tendencies, and that had scarred you for life. So, you hesitated, and he had immediately seen the doubt and even fear on your face, and although he couldn’t explain why he wanted your approval so badly, he did.

”Hey, if you don’t wanna see me again, I ain’t gonna hold it against you. But you, uh… maybe you should read about me first. Judge for yourself”, he had suggested before parting ways with you, and you had promised to do just that. You had a napkin with his phone number scribbled on it, and against your first instinct, you didn’t throw it away. His words stuck with you, and when you got home that night, you searched up his name and were smacked in the face with a flood of news articles about him.

Most of them were negative, and you had quickly questioned why he would encourage you to read them. Journalists hadn’t hesitated to write horrendous things about him, but they had also dug up his past and spread it all over the internet for everyone to learn about. And it was those tidbits that soon opened your eyes to the enigma that was Frank Castle. He wasn’t a senseless killer and he wasn’t an abuser or a tormentor of innocent people — he was seeking justice for his brutally gunned down family and cleaning up the streets from evil.

You had been wary because of your past with your father, but the more you read about Frank, the easier it became to see that he was nothing like him. In fact, your father was a man who would sicken Frank, a man that Frank wouldn’t think twice about hurting, and that realization welcomed an odd feeling of safety into your heart.

You called Frank the next day, and it was the beginning of him always hanging around you. Before you knew it, your life had turned from bleak loneliness and anxiety about your father’s eventual return to endless kisses, late-night dates on the rooftop of your apartment building and sitting on your boyfriend’s lap while icing the newest bruise on the corner of his eyes. He was a whirlwind but in the best way, and you found yourself completely enamored with him.

He felt the same way, certainly not having expected falling in love with someone, and especially as hard as he had with you. He had tried so hard to stay guarded and deny himself the truth, but it had been impossible to resist you, and so, inevitably, he let his heart be in the driver’s seat for a change and admitted to himself that he adored you.

With your new relationship came opening up to each other about everything you had been through. You had already learned so much about Frank on the news that it felt like an invasion of his privacy, so you had asked him to tell you in his own words when he was ready, and in return, he was all ears when you shared the story about your father and his issues with alcohol. Frank had been more than understanding, immediately insisting that cutting out drinking entirely was something he was willing to do for you — whatever it took to create a safe environment for you. On top of that, he had assured you that he’d do his everything to keep you safe from everyone, but especially your father, and you fully trusted him to keep that promise.

Still, you didn’t expect that hypothetical situation would come to life. You were used to worrying about your father and the eventual time when he’d get out of prison, but when Frank began spending more and more time at your apartment, you lost track of that nervousness and it became an afterthought. You felt safe for the first time in years, but it all came crashing down on one otherwise regular Sunday.

There was a knock on your door and it caught both your and Frank’s attention in the kitchen where you were cooking dinner together. ”I’ll get it”, you smiled at him before he could jump at the opportunity, gently squeezing his arm before you left him with the chopped vegetables and headed for the front door.

You swung it open, and at the sight of your father, your face lost all vitality and your heart sank all the way down to the floor. ”There you are! At least you had the decency to open the door”, he slurred, clearly already intoxicated, and panic emerged in your chest. He had to have been only just released from prison, and here he was, already drunk and tracked you down.

”You’re not welcome here. Leave, okay?” you stuttered, far less demanding as you wanted to be, and the attempt made your father snort. He tried to step inside, but you quickly narrowed the doorway, not letting him invade your home. He reacted with a mean stare, calling you an ungrateful brat under his breath, and you tried your best to fight off tears.

”Sweetheart, who is it?” Frank called to you from the kitchen when you didn’t return, and with a shaky exhale, you realized you didn’t have to face your father alone. You had the city’s greatest weapon right there with you.

”It’s my father”, you declared loud enough for him to hear, and you instantly heard him drop the knife in his hands. Not more than two seconds later, Frank was stomping from the kitchen, fueled by his concern for you but his face twisted into something furious.

”And who’s this?” your father chortled, swaying back and forth in the hallway, barely able to stand up. Frank assessed the situation, and he swiftly understood that there was no talking sense into a drunk man. That was fine with him — he wasn’t really in the mood for polite conversation, anyway.

”Get the fuck outta here. This is your only warning”, Frank grunted, leaving nothing up to debate. He stood in front of you, shielding you from your father who was hardly impacted by Frank’s thinly veiled threat, and you quietly cried from the sheer terror.

”Hey, you can’t tell me—”, your father began, but Frank was having none of it. He shoved your father into the hallway and closed the door behind him, not wanting you to witness their bickering and get upset even more. You were scared for him, but realistically you knew that Frank could take care of himself, especially against someone absolutely wasted and delirious.

Frank dragged your father outside by his arm, his grip enough to leave bruises in the shape of angry fingers, and he wasn’t stopping despite the drunk man’s feeble protests. He was fuming, absolutely livid that your father had had the audacity to show up and put your life in shambles all over again, and he couldn’t stop thinking about all the abuse you had endured. The man under his grip deserved nothing but the worst, and he would have been honored to be the one to give it to him.

Once outside, Frank pushed your father forward, causing him to stumble down onto the pavement. ”You’re a pathetic asshole, y’know that? You don’t deserve someone like her. You don’t deserve to call yourself a father. And if you come here again, I’mma make sure you regret even thinkin’ about it”, Frank seethed, standing above your father menacingly. He didn’t get up or argue back, so Frank considered his job done for now — but he was going to stay true to his word if he’d ever show his face again. The only reason he hadn’t killed him yet was knowing that you struggled with the idea, and he didn’t want to hurt you by hurting him.

He made his way back inside where you were a trembling mess, and instantly softer, Frank closed the door behind him and pulled you into his arms. ”It’s aight, darlin’. He’s gone”, he soothed you, his heart breaking when you burst into sobs against his firm chest. He felt sickened by the thought of what you had suffered through. As a father himself, he could not imagine ever doing that to his children, and he couldn’t fathom how broken a person had to be to resort to abuse the way your father had. It was the lowest of the low in his opinion, and he was almost hoping your father would give him further excuse to royally beat him up.

”I was so scared”, you confessed through cries, and with an understanding nod, Frank kissed your forehead and caressed your hair. He didn’t consider himself to be an expert at giving comfort, but for you, he would always pull out all the stops.

”I know, baby. It’s over now. He ain’t comin’ back, I promise, I’ll make sure of it. He can’t hurt you no more”, he swore, swallowing down his rage before withdrawing from you enough to look down into your eyes. ”I’mma help you file for a restraining order, yeah? And if he still won’t listen, I’ll break his fucking legs”, he guaranteed, entirely serious, but it still got a little laugh out of you.

”I’d like to see that”, you pointed out, and with a small smile, Frank swiped his thumb across your cheek in a comforting motion.

”There’s my girl. Hey, I’ll always keep you safe, you know that, right?” he reminded you, and slowly, you gave him a nod to confirm you trusted him.

”Thank you, Frankie. I’d be lost without you”, you sighed, hugging him again, and he enveloped you into his strong arms while resting his chin on the top of your head.

”You know I feel the same way about you, sweetheart”, he whispered, always so grateful to have you in his life. He found you so utterly perfect and beautiful inside out, he couldn’t believe anyone would ever hurt you. And even though your father had done exactly that, you were still so strong and kind, something he didn’t think he always was himself.

He admired the hell out of you, and he was going to do whatever it took to help you keep your peace of mind.

[mcverse]

ꨄ︎ Paring: Rotxo x Adopted! Sully! GN Reader

ꨄ︎ Requested: Yes/No

ꨄ︎ Type: One Shot

ꨄ︎ Word count: 4.8K

ꨄ︎ Warnings: angst, fluff, unrequited love, requited love, mention of you. Not really mentions of reader being female so I changed it to gn. Safe for 17+ to read. Not proof read, possible spelling mistakes.

please keep in mind that all characters in my stories are always 18+

How can one miss someone who was never theirs to begin with?

Perhaps you played yourself, allowing a delusional desire to take root, hoping against all odds that he could be yours. Lost in a dense fog of denial, you knew deep down that this kind of love was never meant for you—that it wasn't directed your way.

Ever since you and your adoptive family arrived in Awa'atlu for uturu, you have all been in the spotlight, but some receive more attention than others. Sadly, the attention you crave the most is effortlessly bestowed upon your sister. His oceanic eyes gaze at her with the intensity you wish he would reserve for you, overflowing with adoration and admiration. It feels almost criminal to witness someone being worshipped so deeply, while she remains completely oblivious to his love.

How can you ever find the words to tell him that every night, as you lay beneath the sky's embrace, peering through the cracks in the mauri, your thoughts are consumed by him? With each star you count, you offer silent prayers, hoping that a shooting star from the tales of old tawtute will streak across the heavens, allowing you to make a wish, fully aware that it will revolve around him.

He was the sun that illuminated your days when they felt impossibly dim just by a smile sent your way, and you were the moon, forever drawn to his orbit, seeking a place in his world. The farther he seemed, the closer you yearned to be, until the yearning became insatiable. You craved his warmth, his light, wanting nothing more than to bask in his radiance. Your existence revolved around him, and with every passing day, the desire to bridge the gap grew stronger. Closer and closer you wanted to get, until the closeness became enough, until only your love for him was enough.

You're unsure how you came to love him so deeply, and it pains you to part ways even briefly. Eywa herself knows the internal struggle you endure when you watch him fade into the distance, vanishing without another word, with your concealed emotions left unspoken.

He was kind, supportive, and courageous—a formidable warrior among the people, a remarkable friend within your youthful circle, and a well-suited potential partner. You wish you could rid yourself of your feelings for him, much like the way he yearns for your sister, but his qualities are impossible to overlook.

Your heart tightens each time you witness him trailing behind her, wearing the most beautiful and genuine smile, calling out her name in gleeful laughter, "Kiri! Where are you headed?" as he dutifully follows her, unaware of the effect it has on you. He would likely follow her to the ends of the earth, and you’ll understand because you’ll do the same.

You often found yourself lost in a tumultuous sea of thoughts, seeking solace by the ocean's edge, far removed from prying eyes. The weight of your emotions became overwhelming, making it agonizingly difficult to confide in someone, fearing their judgment and the damning label of selfishness.

Yet, can it truly be branded as selfish when it's painfully evident that Rotxo yearns to court her, while she remains oblivious or so it seems? What if she truly knows and deliberately keeps him dangling on a string?

Great Mother, your love for your sister burns with an intensity that knows no bounds, but does she truly grasp the power she holds—the power to choose between two hearts held tenderly within her hands? The weight of that choice is immense, leaving you in a state of anguished uncertainty and bittersweet longing.

Then, whether through a twist of destiny or the compassion of Eywa, Rotxo mustered the courage one day to reveal his feelings to Kiri. To your surprise, she was completely unaware of his intentions, blissfully ignorant of his affection towards her. It seemed her attention was focused on another, a fellow female Na'vi within the village. How Rotxo missed that detail remained a mystery, but he wasn't the only one caught off guard. The news reached your ears when Kiri returned home, her expression filled with solemnity.

At first, you struggle to contain your bubbling excitement. It felt like Rotxo was finally free, and a glimmer of hope sparked within you. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something between you two. However, as Kiri proceeded to explain his reaction, a wave of guilt crashed over you. You realized that you had unwittingly taken his pain and transformed it into your own joy, and the weight of that realization bore down heavily upon your conscience.

That night, sleep escapes you, and you found yourself restlessly shifting in bed, tormented by thoughts of Rotxo. His once charming smile was replaced with a frown in your mind's eye. It unsettled you to the core, knowing that he was burdened with sorrow while you held onto a glimmer of hope.

Reality struck hard—you understood deep down that there was no possibility for you and him. He had just experienced rejection, and pursuing another romantic endeavor would be the least of his concerns. The gravity of this truth kept you awake, lost in contemplation throughout the night. Eventually, you abandon the pursuit of sleep and ventured to the shoreline, where you wandered along the edge of the ocean, sinking your feet into the soft sand as you sought solace in the rhythm of the waves.

Eventually you reach your usual spot, a quiet place for reflection, you freeze in your tracks. Your expectation of finding it deserted is shattered by the sound of gentle sniffles. Someone else seeks refuge there, their emotions overwhelming them too. A bittersweet warmth fills your heart, realizing that this place offers comfort and solace to others who grapple with their own feelings. Though your initial instinct is to respect their privacy and leave, your intention wavers when you hear his voice—his familiar voice that stops you in your tracks.

His voice trembles with vulnerability, as he opens up about his pain and heartache. The rawness in his words sends a surge of emotions coursing through you. You stand there, hidden from view, listening intently as he pours out his feelings. Every word he utters resonates with your own hidden desires, with the longing you've kept locked away.

An uneasy feeling begins to wash over you, as if you are trespassing on his intimate moment. You recognize that these words were never meant for your ears, that he did not willingly choose to confide in you. Caught in this dilemma, you find yourself torn between respecting his boundaries and offering a comforting presence. Yet, you cannot bear to leave him in such a vulnerable state. So, with cautious steps, you retreat to the entrance and clear your throat, hoping to make your presence known.

His glossy eyes shift in your direction, and the sight tugs at your heartstrings. It stirs within you an overwhelming urge to rush to his side, to wrap him in a warm embrace and assure him that everything will be alright. But you hold yourself back, restraining the impulse. Instead, you offer him a gentle smile, your voice soft and tentative as you speak up, "I'm sorry... I don't mean to intrude, but... are you okay, Rotxo?"

His gaze lingers on you, caught off guard by your sudden presence. He takes a moment to collect himself, his voice trembling as he responds, "Not really." He lowers his gaze to the ground, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

Frowning, you move closer, squatting down beside him on the ground. From this vantage point, you peer at him under your lowered lashes, your heart betraying you by racing at the proximity. You curse the timing of these feelings, fully aware that now is not the moment to indulge in personal desires. Your sole focus remains on providing comfort and support.

"Why are you crying?" you ask, although the reason is painfully obvious. You choose not to spell it out, allowing him the space to share what he wishes.

He presses his lips together, taking a slow, steadying breath before he responds, his voice barely above a whisper, his voice barely above a whisper, his body slumped with sadness.

"Kiri didn't tell you?" he murmurs, his words heavy with a mixture of pain and confusion.

Naturally, she did. She was your sister, bonded by a deep connection whether by blood or not. It was evident that the weight of her own struggles had become too much to bear alone, leading her to confide in you, and for that, you were grateful. But now is not the time to reveal that knowledge.

“No,” you furrow your brows, gulping as you consider you answer, “She didn’t. Should she have?”

Your question hangs in the air, masking the truth that you hold. You tread carefully, protecting your sister's trust while trying to offer him the support he seeks. You wait, holding your breath, aware that his answer will shape the course of this vulnerable moment between the two of you.

Finally, he breaks the stillness, his words faltering as he reveals, "I... I like Kiri..." His eyes shift away, avoiding direct contact.

You offer a subtle nod, acknowledging his admission. "I know," you respond softly, holding more understanding than he realizes.

His ears flick up before lying flat against his head, sinking his face into his hands as he groans in exasperation, "So it was obvious to everyone except her?" His eyes welling up with tears once more.

Your willpower to respect his boundaries crumbles in an instant, overridden by your overwhelming urge to provide comfort. Acting on instinct, you step into his personal space and wrap your arms around him, seeking to offer solace and support. You understand that apologies can come later; right now, all that matters is being there for him, as he has been for others in their moments of sadness.

He tenses at the unexpected contact, momentarily pausing in his sniffling. But then he returns the embrace, holding onto you tightly and burying his head in your shoulder. The wetness of his tears dampens your skin, a physical manifestation of the depth of his need for comfort, perhaps more than he even realizes.

"I'm sorry she didn't see you the way you saw her..." you murmur softly, your hand rubbing his back in a soothing motion, akin to a mother comforting her child. It feels fitting, given the sense of family that he most-likely come to associate with you.

"I feel so stupid," he whines, his eyes tightly shut as he shuffles closer, seeking more solace in your warmth. It's as if he has been deprived of it for so long, though you know that cannot be true. His parents were present. His self-blame stems solely from the rejection he has faced. "I... I should have noticed the signs... I should have."

Shaking your head softly, you offer reassurance, "She didn't give any signs. You weren't the only one who didn't know,” you pause to ponder you next words, it’ll be a risky statement given the circumstances but maybe you were selfish if you did, “Maybe if you did, you could have found someone who’d reciprocates your feelings.”

"Nobody would want me after this. It's humiliating," he practically whispers so low you’ll miss it if he wasn’t this close to you. His sniffling has long subsided as he rests his head on your shoulder. His arms loosen their grip, hanging loosely around you, "I wouldn't want me."

Your heart aches at the sight of his self-deprecating words, the pain and insecurity etched on his face. Without a second thought, you gently push him back, your hands resting on his chest, a small act of resistance against his negative thoughts. His swollen, confused eyes meet yours as you lean closer.

Placing a hand on his thigh for comfort, you let your voice carry the weight of your words, "Never say that about yourself," you say firmly, your frown reflecting your deep concern, "Rotxo, you are so much more than this moment of rejection. You deserve love just like anyone else. Don't let this define your worth."

Your fingertips caress his cheeks, radiating warmth and tenderness as they glide along his skin. A softness lingers in your touch, an unspoken reassurance that you offer with every stroke. Despite the tremor that quivers through your own hands, a testament to the emotions swirling within you, you remain steadfast in your mission to uplift his spirits and kindle a flicker of hope within his wounded heart.

Truly, it was right there before him, concealed in plain sight, much like it was with Kiri. You can't help but marvel at the irony of it all, how easily the heart can be blind to what lies just beyond its reach. Yet, a tender fondness washes over you, an understanding of his innocence and his unwitting ignorance of the precious connection that beckoned him.

Perhaps, you think, it's for the best that he remained oblivious for now, as the pain is still fresh and tender.

"Do you really think so?" he asks, his eyes filled with wonder and a glimmer of hope, desperately seeking validation in your response. As you nod and offer a soft smile, his face lights up with a genuine smile, the first of the day. Excitedly, he pulls you into a heartfelt hug, his pure nature shining through. This man is truly a gem.

You find yourself grappling with a myriad of emotions as you reflect on the situation. It perplexes you why he seemed oblivious to the impact he had on your heart. Taking a deep breath to steady your racing thoughts, you decide it's time to bring this poignant exchange to a close.

Clearing your throat, you slowly rise from your seated position, your gaze momentarily avoiding his captivating eyes that shimmer in the gentle moonlight. The silence between you stretches, filled with unspoken words and lingering emotions.

"I think it's best if we both make our way back," you say, your voice carrying a tinge of melancholy and unrequited longing.

He reciprocates with a gentle smile, its genuineness captivating you, even in the midst of this tender farewell. A subtle nod of understanding passes between you, both acknowledging the intricate complexities of the moment.

His voice resonates with heartfelt gratitude, softly punctuating the stillness that envelops you both, "Thank you."

With those words lingering in the air like a whispered promise, you reluctantly part ways, each step carrying the weight of unspoken emotions. The night embraces you, wrapping you in its embrace as you find comfort in the knowledge that you were there for one another, if only for a fleeting moment.

Little did you know, it was far from being the last encounter.

The following morning arrives, and you attempt to steal a few extra moments of slumber, seeking refuge from the complexities of the previous night. However, your peaceful interlude is shattered by the persistent calls of your mother, who reminds you of the responsibilities and obligations that come with being a member of the Metkayina. The demands of productivity override any personal desires, and you resign yourself to the tasks that lie ahead.

You decide to embark on a fishing expedition, a familiar ritual that brings level headedness and nourishment. Equipped with your trusty net, you make your way to one of the favored fishing spots, immersing yourself in the tranquil waters. The cool embrace of the water fails to deter you as you wade deeper, determined to fulfill your task and provide a bountiful catch for your family.

After a while of not catching anything in your chosen fishing spot, you decide to relocate. Fortunately, the change of location proves fruitful, and you're grateful for the decision as you witness a group of male Na'vi engaging in animated conversation, their attention fixated on Rotxo and his fishing prowess.

A sense of amusement washes over you as you realize his popularity. Who would have thought?

Without a second thought, you find yourself wading through the water towards him, unintentionally interrupting the tranquility he sought. "Looks like you've got some admirers," you playfully tease, you playfully tease, coming to a halt a few feet away. He turns to you, confusion evident in his eyes.

"What do you mean, (Name)?" he asks, genuinely puzzled. But his confusion quickly fades as you gesture towards the group of Na'vi, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. He takes a step back, shrugging his shoulders, a slight frown forming on his face. "They've been there all morning. Just gossiping, I suppose."

A surge of annoyance wells up within you, no longer able to tolerate his self-doubt. "Enough of that," you assert, your voice carrying a deep resonance. "Anyone would be lucky to have you... including myself." The words slip out in a mumble, almost lost amidst the sounds of nature. Whether he catches your confession or not, he remains silent, stealing a quick glance in your direction before returning his focus to the task at hand.

A comfortable silence envelops you both, accompanied by the gentle lapping of waves and the occasional splash. Surprisingly, the absence of words doesn't create any awkwardness. It's a stark contrast to the usual giddy and somewhat nauseating feeling you experience in his presence. Perhaps the brief but meaningful connection you shared the previous night has brought a newfound ease and comfort when it comes to being around him.

You feel a gentle yet firm grip on your forearm, halting your motion of throwing the net once again. Turning your gaze to the source, you find Rotxo standing beside you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he observes your fishing technique. His eyes sparkle with amusement as he takes hold of your hands, his touch sending a tingle of warmth through your skin.

Curiosity dances in his eyes as he asks, "Who taught you how to fish?"

You can't help but feel a touch of self-consciousness, looking down for a moment before meeting his gaze. "I actually taught myself," you admit, your voice carrying a hint of bashfulness.

A knowing smile graces his face as he replies, "That explains your stance. You won't catch many fish like that." He moves closer to you, his body language open and inviting. His question hangs in the air, and you find yourself captivated by his presence, eagerly granting him permission to guide you.

"I don't mind," you respond, your voice filled with anticipation and curiosity. With your consent, he takes the lead, positioning your hands and adjusting your body to align with his preferred fishing method. Every touch, every gentle adjustment, sends a jolt of electricity through your being.

"I must say, I've caught plenty of fish on my own," you playfully interject as he pulls away, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

He nods, his gaze transitioning from your hands to your eyes, a silent understanding passing between you. "I have no doubt about that. But the way you were doing it would have taken much longer," he remarks, a hint of admiration evident in his voice.

With his guidance, you make several more attempts, each time incorporating the adjustments he has shown you. It's a delicate dance of coordination, a symphony of movement and shared intention. You feel a sense of connection and trust building with each throw, as if you are moving in perfect harmony with each other and the rhythm of the water.

Time seems to melt away as you continue fishing together. Conversations flow effortlessly, laughter echoes through the air, and a sense of peace envelops you both. The symphony of nature's sounds—the gentle lapping of water against your legs, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the occasional splash of a fish—accentuates the tranquility of the moment.

A bittersweet ache tugs at your heart. You wish you that this would be the last time similar actions would be like this, that it’ll be easier to let go than to hold on to a love that can never be fully realized. It's a torment, a constant battle between the longing in your heart and the rationality in your mind. Each passing day spent in his company, teaching and bonding, feels both like a gift and a cruel twist of fate.

You had made peace with your feelings long ago, even before he confessed his love for Kiri. You had resigned yourself to the fact that friendship was the only path you could walk together, no matter how much it pained you. It was a choice to preserve what you had, to savor the moments of joy and connection, even if it meant treading a delicate tightrope of unspoken desires.

"You're spacing out again," Rotxo's voice breaks the spell of your thoughts. You find yourselves back at the familiar spot, the place where platonic confessions were made, now a couple of months later. Time has slipped away swiftly in the company of the one you love.

You let out a soft hum, meeting his gaze with contemplation and unknown affection. "I've been doing a lot of thinking," you confess, your voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

Curiosity flickers in Rotxo's eyes as he tilts his head, genuinely interested in the thoughts that have consumed you for so long. He has always respected your privacy, refraining from prying into your inner world. Yet, an undeniable concern gnaws at him, a desire to understand and offer support. You both have become pillars for each other, leaning on each other in times of need.

"Is it something troubling?" he asks, his gaze unwavering as he waits for your response.

“I think that depends on how someone sees it…” you trail off, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. The conversation takes an unexpected turn, and a wave of apprehension washes over you, making you hesitate to continue. You can't quite put your finger on it, but something feels different about this discussion, and it makes you reluctant to delve deeper.

"Will you tell me?" he whispers softly, his voice filled with concern and a touch of vulnerability. The genuine care in his eyes urges you to open up, but you find yourself momentarily speechless, unsure of how to express the conflicted emotions swirling within you. You don't want to burden him or risk jeopardizing the friendship you hold dear.

For a moment, silence hangs in the air, and he senses your hesitation. Worried that he may be crossing a line, he considers dropping the subject altogether. But just as he's about to let it go, your voice finally breaks through.

"I don't think I can continue to be your friend... I feel guilty," you confess, the words escaping your lips, filled with sadness and regret.

He shifts in his seated position, giving you his undivided attention with a serious expression. What could you possible feel guilty about? You haven’t done anything to him, he was pretty sure of that. If anything, you have been becon since his rejection, guilt was the last thing he expects you to feel. Unless it’s something he doesn’t know about.

"Guilt?" he repeats, his voice gentle yet tinged with confusion. "What is it that makes you feel this way?"

A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you try to find the right words. "It's these... feelings I have," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Feelings for who?” he wasn’t aware you had sometime you liked. And knowing that made him uncomfortable in his chest. It was a familiar feeling—like his heart has dropped to his stomach. A gasp leave Shia lips as you continue, his heart beat picking up.

“For you,” you express, looking eyes with him, “I’ve always liked you and I was content watching from afar. Then we started getting closer and my feelings gotten stronger. It’s became harder for me to ignore it. I can't help but feel guilty for having these emotions while knowing they may complicate our friendship.”

A faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he reaches out, his hand gently holding yours, a comforting gesture that you hadn't even noticed was trembling, “I think—no, I feel the same way,” he reveals.

Your eyes widen, your face flushing with warmth as you process his words, "You what?"

"I like you too," he confesses, his voice growing a little louder, “It took a while for me to realize it but when I did, I was scared that—uh, that another situation like before would happen again.” he moves to interlock your hands, lower his head bashfully as you’ve done in numerous situations.

You stare at him, your mouth hanging open in astonishment. "Do you really?"

His eyes meet yours, filled with warmth and fondness reflected in their depths. "I first noticed it when we were going to gather some fruit," he begins, his voice laced with a sense of nostalgia, "My stomach felt funny, and I couldn't help but feel excited when I saw your own excitement.”

He scoots closer to you, his shoulder gently brushing against yours, sending a delightful shiver down your spine. Your heart skips a beat, captivated by his closeness and his words.

"The first time my heart raced, I was scared and confused," he continues, his voice soft and filled with vulnerability, "You weren't even around, but it was as if you were right there in my thoughts. It took me a while to understand what those feelings meant, but now I do. I like you, more than ever. "

His eyes never leave yours as he speaks, and you can see the depth of his sincerity. It's a moment of shared revelation and vulnerability, a connection that goes beyond words.

A smile spreads across your face, mirroring the joy that fills your heart. "Me too," you whisper, your voice filled with an undeniable certainty. The weight of unspoken feelings finally lifted, replaced by the exhilarating realization that your feelings are reciprocated.

"I thought I misheard you when you said you'd be lucky to be with me," he chuckles, leaning his forehead against yours. "Little did I know, it would actually be the other way around."

You close your eyes, giggling softly at his words, flattered by his belief in your worth. "I see you," you whisper, too shy to meet his gaze. It feels surreal to hear him express his feelings so openly.

He gently releases your hand, his finger lightly tapping your cheek to get your attention. "Look at me," he insists, his voice filled with tenderness. "Tell me when you look at me."

With a bit of reluctance, you open your eyes, feeling a flutter in your stomach as your gazes meet. The intensity of his gaze sends a shiver of excitement down your spine, and in that moment, you realize that this is not a dream—it's your reality. Before you can utter a word, Rotxo beats you to it, leaving you breathless.

"I see you, (Name)," he says, his words overflowing with sweetness and sincerity. It shocked you that it was directed at you. Nearly felt like a dream if he didn’t plant a wet kiss on your nose, forcing you to wrap your head around that this was real, that he was there with you—not with Kiri or any o the other Na’vi woman.

Just you.

"Would this make it awkward, liking you after..." he starts to ask, his voice trailing off, unable to find the right words without it sounding off.

You shake your head, dispelling his concerns with a reassuring smile. "She'll understand," you assure him, confident in your response.

Because even though Kiri may have been oblivious to Rotxo's feelings, she had an inkling of your affection for him. That fateful night of raw emotions and a little too much alcohol had led to a heartfelt confession, revealing the depths of your feelings for Rotxo. In that moment, Kiri had grasp the truth, and though unspoken, an understanding had silently formed between you.

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[jazzforthecaptain]

Guess who's back on her Fast & Furious bullshit.

Is the new movie good?

I mean, how do you define good? Did I have to suspend disbelief about a lot of things (gravity, friction, inertia, technology, projectiles, the towing capacity of a Dodge Charger, etc.)? Yes. Absolutely. 100% from about 20 minutes into the film.

Was it fun? Fuuuuuck yes.

Did it pass the found family vibe check? For sure. It referenced people I'd almost forgotten about. They pulled the original actors to play all of them. The movie even has a discussion with itself about how quickly and completely people still get pulled into Dom's orbit, which is a great bit.

There's some eyeroll inducing lines - there always are - but this iteration seems more aware of itself than past films, and the writing is better than 8 and 9. Even when someone says something worthy of a comic book font, it matches the tone of the scene. The action sequences are outrageous and the movie knows it. It's fine with it. We live in a world where the heroes discover a massive explosive in the back of their vehicle and nobody even says "WHAT?" This are roads we know.

It's fun. It's a greatest hits review of the good stuff from F&F. Charlize Theron is somehow better in this than she was when she first showed up in the franchise to chew the scenery. John Cena is, frankly, adorable in his role. And Jason Momoa's sheer chaos energy - this man has range. Over the years I've watched him go from Ronon Dex to Conan the Barbarian to Aquaman to Duncan Idaho, but I never expected Dante Reyes. There's so much personality in this character that it escapes into everything he's wearing and driving. Momoa's humor and comedic timing shines. Dante makes a Joker for Dom's Batman and his Justice League of associates, literally assembled out of DC and Marvel actors.

The plot is whatever. It mostly connects, even if it pushes past belief before the first half hour. Did you come here for the plot? This franchise? The one with the car chase against a submarine, against a tank, against a plane? The franchise where a shadowy agency airdrops muscle cars into a combat zone? Where our heroes drive a car out of one high rise and into an adjacent high rise? Where they launched a Fiero into space to ram a satellite and hitchhiked onto the ISS?

I stopped being here for the plot after Fast Five. Honestly I should have given up sooner but what can I say? I'm stubborn. I mean, for a movie where people chase cartoonish bombs through Roman fountains and back cars out of low-flying planes, it's ironic how ultimately safe and predictable the storyline is. But like... it's a pretty satisfying story. It's a bedtime story for a baby Toretto, where the good guys face impossible odds, get framed for something they didn't do, and have to fight their way out of corner after corner with ever-escalating stakes; but where love and community always saves the day, and nobody ever really dies.

So was it good? I feel like that's the wrong question. Was it what I wanted? Yeah. Things suck right now and this was a silly, feel-good treat for myself. It was fun to get dressed up in my Fast & Furious shirt and go to the theater. It reminded me of all the things I love about the franchise and better still, it owns the franchise from start to finish. It doesn't try to be anything else. The Fast & the Furious, Fast & Furious, and Fast Five are always going to be where my heart is. This touched on those vibes without dwelling too long on them. When it hurt, it was a good hurt, and then we got on with things.

[venus-haze]

omg could you do vampire or werewolf elvis headcanons? im in the spooky mood and i think you’d write that so well, especially like a darker theme!!

I went overboard with this one😅 Both scenarios are AU-ish and take place in the 80s. I took from the line “I’ve been playing this mausoleum for 1,000 years” for a vampire Vegas-era Elvis but also I love the idea of Graceland being this like creepy old mansion no one goes in because it’s supposedly haunted so...enjoy🧛🏻‍♂️

Vampire!Austin!Elvis x Reader

Warning: Dark themes such as emotional blackmail, death, blood, and obsessive and manipulative behavior, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. Mild sexual content that involves coercion. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Graceland (’50s Elvis)

Growing up, you heard stories of Graceland—people going in never to be seen again, soft music coming from the supposedly abandoned house late at night

It stopped being so scary after you got to high school, but even so, it was an unspoken rule to stay the hell away from there

You go out drinking with coworkers one night, a new coworker of yours unfamiliar with the old place and the stories behind it, which leads to the group of you stumbling through Memphis to get there

Perhaps wanting to prove something to yourself and your peers, you volunteer to go inside, insisting the stories are bullshit and it’s just another eyesore building that the city won’t do anything about

You go in with a little keychain flashlight one of your coworkers hands you and scale the fence surrounding the dilapidated old mansion 

The doors are boarded up, most of the windows too, and you can hear your coworkers calling you back, that you made your point, but some inexplicable feeling draws you in, you enter the dark house and go up the flight of dusty stairs

A faint glow comes from beneath one of the doors along with the soft sound of a guitar, and against your better judgment, you open it. Both you and the unbelievably handsome yet familiar looking man you encounter stare at each other in equal shock. As soon as you see his eyes glow red and impossibly sharp fangs, you run

You know it’s probably pointless and he’ll find you sooner or later, but you hide in one of the many rooms in the mansion and are in disbelief to find it’s filled with posters, buttons, even pillows with his face and name adorned on all of them—Elvis

You barely have time to think before the door swings open. He crosses the room and grabs you by the shoulders. Despite your begging to not hurt you, that you swear you won’t tell anyone, he sinks his fangs into your neck and between the pain and the sound of your skin breaking you pass out

You wake up in the room you found him in, god knows how long ago, because your head is pounding and you’re starving and thirsty. Your now captor stares at you like a deer in the headlights, as if he wasn’t the monster

“I’m glad you’re okay. I didn’t want to kill you, but I can’t help it sometimes,” he says. You balk at his statement, hardly calling the situation you were in okay

Elvis is lonely and reclusive, a sadness in his unnervingly red eyes that makes you almost feel sorry for him whenever he slinks into the room to check on you and bring you an odd offering of food because he isn’t sure what humans eat

He refuses to allow you out of the room, he thinks you’re not well enough yet. He entertains you by singing and tell you stories

His voice is soft and low as he tells you that he was at the height of his popularity as a musician when he was turned (he refused to go into the details on that), but afterward he couldn’t control his hunger and killed his family and management team

Too horrified and ashamed of himself, he only leaves Graceland to feed when absolutely necessary, otherwise keeping himself in his self-imposed purgatory because he doesn’t want to hurt people

You believe him, because besides that first night, he hasn’t done anything violent or dangerous, until some of your coworkers return to the house, looking for you

Elvis had always been frustratingly avoidant and vague when you asked how long you’d been there or when you could leave, but when they call out your name saying the police didn’t believe their story but they had to come back for you, desperately searching every nook and cranny in the place to bring you home, he snaps

You follow him as he storms out of the room, almost as if he’s floating on air as he descends on each of your coworkers, brutalizing them as you watch in horror, screaming for him to stop—he does, only after killing the last one, wiping the fresh blood from his mouth and meeting your terrified expression with one of wild desperation

“You can’t leave, Y/N. I can’t be alone again,” he pleads, as if you have a choice. He turns you, holding you as you go through the painful transformation to become one of the undead, to be with him forever

Vegas (’70s Elvis)

After an almost frustratingly long interview process, you get a job as a cigarette girl at the International Hotel in Las Vegas. You’d never had a job make you sign an NDA before, but you figure it came with the territory–it’s your dream job, but you’d heard they made good tips, even if it meant looking the other way when wealthy patrons got ahead of themselves

Your first few weeks of work are uneventful, and you make more in tips in a night than you did in a week at your old job. Plus, you’d become friends with most of the girls you worked with, but you couldn’t help but notice how often they seemed to quit, how long it’d take to replace them, and how none of them seemed to be working there for very long

While getting ready to go out to the showroom before whatever act was slated to perform for the next few weeks, your boss power-walked into the breakroom. “The penthouse wants a personal delivery,” he says, pointing to you. “Don’t keep him waiting”

You nod, grabbing your tray and rushing out of the breakroom. One of your coworkers stops you, jokingly asking what the rush is for. You feel a pit in your stomach at the way her expression shifts when you tell her

Whoever’s up there is probably just an asshole, you assure yourself. Nothing you haven’t dealt with before, you hope as you push the elevator button to bring you to the top floor of the hotel

You walk up to the door of the penthouse suite apprehensively, feeling like an idiot when you knock and say “Cigarette delivery”

The door opens a crack, and suddenly your apprehension seems to disappear as you let yourself into the room. The lights are dim, and most of the illumination comes from the glow of the Vegas Strip through the window. You don’t see anyone, until the door slams shut behind you, and you jump, dropping half the cigarette boxes in your tray on the floor

“Sorry,” you stammer to the man who’s just made his presence known to you. “I didn’t see you there. Sorry.”

He studies your trembling form for a few moments, before kicking the dropped boxes out of his way and stalking over to you. Even in the darkness of the room you can tell he’s handsome, but you can’t make out the specific features of his face. He looks so familiar, and you find yourself staring at his full lips until they pull back into more of a snarl than a smile to reveal abnormally sharp canines

“What d’you got, baby?” the man asks, his voice thick like honey as it rumbled from deep in his chest. You list off the cigarettes you have on hand, including the ones on the floor, and he grabs a box of Luckies and hands you a hundred dollar bill after watching you bend down to pick up the boxes you’d dropped

You aren’t sure how much time has passed by the time you get back downstairs, but your coworker looks genuinely shocked to see you. You pull her aside and ask her what the fuck is going on

“Honestly, Y/N, I don’t know. The girls who go up there–you’re the first one who’s ever come back down,” she whispers, her paranoid gaze traveling throughout the room

When you tell your boss you quit, he pulls out the NDA you signed but didn’t read over, which states in one of the clauses that you had to work there at least a year or forfeit all of your earnings since you started. You didn’t have that kind of money on hand, not after spending so much of it already

You can hardly sleep the next week, especially when another cigarette girl goes up to the penthouse suite, and when you inquire her whereabouts the following night, your boss tells you that she quit–which makes no sense because she’d been working there less than you had and he wouldn’t let you quit. You don’t question it to his face, though, but you spend your sleepless hours trying to figure a way out

It’s only a matter of time before you’re called up to the penthouse again, you know as much, but it doesn’t terrify you any less when your boss tells you that the occupant asked for you specifically. You take deep breaths as the elevator ascends, hoping by some miracle it gets stuck

The door to the suite is already open halfway when you get there, and you stand in the doorway, looking around for the man. “What’re you so afraid of, baby? Think I bite?” he teases from the other side of the room, though you swear he hadn’t been standing there a moment ago

Just as you’re a foot or so away from him, he flicks on the lights, and you gasp upon recognizing Elvis Presley. The resemblance was way too uncanny to be one of the dozen or so impersonators you saw on your first day in Vegas–but it wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be him. He was dead, and even if he were alive he’d look much older

He beckons you closer with a curl of his pointer finger, and you find yourself pressed against his chest, the tray of cigarette boxes thrown to the floor as he kissed you deeply, pulling away only to pierce your lower lip with his fangs, lapping up the blood that pooled from it despite your resistance

His crimson eyes raked over your figure as you held your bloodied lip, tears streaming down your face. “I knew there was a reason I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you, baby”

“Please don’t kill me,” you choke out

The grin that spreads across his face is nothing short of evil, “No, I’m not gonna kill you. In fact, I think I’ll keep you around a while” 

He tears off your skimpy uniform like it’s made of paper, sinking his fangs into one of your exposed breasts. As he sucks and licks the blood coming from it, you collapse in his arms, feeling yourself being carried over to his bed

Taglist: @eliseinmemphis @kittenlittle24  @crash-and-cure @im-lame-irl @loudwombatmugkid @rxsesss @roseymary04 @queendelrey @jovialladyaurora @positivitylane112 @moonknightswif3 @holy-minseok @datsavageavenger @21bruhs @luckyevansstan (sorry if y’all only want to be tagged in fics and not headcanons! Please let me know if this is the case)

[ganyuslily]

AS YOUR HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEART.

ding, ding, ding! it’s time for your high school romance! between all the studying and living from deadline to deadline, someone somehow manages to slip themselves into your life — and honestly, you can’t find it in yourself to mind it.

characters: eula, ganyu, hu tao, yoimiya

category/warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, modern!au, high school!au (what a shocker!)

note: i did this concept before and now i’m doing it again but with women 😵‍💫 please reblog and leave feedback, it helps me a lot!!

EULA

her face seems to be frozen in one expression, never showing anything else than utter boredom and a killing stare — and usually, it’s enough to scare people off. but for some reason, she discovers, not you. you seemed to have a… weird agenda of trying to befriend her and never leaving her side. and even though you got countless warnings and advices to stay away from that lawrence girl because she’s bad news, you didn’t seem to worry about it, always sitting down next to her with a smile and a new story to tell. and she started to warm up to you, someone that finally didn’t care for what her family has done and who didn’t turn away from her like everyone else. she smiles when you’re around and waits for you with a cup of your favorite warm drink in her hand before school on the winter mornings and walks you home. and you hope that maybe, her heart beats a little bit faster when you’re around, the way yours does when she’s here.

(spoiler alert, it does.)

GANYU

the vice president of the student council with definitely much more work on her shoulders than a student should have. you ever had a problem? anything that needed solving? a conflict that just wouldn’t stop? go to ganyu, anyone you’d ask would say, go to ganyu, she’ll have an answer. and ganyu would help. she always would; and you decided it was your responsibility to help her lift all the burdens she was carrying of off her as her friend and partner. and so soon, it didn’t just become go to ganyu but go to ganyu and to y/n. they’ll know what to do. …well, you have to say you weren’t expecting it to go that way, but if it means your girlfriend will have at least a little bit less to do, then you’ll gladly comply.

but holy shit, people really should stop coming to you with the most bizarre problems that there were no ways of you solving them.

HU TAO

who doesn’t know hu tao? everyone does and everyone either hates her or loves her, no in between. you would consider yourself one of the very few (or maybe even the only one) that falls exactly somewhere in between, against all odds and the impossible probability of it. somehow, you ended up always getting tagged along on her trips and accompanying her during her pranks, which led you to end up with her in the headmistress’ office more times than you’d like to admit. you think that probably anyone sane would begin to dislike her for always getting them in trouble, but you didn’t. against all odds, it seemed to only make you like her more. and more, and more, and more, and more. and at one point the more turned into love.

you think that if you ever told her that, she’d never let it go and tease you for it until the end.

YOIMIYA

a cheerleader and the head of the arts club, always smiling and always talking — wherever yoimiya was, you could be sure it wouldn’t be boring. it’s hard to not know who she is, because she’s always here and there and there and there— basically, everywhere. so getting acquainted with her wasn’t that surprising and becoming her friend wasn’t surprising either. what was surprising though, was the fact that you definitely started getting way too excited and way too nervous before your meetings. what was surprising was the fact you would blush at any mere complement from her and just from her smile alone. the fact that you found yourself staying after school to watch her training sessions and join her during her arts club meetings. the fact that you could listen to her talk for hours and hours and you think it would never get boring.

but what the most surprising thing was was the fact that she confessed before you did.

[lady-lunaaa]

Chapter 4-

Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter

Pairing: Pirate!Mikey x Goddess!reader

Rating: MATURE, minors do not interact

Warnings: pirate au, female reader, found family, training/self-defence (probably described less than accurately, gimme a break), lots of sexual tension between reader and Mikey, slight angst as always, panic (trauma related), oh and Baji being a lil shit (affectionate)

WC: 3.8k

a/n: it's been a long and hard week (family emergency) so I cut this chapter short so that you guys would still get something on schedule, which actually turned out for the best, because this training scene ran away from me a lil'. Thank you to my wonderful wife @dabilove27 for being beta and checking it over for me so quickly! I love you 💙 Hope you all enjoy <3 and dw, next chapter we get some healing and an apology!

Link to collab

Lullaby: ☠

It has been almost a month with your new body; almost a month aboard The Maiden; almost a month sharing your every waking moment with its crew. And you find yourself fitting in surprisingly well, the men make it easy, and the hard but simple labour is oddly fulfilling. You have a purpose, at last. You have…friends. A fact you found hard to accept at first, hard to navigate, after centuries of being alone with nothing but your thoughts. But they are your odd, ragtag team of friends, and you are glad for it.

Suya quickly became your favourite, your confidant. You are more grateful for him and his kindness than you can ever express, his care and gentle honesty the only thing that grounded you during your first week aboard the ship. Even now, you still hold onto him like a stubborn child with their security blanket, never quite at ease unless he is near. To give him his dues, he doesn't seem to mind, even enjoys your company. You like to think, anyway. And in your afternoons together he has even been teaching you how to read and write, a skill you never thought you would master.

The other men dug into your good graces with the same determination and ease. Baji is your newly-minted, chaotic best friend. No other gets you to laugh like the long-haired, toothy pirate does. He even brings out that sly and playful side to you that has lain dormant for too long.

Sweet-faced, and equally as sweet-mannered, Chifu reminds you so much of your little brother. Sometimes too much, and you have adopted him as such, taking him under your wing and, according to Baji, "coddlin' him like the baby he is".

The scarred and stocky Pah, and tall and tattooed Draken, have become like older brothers to you. Always watching over you, always offering their considerable strength when it isn't wanted, and always teasing you when the opportunity arises. Despite being the butt of many of their jokes, you laugh anyway, giving as good as you get. It feels…pleasant, to be treated as one of the crew, part of the family. So very pleasant.

Of course, there is one vital cog to this well-oiled machine that you have yet to mention. Simply, because you don't know what he means to you, how to even begin characterising your relationship. Well, he's your captain. Not your captain. The captain. Which is something you remind yourself of every time you run into him in your shared quarters. Each time you catch him training with the others shirtless. And the memorable time you tripped over a bucket and he caught you, heated skin pressed against your own as he laughed at your flustered face and the rude gesture you gave him in response.

Honestly, you try to avoid him as much as you can, becoming comfortable with the others is one thing, a simple thing. But becoming comfortable around the captain feels like another entirely; a complex thing, an impossible thing; a thing you don't want to unpack just yet. But Gods, does he make it difficult, especially when he is training half-bare in front of you like that. His exposed muscles shining with sweat and rippling with each powerful and precise movement. He moves with an assured fluidity, like water over pebbles, adjusting his body around the onslaught of fists from Draken. But those movements are quick, lightning fast, you've never seen anyone move like it. It takes your breath away.

Which is unfortunate, because you could do with your breath for your own training, currently being led by Mitsuya. He eyes you with a knowing look as he jabs at your shoddy defences, your mind elsewhere, too distracted to properly fight and remember to keep your guard up.

"Eyes on me, little warrior," his voice teases, but his eyes are stern, and you immediately feel bad for not utilising this time he is giving you to the fullest.

"Sorry, 'Suya," you mumble apologetically, and you mean it. But you smile at the nickname, one he finds more apt than Baji's 'little lady', and he smiles back.

You try to focus on the man in front of you, it's a rare and wonderful sight to see Mitsuya fighting. He may seem mild-mannered and gentle, and is usually using his arsenal of intellect and strategy as the ship's navigator, but he has proved to you that he is just as capable physically as any of the others. He is skilled and strong and has taken down Pah and Baji many a time, even Draken last week, which the first mate still swears never happened.

You melt into the correct stance and focus your eyes on the lavender ones in front of you, you have to catch Mitsuya's movements from your peripherals and react immediately if you stand a chance against him. Your first few training sessions ended with you on the floor every single time, and he made a point of telling you that your movements were too predictable, that you were looking at the move you were going to make rather than your target. Which, in turn, made it all too easy for him to combat your offensive, swiping away your ineffective fists like they were flies.

You have grown since then, learnt how to move your body effectively, and built muscle from endless hours of ship work and training. It feels good to finally feel comfortable in your own skin, for movement and sensation to feel second nature to you. You like to think that you are at least an inconvenience to Suya now, after all the hard work and dedication you have put in.

You start off better this time, blocking his attacks and attempts to knock you on your ass, a delicate dance around the stern in the weak morning sun. But a loud clap soon diverts your attention.

Captain and first mate, clapping their hands together and thumping each others backs, such men. You fight to contain an eye roll and narrowly miss Mitsuya's fist to your face, ducking low and aiming a jab at his knees, he knocks it aside with enough force to send you stumbling back a step as you straighten.

You raise your fists and move to one side, he follows. You assess him slowly, trying to anticipate his next move, looking for potential weak points in his defence.

But all too soon, your eyes trail back to your ultimate distraction, and widen very (you can only imagine) comically. Mikey just dumped nearly a whole bucket of seawater over Draken, and seeing as Kenny is also a child, he extended his captain the same courtesy. It's obscene how the image before you plays out in slow motion. Mikey's hands running through his wet hair to slick it out of his eyes, ringed fingers sifting through the blonde strands, arms flexing. His now soaked trousers clinging to toned thighs, thighs you hadn't noticed are quite so muscular.

Baji descends from the rigging directly in front of you, spooking the wits out of you and pulling a yell from Mitsuya, who jumps back. Baji cackles from his upside-down position, arms crossed over his toned chest and legs hooked over the thick ropes above you. Like a damned spider in his web.

"Fuck Baj! Do you have to?!" Your heart is in your throat as you reprimand your friend, who is definitely here to stir shit judging by the look on his face.

"As a matter of fact, I do! So, who you lookin' at, little lady?" He waggles his thick eyebrows at you and you sigh, rolling the tension out of your shoulders.

"You, dumbass." You reply drily, crossing your arms over your own chest. Another thing you learnt from the boys, how to cuss like a true sailor, and you've found you like it considerably. You are once again wearing some old clothes of the captains to train in, and thankfully, bindings around your chest to keep your breasts out of the way. Your hair is braided to keep it out of your face, and despite the early hour, the sun still shines down on the vessel mercilessly coating you in a sheen of sweat. You will be thankful for a proper wash with clean water once you reach The Cape.

"Nuh uh, try again," he accentuates his dismissal of your answer with a flick to your forehead.

You yelp and glare at the obnoxiously smug face inches from your own, his long hair hanging in a sheet of onyx below him. If eyes could alight, yours would be twin flames of hellfire right now. Baji had, at some point, noticed the not so sly looks you throw his captain's way. The slight shiver you exhibit whenever you accidentally brush his hand during mealtime or bump into him on your way to bed as he's leaving his study.

Maybe he's also noticed the way the captain seems stiff around you, never quite at ease, always too close or too far from you and never that comfortable in between. Either way, he's noticed, and you hate him a little bit for it. For not looking away and keeping his mouth shut like the rest of them, who definitely noticed this development long ago, but then that isn't Baji's style.

"My sweet Kei," you coo at him with saccharine venom coating your tongue, "I don't know what you could possibly mean."

He snorts loudly at that, "Come oooon, you were practically droolin' over his wet abs with that stupid look you get on ya fa-"

He's interrupted by a shove from Mitsuya, swinging wildly to the side with a shout. You are thankful for the intervention until you realise why. Mikey waltzes up behind Baji and stands with his hands in his pockets, assessing the lack of work going on.

"Baji, fuck off up into the crows nest, some of us actually have work to be getting on with," he pins you and Suya with that obsidian stare and you squirm in place.

Baji hoists himself upright with ease and ascends the rigging with a mock salute, scurrying away like the cowardly bastard he is. You send up a silent prayer; Gods, please do not let Mikey have heard the words from that traitor's mouth.

"Mitsuya, I think you're going easy on her," he drawls, his stance as casual as his tone, but there's a hard edge to him this morning that you cannot decipher.

Mitsuya blinks at his captain before responding, "I think someone's a little distracted this morning," he throws you a small smile and you look anywhere but at the captain, willing the deck to swallow you whole, "but she's better; learning. Her form is good, we just need to work on the power behind it."

Mikey eyes your form, from head to toe, "You're being generous, Takashi, it's mediocre at best, nothing to write home about."

You start at the insult, a wicked gleam shines in those black eyes, a predatory smile in those full lips. Someone is feisty today, courtesy of the rigorous training, no doubt. Men and their half-wild instincts, a little sparring and they are all fired up.

You lift your chin, indignation burning bright in your gaze, "Well, if you think I'm so inadequate, then why don't you teach me yourself," you say coldly, refusing to give in to the playful invitation in those damned eyes.

Mitsuya whistles low and long, and steps back from your interaction, retreating to Draken's side. Another coward, you think bitterly, shooting him a betrayed look. He merely shrugs his shoulders and Draken gives you a wide grin as if to say you started this one on your own.

Mikey strides over to where Suya was just standing and motions for you to get into position. You stare at him; no way is he actually going through with your empty taunt? But there he is, standing in front of you with that passive look…waiting.

Fine, if that's the way it is, two can play this game, especially as you did kind of start it. You have a feeling you are going to regret your stubborn will as you get into your usual stance and stare into those bottomless eyes. And you do regret it as soon as you begin the offensive, tired of waiting for his first move, and he merely side steps every jab with his hands still lost in his pockets.

Oh great, he doesn't even have to use his arms to parry your blows, they are not even close to landing. But you persevere, you can't back down now, that would somehow be more embarrassing.

So, you continue your assault, looking for weak points. The knees, his chin or neck, perfectly exposed to you with his hands in his pockets, but you can't even get close. He has reflexes like a cat, you vaguely remember a few strays on the island who used to quick-dodge the grabby hands of the toddlers, there one second and gone the next. And that is the captain, he moves so fast you can barely keep up your own attack.

Watching his skill is one thing but being up against it is another entirely. You let your emotions get the better of you, anger welling up in your chest and causing your movements to become erratic. You are putting too much into your punches, your body lunging forwards with each one, exposing you to attack. Your frustration is making you careless and you can only imagine the look on Suya's face right now, but it's not like it matters. The captain isn't retaliating anyway, he just stands there with his hands in his pockets, side-stepping every effort you make to land a hit. You'd be happy with just a graze, any contact at all, that would be a win in your books.

You grit your teeth, reining in your growing rage, and attempt to outsmart him. If you can, for even a second, then maybe you can land a hit. You feint to your left, making it obvious that you are going to strike his leg with your right foot, his eyes follow the movement and you take your chance.

But as quickly as your arm extends towards his exposed face, his hand shoots up and grabs your wrist in an iron lock. Before you can even curse or register the movement and how to break free, he yanks you toward him, using your stumble and confusion to spin you round and plant your back against his chest. He has you in a choke hold in a matter of seconds.

You freeze, like a deer in the forest the minute it is spotted by the hunter, that precious, wasted second before the fight or flight instinct kicks in. Your heart is pounding so heavily you can hear the whoosh of your blood in your ears, the throbbing of your pulse in your temple. He's so close, every solid edge of him pressed against you, his muscled forearm putting pressure against your windpipe. The action makes you dizzy and all too aware of the way your throat bobs as you swallow.

You can feel his own heartbeat against your shoulder blade, thumping hard and fast, and you wonder why because he barely lifted a finger during this "fight". You stand there in his hold for what could be seconds or hours, thoughts syrupy and arms trembling at your sides. Why isn't he letting go?

It's then that he presses his cheek into the side of your face, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, and you jump. Your body goes rigid, straining against his as alarm bells ring through your skull and dampen your senses.

But then he speaks, low and calm, "Get out of the hold."

You try to register the words, body too preoccupied with where your skin meets his, with the arm around your throat.

"W-what?" You gasp out, the words catching on the choke hold, forcing their way up.

"Get out of the hold." His voice is plain, devoid of emotion as he says it simply, almost casually; as if it should be the easiest thing in the world for you to achieve.

Your skin crawls with goosebumps and your heart rate pitches. It's as if his command gives your muscles permission to work. You immediately begin thrashing in his grasp, trying to break his grip with your hands, scratching at his arm like a wild animal. But he is a solid wall of muscle and you are surprised at just how strong he is. His arm is still around your neck, not painful but firm, and your attempts to kick his shins remain unsuccessful.

Panic floods through your system as you blindly scrabble at whatever part of him gives you purchase, anything to pinch and scratch at. He merely holds firm, as if your struggle is nothing, slipping his other hand out of his pocket to pin your body back against him by your waist.

A low rumble goes through you as he speaks again, louder this time, to be heard over your gasping, "Remember what you've been taught, don't panic."

Easy for him to say. He is stronger. He is in control. He is not the one pinned in a choke hold with no way to escape, with a hand at his waist- the image of a hook pressing into your flesh flashes through your mind, and the breath fanning over the side of your face is no longer that of the man who stands behind you, it's Hanma. Hanma, as he leers down at you with that wicked grin.

A sob rises from your chest, and the hand at your waist loosens at the same time the arm around your throat does. You let out a ragged breath, hands tightening around his arm and pulling, trying to yank it from around your neck.

"Chin down," he barks at you.

"Wh-" you stutter over the word, confusion once more fogging your brain, as you try to push against the suffocating memories and panic obscuring your vision.

"Tuck your chin into your chest, now."

You obey at the pure command in his tone. At the low and smooth voice of your captain, you realise, not the scratchy and threatening voice of a hook-handed pirate. You push the panic down and focus on his voice, on your task. You tuck your chin, pressing hard against his arm, loosening the pressure against your airways.

"Good. Now drop your hand and aim for my groin with a fist," he continues in that level and commanding tone, but you think you hear it soften slightly as he praises you.

"Remember you asked for it," you manage to quip, finding your voice at last.

He chuckles as you swing a fist down and he blocks it with his hand. Of course, reflexes like a cat. He earned that groin punch, maybe one day you'll be good enough at this to give it to him.

"Good girl, now while I'm preoccupied, bring your elbow up into my chin, hard."

You do just that, trying to ignore the thrill you feel hearing him say good girl, and jab your elbow up until you meet his waiting palm. Before he even needs to tell you, you are ducking out of his loosened grip and turning to face him, adrenaline coursing through your system.

"Good. Practice that until it's second nature." He looks serious and something else that you can't quite interpret as he looks at you. His posture is nonchalant, as it always is, effortless. Your heart races and rage simmers underneath your skin. You take a step toward him, ready to give him a piece of your mind, when your legs are swept out from underneath you.

He catches you before you hit the floor, a hand at your back and the other around your wrist once again. But the grip is loose, his thumb resting lightly over your pulse point. It sends a shiver skittering down your spine, nerves electrified with tension and adrenaline. His face is so close yet so far from your own, mere inches away but it feels like a gulf between you. Your breath comes in quick gasps.

You want to stay angry at him, not give in to the desires of your flesh, but your body wins out over your mind. You hate the way your blood rushes through your veins, singing beneath your skin, calling out to him. You hate the way your body has an urge to press against his own, to arch your back further into his arms. You especially hate the way your eyes automatically flick down to his mouth, even after the thoughtless and borderline cruel stunt he just pulled.

You hate him at this moment, and yet…you want to pull him closer, want to slot your lips against his and channel all that anger and fear and frustration into the kiss. You want to get lost in the emotion, in his touch, and finally put these thoughts to rest.

But then he pulls you up and steps away, and the fragile moment shatters like glass. He looks at you a moment longer, his chest rising and falling rapidly, as if his breathing is a little ragged. You wish you could see inside that head of his, know exactly what he is thinking right now.

He takes a sharp breath before finally tearing his gaze from yours and striding off towards his study (his usual hiding place these days it seems).

"'M done, Kenny! We can continue tomorrow, I want you to actually put some effort in next time," he practically sings the little jab at Draken's ego and laughs when his first mate gives him the finger.

You stand in place where Mikey left you, bare feet warming on the wooden deck. The sun is higher in the sky now and the temperature is rising steadily, time to get to work. As soon as the captain is out of sight, your breath leaves your lungs in a whoosh. Suya is suspiciously absent, and you wonder at which point during your little training exercise he scurried off. Draken, very smartly, doesn't say anything and makes himself busy rounding up the crew to begin their day's work.

You take a few more deep breaths, still reeling from what just happened, how close you were to the captain, how close you were to-

You hear a shrill whistle and look up to see Baji's face hanging over the railing from the crows nest, his stupid, thick eyebrows raised at you. That signature shit-eating grin is on his face, the one that says 'I saw everything'. It seems he takes his lookout duties very seriously, as long as the sight is on deck and deemed entertaining by his lizard brain. You grit your teeth and spit out a response to his unspoken remark, which no doubt would have been vulgar and obnoxious.

"Don't you fucking dare say a word."

Thanks so much for reading! 💙

[teddy06writes]

What Could Have Been Was Good, But What We Have Now Is Better

Part Two to You Didn't Need Us Then, We Don't Need you Now

Requested by:

@alistorhq

@hiphopdancer101universe

@trinatiger

@lightbulb77724

plus some anons.

Quackity x reader; past sapnap x karl x quackity x reader

trigger warnings: some swearing, yelling, mentions of drinking/being hungover

premise: The confrontation, and what follows

{Okay, so at first, I was gonna have this as like a collection of various moments that would have happened in the two year span, plus the confrontation, but then I was like but that might be clunky. So, if you guys want, I'll do a part three with the little scenes I had been thinking about}

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

Slowly, the sun began to climb into the sky, beginning to peak out from between the tall buildings of Las Nevadas.

Slowly, you stirred, glaring out the open window at the sun.

For a moment, everything was normal. Your fiancé's soft snores and Charlie's soft humming from the other room almost convinced you that it was just a normal day.

But then you fully sat up, untangling yourself from Quackity's arms and glancing around to where your other 'children' were still asleep in various places in the living room.

The previous day and the reason for your camping out in the living room came flooding back to you as you stood, stretching.

Shaking your head, you went to go get dressed, beginning to recall the so called script you had made yourself the night before.

Halfway through fixing your hair, Quackity ducked into the half open bathroom door, pressing a kiss to your cheek, "Good morning baby."

"Morning." You sighed, "Are you hungover or did Purp get you to stop soon enough?"

"ehhh, it's not that bad..." He said.

You nodded, turning to lean against the counter and look at him fully, "I assume that your in the same boat as me, with this whole Situation...?"

"Depends on which boat that is."

You shook your head, "What could have been was good, but..." You glanced back out the door to where you could hear Fundy and Charlie talking, "I think what we have now Is better."

Quackity seemed to breath a sigh of relief, quickly pulling you into his arms, "I agree. I know that I loved them once... but... even then it felt like being the odd one out... I don't think I'd be able to handle it again. Not after knowing what they'd done. It- it hurts to even see them..."

You melted into the embrace, glad to know he was on your side, "I'll take care of everything. I promise."

~~ After sending Charlie out to go find Sapnap and Karl, and send them to your office, you headed down to your office for yourself.

There you mindlessly organized your desk, with only semi shaky hands.

"(y/n)?"

Your head snapped up, upon hearing Karls voice, "Come in."

They entered, Karl beginning too look around at the pictures on one of the shelves as Sapnap asked, "So, where Quackity? Doesn't seem like a fair discussion if not all of us are here."

"Yeah," Karl agreed, "He should have a say too."

You rubbed at your eyes, "Unfortunately, we thought it best, for me to handle this. Q, wasn't sure he'd- deal with it in the right way."

"Well that's Quackity for you." Karl mumbled, moving to sit in one of the chairs facing your desk.

"Never could fight his own battles- not that this is one." Sapnap interrupted himself.

You frowned, "Well... I'd hardly say that. He's the one who built this place- well, I designed some buildings, he did the rest. Getting the Badlands off our backs peacefully last year was all him. Not so much peacefully as with many threats..."

Karl nodded, almost expecting you to tell the story, but you shook your head, "Anyway, that's not what I asked you here to talk about."

"Of course," Sapnap agreed, "Obviously, our relationship is slightly more important."

You sighed, "There's one thing, actually that I think I should preface with, before I state our position. Where the fuck did you go? Why the fuck did you leave us? And Why do you think you just get to show up now?"

They sat shocked for a moment, and you couldn't help but smirk, gesturing for them to speak, "No, please enlighten me. I'd like to know."

Karl and Sapnap looked to each other, Karl shaking his head, before Sapnap whispered, "We have to, if we want them back."

"I..." He faltered, turning to you, before squeaking, "I- couldn't- remember you- until a week ago."

You froze for a moment, but before you could make any comment, he rambled on, "Because of all this crazy stuff- I travel- like- through time- it was messing with my head- but it's better now, and we're here! To marry you guys!"

You looked at him confused, "Time travel?"

He nodded sagely, "I've... seen more than you can imagine, i've seen nations rise and fall, universes collapse. Hero's that even Tommy couldn't compare too, evils that..."

Karl's voice faltered, and Sapnap reached over to take his hand comfortingly.

"Let me guess. You found out that everything turns to dust eventually..." You sighed, rubbing at your temples.

"It never works out." Tiny tears leaked from his eyes, and Sapnap was quick to get up, pulling Karl into his arms.

~~ "Why did you do that?" Sapnap asked, his voice soft, but still with an air of hostility.

Karl had gone back to the hotel, quickly and quietly, tears still falling.

"I didn't do anything-"

"Clearly you did!" He cut you off.

You shook your head, pushing back your chair and standing, If he forgot us... why didn't you remind him? Tell us about him about us? Or actually come up here like you said you would?!"

"Because maybe I wanted things to be the way that they were! Maybe I liked not sharing! But maybe it was because I had to deal with that!"

You continued to pace as he sat down heavily, "He was going insane (y/n), he saw the end of everything! He had to watch the rise and fall o L'manburg over and over! He's seen the egg come and go! I had to take care of him!"

"And you don't think I've had to take care of things? You two left and I had to put Q back together! I still have to put him together sometimes! I had to keep planning this the whole time! And then I get all these fucking child soldiers all these people that your fucking friend ruined, and I had to take care of them!

I held it all together until it itself stuck- and now I have a family! And that seems like it's more than what you two could've given us! You think you're the one that had to deal with someone who'd seen too much- Charlie's been here since the beginning of the server! He may seem fine but he is haunted!

Don't act like you're the only one whos had to 'go through it' because I made a home and a family and I take care of them- even though you leaving broke me! So don't lecture me! You didn't need us then, and we sure as hell don't need you now!"

You sat down, running your hands through your hair, tugging at the ends and not daring to look at Sapnap.

"Are you serious? Wouldn't us coming back help put you back together?"

"We learned to live without you, and I don't think I want to unlearn, and it seems like my family is with me."

Still you could not make yourself look up at him.

"I guess I understand."

There was a quiet shuffling of the chair, then footsteps, before you could finally breath again and your soft sobs began to fill the office.

~~ It had hardly been two minutes before Quackity was entering your office, kneeling in front of you and pulling you into his arms, whispering about how brave you are.

You cried into his chest, "I didn't think I could do it- what if it was a mistake-"

"no babey, you did perfect. You know it yourself we are better without them. We've got our family we don't need them. You are so, so brave and I am so proud of you. So proud of you (y/n)."

He pressed kisses to your hair, trying to pull you impossibly closer to him, "Thank you... for doing something I couldn't."

You only sobbed harder, clinging to him.

That was how the others found you later, in a heap on the floor.

Wordlessly, Purpled sat next to the two of you, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder.

Fundy found himself sitting as well, leaning against you. Charlie hummed softly as he went about fixing the chairs that Karl and Sapnap had left in disarray.

"Let us take care of you now." Quackity said softly.

The others made noises of agreement, and you let out your final sob.

Because your family was there where Sapnap and Karl weren't. And they would take care of you, the way you took care of them.

[catxsnow]

BACK TO YOU W.W.

Request: Could I be so bold to request a Wally fic? Where he comes back after his "death" (lets be real we all know he is not dead) and Y/N reacts to it? Could it be fluff, angst, a little of both, that's up to you.

P.s. I love you 😊😊

Warning: angst, mentions of death (wallace), fluff

A/N: hello, good evening, I’m tired as fuck. 

I’ve been thinking about a taglist lately so if there’s interest I’ll start one. I always suffer when I make it for some reason but if the people are interested I will suffer for y’all. 

Word count: 2.3k 

Wally coming back from the dead seemed surreal.

The hope you had for his return never diminished, even if those around you gave up long ago. Wally wasn't dead, he was never dead - he was just stuck in a place that no one could save him. Not Barry, not Bart, Not even Jay. Wally was the only one that could save himself and he had done it.

Broken, battered, and barely breathing he had made it out of the Speed Force. He had made it back to you. It put everyone into shock to see him collapsed in the middle of the team's headquarters. His suit was barely hanging to his body, eyes sunken in with exhaustion. He barely looked alive.

It took weeks to get him nourished back to health. Weeks of him being in a coma, wondering how the hell he managed to get back home. Sleeping at his bedside every night because you were scared this wasn't real or that he would be taken from you again. Long nights of crying because even if he was back, was he even going to wake up?

By the time that he was back up on his feet and running around again, every single league member had come to see him. Those who gave up on him, those who never lost hope, even those who never knew him.

Wally West was back.

Unfortunately, it seemed that a lot of him was still missing. His smile that once never left his face hadn't resurfaced once. The laugh that you remembered so clearly that got you through so many hard days vanished. The light in his eyes when he was running or saving lives was dull. He wasn't the same man you knew.

He teetered around you like a stranger even though every night he told you how grand his love for you was. You noticed him bumping into furniture that had moved from his time away or looking at pictures of people he didn't know with tears in his eyes. He stood by the window, watching for nearly an hour, just staring into the void every other day.

Wally wasn't all back from the Speed Force. He had lost a part of himself in there that he could never get back. Dick tried to fill in the gap of time that he missed, catching him up on everything that he missed but the moment that he came back to you he seemed more zoned out than ever. M'gann excitedly told him about her engagement with Conner, Kaldur with his new position in the league.

Everyone tried to make him feel right back at home, but no matter how hard they tried it would never be the same. Wally lost that time, and he was never going to get it back. He could never make it up to his friends for missing so many important moments in their lives or the grief that he put them through.

No matter how fast he ran, how many hours he stayed up wondering if things would have been different that day, none of that would change the fact that he had been missing for five years. Guilt plagued him, fear of being stuck back in there, he was in a constant state of terror because it was so damn easy for him to be lost the first time.

Nightmares woke him up every night. Sometimes he would lay there staring at the ceiling for hours without you knowing, other times his screams would echo in your room and wake you. Tears streaming down his face, clinging to you like his lifeline. Horrible dreams filled his mind of being pulled back there - or seeing his friends taken instead.

Those moments were the only time that it seemed Wally was willing to open up to you. It was the only time that he treated you like a lover rather than a stranger. Only when he was most vulnerable did it feel like he was truly back home, safe and sound with you. Whatever was holding him back from being open to you, it broke your heart.

Wally was always the one that you could go to when you had your issues and now that you couldn't do the same for him... it was hard to accept. You didn't want to push him into relieving his memories where he was stuck or asking the wrong questions to get him upset. Saying nothing at all didn't seem to be working either.

Dick noticed it, Barry, Artemis, even Garfield was worried. No one knew what was going on inside that head of his and he refused to go to Dinah - or anyone - for help. Everyone was worried.

You told them of the times that you woke up to him vibrating the entire bed, still asleep and a pained look on his face. Or the time that he would be perfectly fine before suddenly speeding around the house like he had no control over his body. Wally had become unstable with his speed - and maybe his health too.

"Love you, baby," Wally mumbled out.

He had gotten back from his hangout with Dick to find you sprawled out on the couch. Whatever they had done must have put him in a good mood. The moment that he saw you, he sped over and practically dived into you. His arms kept him hovering over you so he could lean down and kiss you properly - something that he always seemed to avoid since being back.

He found himself cuddled into your chest, arms snaked around you. For the first time since his return, you saw a genuine smile on his face. It was a sleepy, half-smile, but nonetheless, you were excited to see it. His eyes drooped closed the second you started massaging his scalp. He hummed with content as you eased the tension that had been piling up.

Half asleep, shoulders loose after weeks of being tensed at every moment. His heavy breathing was audible and you could feel the warmth of it against your skin. It had been years since you had seen him relaxed like this and it quickly brought tears to your eyes. Wally had been through so much, he deserved happiness, he deserved to have peace in his life.

"I love you Wally, always," you whispered. Silent tears spilled down your eyes - you wanted him to find his joy again, no matter the cost. "I never gave up on you, my love. I knew you'd find your way back home. Fuck-" your voice cracked, "I was so lost without you. Having you back in my arms like this was the only thing keeping me going.

"You mean everything to me, Wally. I know that you did what you did to save the world but..." you sighed. It was impossible to say that you wished that he hadn't done it - or that someone else should have taken his place. "I'm so relieved that you're safe now. I know you've been going through a hard time, and I've been trying my best not to push you - but if you need anything you know I'm here."

You waited for him to say something - anything. Wally was struggling to open up to you but seeing him in a good mood like this may have been the best opportunity to get him to say what was on his mind. Unfortunately, his silence made you worried.

It wasn't until the sounds of a soft snore did you realize that he had fallen asleep on you. His body had become completely dead weight, arms no longer tense around you. The security he felt being with you had lulled him to deep sleep in a matter of minutes. Although you weren't in a comfortable position, seeing him at peace was well worth it.

><

"He's getting better."

It had been months since Wally had been home. The process of getting him back to his mental state before entering the Speed Force for years was going to take a long time - but he was well on his way. Being with friends, family - finally admitting that he needed to see someone to talk through all this - dramatically helped.

The original team decided to put together a little surprise birthday for Wally. He said he didn't want anything - but they had several year's worth of get-togethers to make up for. So, you and Dick plotted together to throw something, just with his closest friends. Nothing overwhelming.

Although he originally complained about the gesture, he quickly found himself appreciating the effort that had been put into that evening. The food, the people, he forgot how much these moments meant to him. Seeing the smiles on everyone's faces again, that was the best gift he could have asked for.

He stood on the other side of the room with Conner and Dick - all three of the men were laughing their heads off about something. Artemis stood by your side, watching the three of them just as you were. She handed over one of the drinks in her hand to you. Everyone in the room had been deep in conversation with someone - besides you. She noticed.

"He is," you agreed with her.

"Why're you by yourself?" She got straight to the point. Artemis didn't bother with the small talk or sugarcoating her question. She waited for your answer, watching as your gaze turned from Wally, to the now interesting cement beneath your feet. "(Y/N)."

"Everyone's helped Wally so much and I can't help but feel like... Like I haven't done enough. Wally was always the person that I could lean on and now that I'm the one that has to be strong for him, it just feels like there's more that I could have done to help him. I never had the same bond that you all had with him being on the team and risking your lives, I don't know what it's like enough to help him through this trauma.

"Wally deserves the world and a lot of the time I feel like I can't give it to him. I'm not a hero, I don't have powers, I'm just... normal. Maybe that's not enough for someone who can save the world before I even finish breakfast," Your fists tightened at your sides as the heavy realization that had been clouding your mind was revealed.

It was clear that you were the odd man out in the room. Everyone there had risked their lives to saved the world and what had you done? Wait anxiously at home for your friends to return? Grieve at the losses that you couldn't have changed? There was nothing that you could do in the hero-life besides sitting on the sidelines.

"You do a lot more than you make yourself believe, (Y/N)," Artemis placed her hand on your shoulder. She glanced over at your boyfriend, wondering how different it would have been if they ended up together instead. Wally would have been unhappy, he loved you from the beginning.

"Wally can't stop talking about the support you give him. He wouldn't be where he is today without you. Men are stubborn - especially speedster men - they won't always admit how much they need someone. He gets this look on his face when he's talking about you like you're the whole reason for his existence. Don't put yourself down for not being stuck in a hero life we are - your love for him is the only power he needs."

"Thank you, Artemis," you forced a smile at her.  Although you didn't believe her words at the moment she was right. Your love for Wally was the most important thing that you could ever give him, and that was going to have to be enough for now. Every ounce of your love went to making him happy.

Before she could say anything else, a familiar breeze washed over you both. Wally was suddenly standing right in front of you - and as if Artemis wasn't even there, brought you in for a deep kiss. His lips molded to yours, hand pressed to the small of your back to keep you close.

"I love you, (Y/N)," Wally barely pulled his lips from you. Conner had heard everything that you were saying to Artemis, and although he felt as if it wasn't his place to tell, Wally needed to know. A need to be with you, to assure you that you had done more than enough to get him to where he was, filled him.

"Across every galaxy, every universe, the Speed Force, no matter where I will always find my way back to you. I'll love you through everything," Wally pecked you once more. "Thank you for never giving up on me, babe."

"I'll never give up on you, Wally West. Not even the Speed Force can keep us apart," you grinned.

"Get a room already," Artemis complained. You had forgotten that she was still standing with you. It wasn't just her - the entire room was staring at the both of you. Smiles on their face at how happy Wally was with you. His little move had caught the attention of everyone and he just adored it.

Wally laughed at her comment. He swooped you up in his arms and sent a wink your way. He was already gearing up to speed you both out of there before saying his last bit to Artemis - and everyone else in the room.

"Don't have to tell me twice."

[squishneedsahero]

Borrowed Tires

Awesomest of Them All 2.0

Part 7 of 13

Word Count: 1502

Batman x Batmom!Reader

You know what the bat family needs? Someone to pull them together and give them all the love they deserve. Who better to do that than you? An author rising to stardom in Gotham who catches the eye of a billionaire with your standoffish attitude at a huge social gathering. You are yourself and never pretend to be more or less than that. Plus you're the most stubborn person in the world, refusing to let good things go without reason.

This is a rewrite of my story Awesomest of Them All, I wanted to see how much I've improved over 3 years.

"Hello," You say to the small teenager that had returned with your husband from patrol.

"Hi," he says crossing his arms and sounding grumpy, but to you is obviously uncomfortable.

"I'm (y/n)," you say trying to help him feel more comfortable, you also pull the hood of your sweatshirt down so he can see your face. He's in the bat cave and there's a reason for that, you don't know what it is yet but you don't subscribe to your husband's level of secrecy when it comes kids and making sure they're welcomed.

His eyes go wide, "y-you're y/n l/n."

"Yep, that's me," you reply and offer him a gentle smile.

"You wrote those books!" He says excitedlypw.

"Yeah, I did," you say smiling at the boy then at your husband. "May I ask what your name is?"

"Jason," he says, sounding less closed off now.

"That's a nice name," you smile, "so, can I ask what brings you to Batman's lair?" You ask with a tilt of your head.

Jason's demeanor changes and he shuffles on his feet before quietly saying, "I was trying to steal his tires... he didn't like that."

You laugh gently, "well, that's rude of him to make you come back here just for trying to take his tires." You pause for a moment before asking, "you want to go upstairs? I'm sure could find something to eat and maybe you can tell me what your plans were for those tires so we can get you your own," you say with a raise of an eyebrow.

"Oh, uh- I don't really need tires," he shuffles again.

"Okay, you don't need to tell me why you wanted them," you say, offering him another smile before turning to Bruce, "You go change Bruce, then meet us in the kitchen," you say heading towards the stairs.

"Wait! Bruce Wayne is Batman?!" Jason says following you, maybe a little more relaxed.

"Who else did you think it could be? Or did you think I was having an affair with Batman?" You joke yet again and hear a slight laugh from behind you, you don't turn around as you can imagine the way Bruce is shaking his head behind you.

He pauses for a moment, trying to come up with an answer for you, "uh... I hadn't really thought about it. I was busy being scared cause I tried to steal Batman's tires and he kidnapped me."

You laugh once again, "I suppose that's logical reasoning." The two of you come to a stop in the kitchen doorway, "you're welcome to anything you can find that sounds good. And if you want I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind fixing something."

"Uh," He looks in awe at the size of the kitchen.

When he pauses you make a shooing motion with your hands before going to sit at the counter. You watch him move off to look through the fridge and cupboards as you say, "I'm assuming you'll want to spend the night here Jason?"

"Really?!"

"Really really, I'll make sure we have a room set up for you with a nice warm shower waiting for you." You pause just for Alfred to walk in.

"Hello Mrs.Wayne," he didn't question you being in here at odd hours anymore.

"Hi, Alfred," you say turning to look at him. He almost says something then he spots the small boy moving through the kitchen, with his arms full of different snacks and a cookie hanging out of his mouth. "Alfred this is Jason. Jason Alfred," you introduce them, gaining a look from Alfred, and Jason waves. "Bruce brought him home tonight after he found Jason trying to borrow his tires."

Alfred just nods before looking at Jason again, and then he pauses for another moment, "master Jason I apologize, but I am going to have to object to your choice in food." He moves over and takes some of the things out of a confused Jason's arms, "what sounds good? I will fix you a meal."

Jason pauses and looks at you.

"Jason, if you remember anything from tonight, remember the fact that Alfred finds the idea of junk food impossible to handle. If you want to eat junk don't let him catch you," you say with a laugh and teasing smile as you get up and take the rest of the food from Jason's arms.

When you return from putting stuff away Bruce is standing in the doorway watching Jason quietly talk to Alfred and figure out something to eat. You move to his side and put your arms around him, joining him in watching. "So?" You ask, knowing he has reason behind why he brought the kid back here.

"He was stealing my tires. Probably wanted to sell them," he says softly, "he said he doesn't have anyone, I've seen him around a few other times, thought he was just sneaking out at night," Bruce pauses for another moment before getting to the point of all of this, "I just thought, it's been quiet here since Dick moved out..."

You remain quiet as Bruce pulls you against his side, "yeah, it has been quiet since Dick moved to Bludhaven... did you get tired of the quiet?" You ask with a slightly teasing tone, unable to keep everything serious.

"Yeah," Bruce says, knowing you know what he is thinking.

"If he wants to stay, he's welcome too, I've always told you that. There's so many kids out there that need somewhere good to call home and I'd take them all if I could."

"I know, and I love you for that," Bruce says gently, pressing a kiss into the side of your head.

You step away from him and go back over to Jason and Alfred, "hey Jason, how about we go get you cleaned up while Alfred gets the food going?"

You ask and nod over your shoulder for Jason to follow, "uh- okay," he says somewhat hesitantly, noticing the more serious tone to your voice.

Bruce pulls you into a quick kiss before saying, "I'm going to go make sure everything is finished up, then I'll be back."

"Sounds good," you say kissing him once more for good measure before heading off with Jason. The manor had many wings to it, but for the most part you all lived in just one of them. The door to Dick's old room is closed and you walk right past it and into the next room down.

Once in the room you turn to Jason and just say, "you can stay here... just for tonight if you want, if you want to stay longer you're welcome too, I just don't want you being out on the streets alone, alright?"

"U-uh, alright..." he says somewhat hesitantly.

You move towards him, "Jason, I want you to listen and know that I'm completely serious, if you want to just stay the night you can. If you decide you want to stay longer you can do that as well. Our son moved out a few months ago and there's plenty of room. You think about it and hop in the shower, I'll go grab some of Dick's clothes so you can find something clean to wear."

You ruffle his hair and turn to leave only to be stopped by two arms grabbing you in a hug. You turn and face Jason who had grabbed you, wrapping him in your arms as well, just for him to ask, "you'd really want me?"

The way he asks breaks your heart. "Yes, everyone needs somebody and somewhere. This can be your somewhere and I'll be your somebody."

"I think I'd like that," he says gently and you squeeze him a little tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

"Okay, kiddo, I'll go tell Bruce, you get cleaned up, and then we'll get you fed."

Jason turns his head so you can't see his face well, but he nods as he rubs at his cheek, "alright."

With that you close the door behind you and head back to the kitchen. Alfred is cooking and Bruce has returned from is final check through, making sure everything was set for the night.

You head towards him, ready to wrap your arms around him but he doesn't give you much of a choice as he scoops you up into his arms and holds you tightly against him. You tilt your head back and look up at him, "Jason said he'd like to stay... he was so surprised that anyone would want him."

Bruce kisses you, "well we do. We always will as long as he wants to be wanted."

"I love you," you say gently.

"I love you as well."

"We'll have to be careful to not scare him off, he hasn't had much love given to him in his life, but as soon as he is ready we will be sure to fix that. I'm sure Dick would love to have a little brother..."

[aimless-imagines-for-fun]

Strawberries and Peaches

Pairing  ::  Eric Northman  x  fem!Reader

Warnings  ::  Angst, Smut, Mentions of Blood, Bloodplay(?idk he’s a vampire so-?), Death

Word Count  ::  3,588

Summary  ::  Eric thought he had lost you centuries ago, and yet here you were again.

A/N  ::  Takes place between season 3 and 4

When you walked into Fangtasia a few nights ago, with an old acquaintance of Eric’s, he thought he had seen a ghost. The last time he laid eyes on you, you were crying. The last time he held you, you were dying. 

-

Nearly several hundred years ago, Eric first met you, a humble girl in a recluse village. Your people warned you not to venture off into the woods, and more importantly, to never speak to the people who walk only during the night. You were kind-hearted though, and so, when a blond man walked up to you after nightfall, begging for help, you couldn’t say no. You more than happily helped him and welcomed him into your home. You treated and cared for him as if he were your own family. 

Eric had never received such kindness from a human before, whether they knew he was a vampire or not. You always gave him a smile, even when people began to warn you about him. He found himself drawn to you. Your scent was like none he had ever smelled before. Strawberries and peaches, with a dash of rose petals. Whenever your fingers touched him, he swore he felt his freezing body warm-up. For the first time in his life, he found himself falling for someone, and slowly, you did too.

Perhaps your feeling for him clouded your judgment, or perhaps you truly didn’t care. When Eric had confessed to being a vampire, you hugged him and told him you’d love him no matter what. Godric tried to warn Eric that starting a life with a human would be dangerous, especially since you weren’t ready to be turned. The thought of being immortal horrified you, however, with Eric it didn’t seem that scary. Still, you weren’t ready to say goodbye to the sun. All he could do was support your decision and wait. His compassion is what killed you, and he blamed himself every day for it until eventually, you were a fleeting thought in the back of his mind. 

There were times Eric had to leave because Godric needed him. Unfortunately, on one of these trips your village, though recluse, was not impossible to find. You were attacked right before sunset by a neighboring kingdom that had recently declared war against yours. Men, women, and children died, homes were burned to the ground. Your home was spared. You were not. Eric returned shortly after the attackers had left, finding the ruins of your village. If his heart was still beating, it surely would’ve stopped. He found you in your home, laying in a pool of blood on the floor with a large slash across your torso. Your breath had stopped long ago, and your warm touch now is just as freezing as Eric’s. He fell to his knees, holding your limp body in his arms. He could see tear stains on your face, and he couldn’t help but wonder what your last thoughts were. Were you waiting for him? Crying for him to return? He’d never know, but he’d make sure he’d have revenge for your death.

-

Time went on, and Eric began to grow unsympathetic. He never allowed himself to get close to another human again as he did with you. He had the occasional flings, and there was Pam. She was a companion and received a different sort of love from him than you did. There was also Sookie, whom he felt drawn to, but he never felt the love for her he felt for you. What drew him to Sookie was the fact she was a fae. What drew him to you, he never quite understood.

You may have become a distant memory, but he’d always remember your sweet scent. Strawberries, peaches, and a hint of rose petals. He hadn’t smelled that sweet aroma since the day you died, that was until a few nights ago.

You walked in with Bishop, an old acquaintance of Eric who knew him long enough to know you. You wore a pastel yellow sundress, not knowing you’d be going to the vampire bar. All Bishop told you was to wear something nice. Hell, the man didn’t even tell you he was taking you to Louisiana. You lived on the west coast in a small apartment as a writer. Ever since The Great Revelation, you had been attempting to speak to as many vampires as you could so you could share their stories with the world. Most were hostile or rude when you questioned them, and the few that would agree had either odd demands you’d have to refuse or were clearly lying. Then, one night, a vampire showed up at your front door, claiming he knew a vampire over a thousand years old who’d tell you his story. Shortly after, you found yourself on a plane and now in a bar called “Fangtasia”.

Bishop told you to wait near the front, which you gladly did, not wanting to walk further in. You stood out like a sore thumb, and all you could do to avoid the gazes you were receiving was look at the wall of shirts they sold.

Bishop walked up to Eric’s throne, a small smile on his face. “Hello, Sheriff-”

“Stop,” Eric said in a cold tone. He narrowed his gaze on the man.  “What do you want?”

Eric and Bishop had a complicated relationship. They had known each other for centuries, but they weren’t friends. Their paths only really crossed when one needed something from the other, typically Bishop needing something from Eric.

“Have you always been this hostile?” Bishop let out a sigh. “I don’t want or need, anything Eric. I came to bring you a gift.” Eric was silent, letting the man continue. “I know you smell her, and yes, it really is her…”

Eric’s gaze moved over to you, standing by, looking at the shirts. You looked exactly the same, besides your (h/c) hair being a bit different now. His eyes softened for a moment, watching you giggle at some of the little phrases they put on the shirts. 

“...or at least, another version of her.”

Eric’s focus snapped back to Bishop. “What?”

“She’s one in a billion.”

Eric knew some people could be reincarnated, but thought the chances of that were slim to none. Godric had only encountered two reincarnated people in his life, and Eric none, until now that is. 

Without another word, Eric approached you. You were so into the silly phrases on the shirt, you nearly missed the tall man approaching you. You turned to face him, a large grin on your face as you extended your hand.

“Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Northman. I’m (f/n) (l/n), but please, call me (y/n).”

“Only if you call me Eric.” 

Looking down at you, the corner of his lips were curved upward. Reaching out to shake your hand, he felt the same warmth he felt centuries ago when your hands touched. You tilted your head touching his hand. Yes, it was cold, but, you felt an odd sense of safety holding his hand, even if it was for a brief moment.

You let out a small chuckle, shaking your head lightly. “I’m sorry, but, do I know you?” You couldn’t help but be forward. You’ve never felt this sense of security before.

Eric, for once, didn’t know how to reply. Technically he knew you, a different you though.

“Possibly, I’ve been around for a long time. There’s a chance our paths have crossed before.”

You hummed in response, before continuing on to tell him about why you had traveled all the way to Shreveport, Louisiana. Eric absentmindedly listened to what you had to say. In all honesty, he was just happy to see you again and agreed to any pitch you gave him. As long as he could be close to you again. Even though Bishop was constantly telling you on your journey here that Eric would say yes, you were still surprised and grateful when he agreed. The agreement was for you to come to Fangtasia each night, sit next to Eric, and he’d tell you his story.

He was one to come up with the arrangement, yet it seemed he cared little about telling you his story. You went several nights in a row, standing out due to your brightly colored clothes each day. Everyone stared at you as you sat next to Eric, except for one of the employees named Pam. She didn’t seem to care a single bit about who you were. The night usually went one of two ways. One: You’d ask Eric a question, he’d give a vague answer, and then quickly shift the focus on you. Two: Men and Women would spend the entire night trying to grab just a sliver of Eric’s attention before he snapped his fingers and Pam came to pry them away. There was one night he almost kicked a man who made a comment as to why you were so special you got to sit next to him, Eric held back. He didn’t want to make you more uncomfortable than you already were in the bar.

Tonight was the second kind of night. So far, the blond had already rejected two women and one man. You couldn’t wrap your head around why people would throw themselves at him. Admittedly, you found Eric handsome, and always wanted to see him smile for some odd reason. Still, you’d never throw yourself at him like these people would. At least, you’d hope you never would.

You were usually patient, however, it had been nearly a week and you still hadn’t gotten a thing from him. You were beginning to grow impatient with him, not to mention tired from your daily schedule changing so much thanks to him as well.

“Hey, Eric, I think I’m gonna head back to my hotel early tonight,” You told him as you began to pack up your things.

Eric looked at you with confusion, brows furrowed. “Why? What’s wrong?” He didn’t want to show it, but he was worried something was wrong.

You stood up, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “Nothing, I’m just tired is all. Have a nice night.”

Walking out of Fangtasia, for the first time ever, you saw a large group of Christian protesters standing a short distance away from the entrance. Usually, you showed up right before sunset and left at the crack of dawn, so you had never seen such a large group. You wouldn’t have cared much if not for the fact that you had to go through the crowd to get to your car. They shouted at you as you walked through, calling you a “fang-banger” and “vampire cunt”. You ignored them, wondering why they had nothing better to do than this. Tonight was one of their rowdier nights though, and you were shoved to the ground. You scraped your hands and knees, tearing the white tights you wore under your blue dress. You began to pick yourself up, and that’s when you noticed the crowd had gone silent. You looked up, curious, seeing Eric now standing right at the front of the crowd, Pam right beside him. He was giving them a murderous glare, daring for one of them to do something so he could rip them apart. 

Once you stood up, Eric turned to you, walking over in a few steps. He grabbed both your wrists, eyebrows knitted together. “You’re bleeding,” He muttered, looking down at the scrapes on your palms. Letting go of one of your wrists, he led you back inside. “Pam, deal with these people,” He ordered right before he walked in.

Briskly, he walked you back to his office, not wanting any of the other vampires to get a whiff of your blood for too long. You had never been in the back, and you didn’t get a very good look around with Eric rushing you into his office.

“Sit on the desk,” He told you as he began rummaging through one of his cabinets for the first aid kit. It was rarely used.

You moved a few of the items on his desk aside so you could hop on. Silently, you looked around the office, waiting for Eric to walk over. After a moment, he found the kit and began cleaning one of your hands. His cold hand held your warm one gently, almost as if he were afraid he’d break you if he wasn’t soft with you. You were closer to him now than ever before, with only a foot of distance between you. You winced when he cleaned the wounds, but as he bandaged them up, you couldn’t help staring at him. You took note of his perfect, still pale, complexion, his blue eyes, and his slightly tense jaw. Little did you know, it was causing a great deal of pain for Eric to hold back and not start licking the blood that came out of your wounds. Your scent was much stronger than before and his mouth was watering, remembering the sweet taste of your blood.

When he was done with your hands, he paused for a moment, looking down at your knees. “I need you to take off your tights.”

You were confused, until you looked down, seeing your ripped tights. “O-oh, right,” you stuttered.

You hopped off and took your little blue heels with ease. Then, you reached up the skirt of your dress and pulled down your now ruined tights, tossing them right next to your bag. As you did, you could feel his intense stare on you, causing your cheeks to heat up. You were about to sit back on his desk until he told you to stand instead. He knelt down to clean the scrapes on your knees, one hand holding the back of your leg. Quickly, he wrapped it up and moved on to clean your other knee. 

Now, you don’t know why you did, but without thinking you questioned Eric. “Why’d you lie and agree to tell me your story?” You covered your mouth right after you asked him. Your mother always did tell you that you had the problem of speaking without thinking.

Caught off guard, Eric looked up at you with wide eyes. “Excuse me?”

Realizing you couldn’t take back what you said, you continue on. “You haven’t told me a thing about you. Why’d you lie to me about telling me your story?”

Without hesitation, Eric replied, “Because I wanted you to be with me again.”

Now you were caught off guard.

“You’re almost an exact replica of someone I cared about and lost a long time ago. You don’t have her memories, but besides that, you’re exactly the same,” He began to explain, “You look like her.” His grip on your leg tightened, “You feel like her.” He moved his head closer to the now clean wound on your knee and took a sniff, “You smell like her.” He licked the fresh blood that was coming out, “You taste like her.”

Eric watched you squirm a bit under his hold, a faint blush spreading across your face. You gripped the sides of your dress, your brows turned downwards and your lips formed a small frown. You thought he was teasing you.

He let out a small chuckle. “You even act the same as her.” He licked your leg again, your breath now shaking.

“S-stop it,” You barely managed to whisper.

You could hear the sadness in his voice and it made your heart hurt. Your eyes began to sting. Your chest grew tight. You couldn’t understand why you felt so sad for him, even though you barely knew him. Finally, he let go of your leg and stood up, towering over you. 

“What if I don’t want to stop?” Eric asked you, eyes peering down into yours.

Your heart was racing now, though you weren’t sure whether it was from fear or perhaps excitement. You knew one thing for sure, with him staring so intensely at you, you could feel a heat beginning to rise up inside you. 

He brought a hand up to the side of your face, stroking his thumb gently across your cheek. Slowly, he began to lean his head down.

With his lips brushing against yours he asked you, “What would you do?” right before pressing a soft kiss onto you. 

You leaned into the kiss, closing your eyes and gripping his black shirt. As it continued on, the kiss began to grow rough, Eric nibbling your bottom lip with his fangs. His hand on your cheek was gentle, but the hand that held your hip was tight. Feeling a small pinch on your lip, you let out a gasp knowing full well he had bitten your lip. It was enough for Eric to shove his tongue in your mouth though, and both of you tasted your metallic blood.

His hand on your hip moved lower, gripping your thigh. He pushed you back against the desk, lifting you so you’d be seated again. He pulled away from your mouth, moving down to your neck. He licked a few spots, before finally biting down and piercing your skin. You let out a soft cry, hands moving to wrap around his neck. You gripped his hair, feeling him suck the blood out of you. You bit your lip, trying to hold back your whimpers.

When he pulled away, you felt light-headed now. Your eyes fluttered open, feeling his hands come off only to swiftly pull your dress off. After pulling off your bra as well, his hands began to roam around your body. You shivered against his touch, your skin feeling like it was burning against his cold hands. He grabbed one of your breasts, squeezing it lightly before leaning down and biting the upper part of it. This time, he sucked to leave a mark rather than to drink your blood. 

A hand of his moved down, in between your inner thighs. He began to rub your clit with his thumb roughly, a moan finally escaping you. He pulled away from your breast, a bloody smirk on his face.

“Well how about that, you sound just like her too,” He teased.

“Sh-shut up,” You stammered.

You moved your hands to pull at the bottom of his shirt. He pulled away his thumb, allowing you to take off his shirt, and see the bulge that had formed in his pants. 

He leaned down to your ear and whispered, “I want you to get yourself ready for me love.” He then grabbed your hand, leading it down to your panties. 

Once he let go, you began to rub yourself through the thin fabric, feeling how wet you already were. You began to rub harder and faster, watching him undo his pants. His briefs went down with his pants, allowing his hardened dick to spring free. With one hand he grabbed the hand you were using to rub yourself out, and with the other, he ripped off your panties, causing you to yelp. Then, he guided you to put a finger of your own inside you, along with his. 

“Eric,” You whimpered.

He continued to guide you, moving your hands together in and out of you at a slow pace. “Shhh, I need to get that tight little cunt of yours ready for me. Okay?”

He stuck another of his own fingers inside of you and all you could do was nod your head quickly. He took out your hand and began to pick up his pace with his fingers. With your moans, and grip on his shoulders, he could tell you were getting closer, begging for a release as you arched your back.

“Eric, please,” you mewled out.

“Please what?”

“I need you, all of you,” you begged.

He pulled out his fingered and positioned himself right at your entrance. “Alright, but only because you begged,” He said with a wink. 

Slowly, he began to push himself inside of you, cursing under his breath at how tight you were. Your nails dug into his shoulders and you buried your face in the crook of his neck. Eric gave you a moment to adjust to his size before he began to move, thrusting at an unbearably slow pace for you. You attempted to move your own hips, wrapping your legs around him. Knowing you needed more, Eric began to pick up the pace almost instantly, causing you to cry out loud. He slammed his mouth against yours, muffling your cries and your moans.

He was finally giving you what you needed, and you knew you’d be undone soon. You almost cried when he pulled out of you completely, until he slammed back into. You let out a loud scream and Eric groaned, feeling you tighten. He continued to pound into you, going harder each time until your body tensed up and you moaned his name loudly, finally hitting your high. Growing close himself, Eric’s thrust had a rhythm before, but now they grew ragged. Soon after you, he hit his climax, cumming inside of you. He proceeded to ride himself out in you and your breath slowly began going back to normal.

Pulling out of you, he placed a quick kiss on your lips. “I hope you know I’m never letting you go now,” He muttered.

“That’s fine because there’s no one else I want to go with.”

[chudleycanonficfest]

Day 26, Post #1 by @cheesyficwriter

Title: The Greatest Chapter 

Author: cheesyficwriter

Pairing: Harry/Ginny

Prompt: Moving in together

Rating: T

Trigger Warnings: None

Prompt: Moving in together 

  The Greatest Chapter

At age 10, I had the most embarrassing schoolgirl crush on Harry Potter. I'd see him and run in the opposite direction, painting the perfect image of me as a young girl who lacked the confidence needed to formulate words — any words — around someone I liked. 

Before getting to know Harry for who he really was, I was so infatuated with the idea of the Boy-Who-Lived. I wanted so desperately to be going to Hogwarts with Ron before I was old enough, knowing that Harry Potter would be there too. 

The way Harry took on a basilisk to save my life during my first year did nothing but solidify my growing feelings for him. My crush never really went away but instead transformed into a casual friendship based upon our shared experience in the Chamber of Secrets, a friendship that I was willing to accept at the time because I just wanted to be around him. 

As we grew up, I started to relax more in his presence. We gained a mutual respect for one another, exchanging laughs in the Great Hall and sharing in-jokes during Christmases at the Burrow. Those little moments, in between all of the chaos and turmoil of what used to be, helped me learn a few things about Harry that I wouldn’t have discovered otherwise — not even on the front page of The Daily Prophet.  

When I was younger, I admired Harry because I was under the impression that he possessed traits that I didn’t. I never imagined that I could be as brave, or courageous, or charismatic as he was to me. What surprised me the most about our developing friendship at Hogwarts was that there were far more similarities between us than differences. We shared the same wicked sense of humor — that I like to say I inherited from my plethora of brothers — yet could still hold my own during quick-witted battles, and I often found myself looking at Harry whenever something made me laugh, just to see if he was laughing, too. My stomach always spiraled when, more often than not, I found him looking back at me. We used our shared humor to our advantage, and I was thankful for that small respite in the midst of so much darkness. 

We shared the same values, both of us realizing the importance of family, friends, and love above everything else. It’s what we fought for every day, even when it seemed like we were too young to really know what love was. 

As our friendship continued, my romantic feelings for Harry were buried deep down in a place where I was once convinced they would stay. I decided to throw all of my energy into school, developing my skills as a witch, thus growing the confidence I needed along the way to put myself out there with other, more available boys. 

For years, we were caught up in our own lives, and it shocked me more than anyone to have captured Harry’s attention when I least expected it. From the first moment he kissed me, I never hesitated. All of those feelings I had attempted to bury came rushing back to the surface, like revealing a galleon that I had stashed at the bottom of my trunk. 

I will never forget those few stolen weeks we had together when I was 15 and he was 16. He described it as something out of someone else’s life, and at the time, I had thought that was all we would ever be. Time was fleeting, and there wasn’t enough of it. 

Harry had no choice but to dedicate his life to fighting for the wizarding world, and I was always determined to be right there beside him, up until the point where I couldn’t. I was smart enough to understand why he didn’t ask me to come with him. It was his mission. His, Ron’s, and Hermione’s. I didn’t often miss the times the three of them carried on by themselves, engaging in secret conversation and disappearing without the faintest clue of their whereabouts until much later. 

On that fateful day that Harry broke things off, I already knew what he was so desperately trying to convey to me. If I were to have accompanied him on the Horcrux hunt, it would’ve been me he was worried about instead of finding the pieces of Voldemort’s soul that were crucial to defeating him. 

That notion — although tragic in a sense — gave me more pleasure than the feeling of scoring an impossible goal during a Quidditch match. 

Regardless, Harry was never far from my mind those long months that he was gone. My childhood crush seemed silly at that point because I had gained so much more than a fleeting romance. 

As time passed, and Harry and I found our way back to each other after Voldemort's defeat, it took us a minute to catch our bearings and resume our relationship that we had put on an indefinite pause. 

It hadn’t always been easy dating him. In fact, dealing with the fame that Harry carried around with him from being a war hero had been a lot harder than I ever anticipated. But it was always unspoken that we managed, despite what any publishings had to say about us. 

I came to love him, not for being Harry Potter, but for who he truly was. His heart. His courage.  

As I stood reflecting on my relationship with Harry in the drawing room of 12 Grimmauld Place, I was overcome with emotion. Our relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was the one we were destined to have, and that made every hardship worth it. 

The room housed a large window overlooking the street, a charming — albeit dusty — fireplace, and ornate fixtures. For a person who just moved in, I felt like the house itself could have been in worse shape. Harry did an exceptional job keeping the place organized, especially for someone who, up until just a few days ago, lived there by himself. 

That’s not to say I hadn’t already spent plenty of nights at Grimmauld Place over the last couple of years. In fact, I probably spent more nights there than I did at the Burrow once I returned home from my final year at Hogwarts. 

It was during those nights that I discovered just a fraction of the pain Harry went through. He’d always been intensely emotional, and so many nights I spent shaking him from his residual nightmares of the trauma he went through, despite the wizarding world being in a much better place. I comforted him the best I could in those moments, determined to make it clear to him that I’m never letting go — not this time. 

I smiled to myself as I took a seat on the piano bench, observing the peeling paint from one of the large, cracked walls. We had a lot of work to do, but moving in together was a proper next step for us. 

"Gin? Are you home?" Harry’s voice carried through the dusty walls. 

Before I could respond, Harry was already standing in the open archway, head tilted to the side with curiosity etched across his face. “Were you just staring at a blank wall?”

I crossed my arms, determined not to let him know about my extensive reflection into our past. “So what if I was, Potter?”

He looked as if he wanted to question my retort further but instead joined me at the piano, bumping his shoulder with mine. 

“It’s a lot of fun coming home to you,” he admitted, the rich, melodic sound of the piano filling the open space from his fingertips pressing against one of the keys. 

“You know that’s practically how we were before, right? When was the last time we spent a night apart?”

Harry shrugged, and it was clear he never really thought about it. “Dunno, but it was one night too many, I reckon.”

I sighed, wanting to ask a question that had been weighing on my heart. “Do you find it odd that we’ve never really argued? I mean, even when you broke up with me-”

“Why must we go back to that?” Harry interrupted, a pained look crossing his face. 

I gave him a playful pat on the arm. I wanted our past to be something positive we could look back on and didn’t fancy dwelling on the shit times. 

“Shush. I’m just saying, even though it hurt a lot to not know where you were for almost a year, I always understood your decision. You had to go.”

Harry’s eyebrows knitted together, clearly still trying to work out the point of the conversation. “Where are you going with this?”

“I just-I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I rubbed my temple to ease my stressed-out mind. “I’m actually worried that we will never fight.”

“Oh, we’ll fight.”

I turned towards Harry, who was too busy fiddling with the piano keys to even look at me. He responded straight away, like he didn’t even have to think about it. “How can you be so certain?”

Harry snorted. “I’ve witnessed you get all hot-headed when you disagree with other people.” He sent me a dazzling grin, reaching out to trail his fingers through my stray ginger strands that hung loose from my ponytail. “You’ve got that fiery red hair. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Hey!”

“In fact,” Harry smirked with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I think you’re the most problematic person I know, Ginevra.”

Harry yelped when I pinched his forearm. “You prat.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to pull me closer. “In all seriousness, though, we’re going to be fine.”

I stared at him in awe but leaned into him. “You are so sure of yourself.”

He grabbed my shoulders, pivoting our bodies so that we were facing each other on the bench. “You wanna know how sure I am?”

Before I could respond or even react, he kissed me full on the mouth. He growled as our kiss intensified, and all at once, our positions shifted as I felt a sharp pain in my back from my body making contact with the piano keys with a resounding trill. I was left dizzy and breathless, snogging Harry as a wave of happiness resonated through me. 

When he pulled away, his fierce emerald eyes locked on mine set my mind ablaze. “Does that answer your question?”

I decided his question didn’t require a verbal response, so I simply attached my hand to the nape of his neck before dragging his face back to mine. We didn’t talk much for a while after that. 

I knew, perhaps more than anyone else, how much Harry desired moving forward from the past. I’m ready, too, to start the greatest chapter of our lives.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

By My Side (Part 8)

Summary: Jensen and the reader still feel as though something is wrong even after securing the team of people hired to come after them. But the pair will come to discover the threat has always been someone they never considered and some of their most important assumptions have been wrong the whole time...

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Jensen x reader

Word Count: 4,400ish

Warnings: language, angst, lying

A/N: Enjoy! ;)

_________

“Something seem odd about this whole thing or is it just me,” mumbled Jensen to you about an hour later back home, the team that was ready to come to your house that night in custody after they were seen at the same location the guy the night before came from.

“I think this guy knows we’d find the team. He’s still ahead of us,” you said.

“What’s the least rational thing we could do right now?” he asked.

“Go to the baby shower.”

“Then let’s go to the baby shower.”

“It’s already over.”

“Is there any Hollywood party or something tonight?”

“There’s a client manager party downtown,” you said. He smiled and you shook your head. “That’s way too dangerous.”

“Which is why he thinks we’d never go. He’s anticipating our rational moves so let’s be irrational,” said Jensen. “Let’s go out to a big party we couldn’t ever hope to control.”

“You think he’ll show up?” you asked.

“Tweet that you’re getting ready to head to the party right now. He’s gonna think you believe you’re in the clear and I got a feeling he’ll move in on his own,” said Jensen.

“You’ll need a tux,” you said.

“This is the part you’re not gonna like. I think you gotta go in alone,” he said. You swallowed but nodded. “You got this. Just don’t wear heels...and bring that knife I gave you.”

“What are you planning?” you asked.

“When you eliminate suspects, the impossible has to be the truth,” he said.

“I don’t get it.”

“I think I know who wants you, Y/N.”

“Who?” you asked. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath as the doorbell rang. Charlie answered the door, your parents and step-brothers walking in all looking very confused.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” said Jensen to your mom, cutting them off when they all started to speak at once. “Why don’t you explain what exactly happened to your first husband, Brian?”

“I don’t understand,” she said. She looked at you and you cocked your head. “Brian died years ago.”

“Yes, he did,” said Jensen, giving Chuck a harsh look. “Surprised you came here.”

“Excuse me?” he scoffed.

“Y/N’s life wasn’t in any danger until your wife started talking about moving out here, isn’t that right,” said Jensen. “I wonder why that is.”

“What the hell are you accusing me of? Trying to kill my daughter?”

“Oh, a lot worse than that,” said Jensen. “Guys.”

Jared and Benny were pushing the rest of your family away from Chuck quickly, Chuck’s face dark and his eyes nearly black looking.

“Jensen,” you said. “Chuck wouldn’t…” you trailed off, a foggy memory itching at the back of your skull. “You put the pool cover over me once when I was swimming, right when you and mom started dating.”

“That was an accident.”

“I don’t think so,” you said, grabbing your mom’s hand and pulling her over to you. 

“You used to hit us,” said Michael. You and your mom’s head’s whipped in his direction, Michael frowning. “When we were kids. You called it tough love but everything I know now as a lawyer, everything Nick knows from school psychology…”

He and Nick took a few steps away from their father, Chuck rolling his eyes.

“Guys! That was mom and I’s decision and yeah I screwed up and regret ever doing it but that’s all it was. Y/N, the pool was an accident and I was the one that pulled you out. You-”

“To make you look like a hero,” you said. “Was that your plan this time? Kidnap me, miraculously get in contact with the kidnapper and save me?”

“No! I would never hurt you, kiddo, you know-”

“But you’d hurt your sons,” you said. You looked over to Nick, swallowing to yourself. He nodded and you took a deep breath. “Nick was suicidal and you used to make jokes about that stuff. Did you know?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? No!” said Chuck, Michael’s face white as he looked at his brother.

“Nicky?” he said quietly. 

“I’m better now. It was a long time ago,” said Nick. 

“Boys, come here,” said your mom, the both of them getting away from their father, a few other members of Jensen’s old unit putting themselves between your family and Chuck. She gave Nick a hug and Michael too, shooting Chuck a dirty look. “I asked you about Nick years ago. You said you’d talked to him and he was okay. It was girl problems you said and you didn’t want me bringing it up to him.”

“He never did that,” said Nick. Chuck threw up his hands and spun around, placing his hands on his hips.

“Did you kill mom?” asked Michael. “Did you?”

Chuck turned back, face red and you laughed, his gaze turning on you.

“She died in a car accident for fucks sakes! Nick almost died too! I would never hurt her.”

“You’re a good actor but not that good,” you said. “He’s lying about something.”

“This bodyguard, this fucked up guy-” said Chuck, shaking his head. “He’s insane and he’s feeding into all of this. None of it is true. None of it. I should have talked to Nick instead of brushing it under the rug but-”

“Call my friend fucked up again and see what happens,” said Jared, his eyes narrowing.

“What is happening! This is all insane!” said Chuck. 

“How did you meet Chuck?” asked Jensen to your mom. “He meet you on a bad day? Do something very gentlemanly but it reminded you of Brian?”

“How do you know that,” she asked quietly. Jensen nodded and took a deep breath. She shook her head and he sighed. “He...Brian saved a woman from a mugging.”

“A mugging that was staged,” said Jensen. “Chuck wanted you. He wanted your attention. His wife was in the way. Your husband. The kids would have been too much so he left them alone, left the three of them to raise themselves. Now that you might be close to Y/N again, the idea of sharing you like any other sane person on the planet got to be a bit too much, didn’t it Chuck?”

“I don’t know where you came up with this crazy idea to turn my family against me, kid,” said Chuck. “None of that is true. It’s all a crazy theory in his head! I’m not perfect, I never said I was. But I love my family. I loved my wife. He’s the one with the insane theories. He’s the one that’s nuts. The guy was freaking tortured for a month, you think he’s gonna be all there after that?”

“How would you know that,” asked Jensen, keeping his head high as you stared at him and swallowed, thinking of the small scar on his back. “No one aside from my old team members and military personnel would know that. Wouldn’t even pop up on a background check. Y/N doesn’t even know that. But somehow her family man step-father does. I think we’d all be curious to know how it is you know so much about me, Chuck. Big fan? Or was I supposed to get the treatment some other family members got, hm?”

“What are you talking about? You told me!” said Chuck.

“I never-”

“You called me the other night and we got talking and you told me a bit about your background and-” said Chuck, Jensen turning around. “You’re saying that wasn’t you cause it sounded a hell of a lot-”

“No, Chuck, it wasn’t him,” you said. “What is going on, Jensen?”

“The impossible,” said Jensen, his head turning in every direction. “I was right about it being your dad. I was wrong about what one though.”

Quiet footsteps came from down the hall, a tall figure popping out into view.

“Everybody went to such a fuss for me it seems,” he said.

“Brian?” asked your mom, eyes wide.

“Dad?” you said. He smiled and you returned it, walking over to him, Chuck grabbing you quickly before Jensen could and shoving you back at him.

“Thanks,” said Jensen, Chuck still scowling.

“Oh, you’re on my shit list for a long time after tonight,” said Chuck.

“Understood,” said Jensen. You didn’t understand and tried to move away but Jensen pinned you back against his chest. 

“Jensen, it’s my dad. I want-”

“S’okay, buttercup. I think your boyfriend is a little confused is all. Nothing nefarious is going on at all,” he said.

“But...the team and the guy that broke in…” you said.

“Actors hired by your bodyguard to perpetuate this fantasy he has of escalating the supposed danger in your life.”

“But I shot a guy last night,” you said.

“With a rubber bullet. He was fine. Have you ever been in any real danger? Or just think you were?” he asked.

“Where have you been?” asked your mom as you moved away from Jensen.

“Witness protection. Mugging I got involved in had to do with some drug syndicate. Very, messy, brutal, scary men that would do horrible things to you girls if they knew I had a family. I had to die and go live a new life,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m happy you found Chuck and the boys. You guys deserved to be happy.”

You looked back at Jensen and he shook his head. 

“I’m not wrong. It’s…” trailed off Jensen. “Somebody’s lying but it’s not me.”

“You were wrong about Chuck just now. You accused him and made us all think...and now you’re going after my dad just like that.”

“I knew it had to be your father. I assumed it was the one I thought was alive. It’s got to be Brian then. It has to be.”

“You’ve been wrong a lot,” said Chuck. “It’s entirely possible your boyfriend wanted to be the hero, Y/N, not me. Save a rising Hollywood star? I’m sure that looks good on a resume.”

“Y/N,” said Jensen as everyone cleared away from him. You shrugged when he tried to touch your arm, inching back. “Y/N, I told you this guy is smart. Smarter than me. This was his goal all along, to make you not trust me and get you alone.”

“Charlie, can you please look up and see if my father was in witness protection,” you asked. She hummed and the house was quiet for a few minutes until she walked back over with her computer. “Yes?”

“He got out just recently. He’s been job searching. Your manager appears to have just hired him this week for lawn maintenance. He was supposed to start his first shift tomorrow morning which explains how he got inside,” she said quietly.

“I was going to surprise you,” said your dad. “I actually am a heck of a landscaper now.”

“You were a software engineer,” said your mom.

“I didn’t get to choose my job exactly,” he chuckled softly.

“Y/N, just because he was in witness protection-”

“Jensen, please be quiet,” you said. He snapped his jaw shut but you saw his eyes pleading for you to believe him. “Jared, help Jensen pack his things. I no longer require his services. Leave now Jensen and I won’t press charges for this charade.”

“Y/N, I swear,” said Jensen, quickly glancing at his former teammates. “Guys, you know I wouldn’t-”

“You don’t make mistakes like that,” said Ash quietly. “I’ve never seen you make a mistake that big.”

“Unless you did it on purpose,” said Benny. “For what? I don’t know. Impress the girl? I don’t know what’s going through your head, brother.”

“Jared…” said Jensen but Jared kept his head down.

“Pack up your stuff Jensen. Don’t make us do it for you.”

Jensen dropped his head but headed up to his room. You excused yourself outside for some air and jogged around to the side of the house, throwing a few pebbles at the window. It opened after a minute and Jensen poked his head outside. 

“I believe you!” you said as loudly as you dared. His face instantly relaxed and he dropped his head down. “Sorry, I had to make it seem like I didn’t. I don’t buy my dad coming back magically just like that.”

“God, you don’t know how happy I am to hear that,” he said just as you saw Jared round the corner. You stared at him and he looked up, a small smile breaking onto his face. “You were acting too?”

“Of course. We all were. Brian’s shady as fuck, especially with somehow already being in the house? Let’s let him keep thinking he has the upper hand and then we get him when the timing is right,” said Jared.

“Jens,” you said, as he nodded. “I don’t care if you got kidnapped and tortured or anything you know. You’re still the strongest guy in the world to me.”

He smiled and you heard Jared groan beside you.

“Get a room you two,” he said.

“Jared, you watch her ass for me,” said Jensen.

“I will. Stick close by. We’re gonna need you when Brian shows his true colors.”

“Do you think he’ll hurt me?” you asked.

“No,” said Jensen. “I think he wants the time he lost with you back but he’s different now. Either way, I want to find out how someone in witness protection got my personnel file.”

“We’ll find out. Maybe think of ways to apologize to Chuck while you’re at it. We’re in for an awkward thanksgiving from the sounds of it,” you said. 

“Yeah, sorry about the whole...accusing your step dad of murder thing. He didn’t make the best case for himself,” he said.

“I’m okay with it. He’ll forgive you. He wasn’t the world’s best dad anyways. Still better than Brian though it seems.”

“Sorry you got all the shitty luck,” said Jensen.

“It’s alright. Be safe, Jay,” you said.

“You too guys. I’ll be close by. Hopefully I won’t be gone for long.”

The Next Morning

“Hey,” you said, Jared giving you a nod from the kitchen island. “Where’s my dad?”

“Having coffee out back. I sent the team to my house to crash and get some work done,” he said with a look. “It’s just your family here apart from me.”

“I need to be alone with him Jared if he’s going to make a move,” you said.

“I’d much rather we let the team research and find out how he got Jensen’s file and paid for those people to come and take you first. We get evidence, that’s all we need and it avoids you being kidnapped.”

“Or we isolate me and I get close to him and make him think I hate the rest of them and he won’t drag me off to the middle of nowhere. It’d just be me and him here,” you said.

“Go slow with it,” he said. “For all our sakes.”

“I understand,” you said. Jared finished off his cup of coffee and stood up. “Did you ever doubt Jensen?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve had a gut feeling about him since I met him. A good one.”

“Gen and I talk about you two. You look at each other...even when you weren’t getting along, we knew. You’re both as much as suckers as we were at the stage in the game,” he said.

“I’m happy you got him out of whatever bad place he was in,” you said.

“I got him physically out. The mental scars, those don’t go away. But he seems to forget about them a lot more since he’s hung around with you,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, he was doing okay and relatively happy. But last night...that meant the world to him that you still have faith in him.”

“I never stopped,” you said.

“Y/N, the reason he got in that shitty position in the first place is because he’s a good person that wouldn’t be swayed to do the wrong thing. He knew when he was going against his unit he was setting himself up for a world of pain. He respects good people being good more than you can realize.”

“Keep an eye on him for me until this done?”

“Always do,” he said. “Good luck out there.”

“Thanks.”

You headed outside and found your dad sitting at the patio table, a cup of half drunk coffee set on the glass top.

“Morning,” you said, taking a seat beside him. He smiled and made some more space for you.

“Morning. Sleep okay?” he asked.

“Not really. Last night was intense,” you said. He lowered his head and played with the mug for a moment. “Dad.”

“If I told you a secret, would you keep it from your boyfriend?” he asked. You swallowed and he smirked. “It’s not going to take too long for your friends to find out my witness protection story is bullshit.”

“What’s the real story,” you said, sliding your pocket knife out of your pocket.

“Good. You carry a weapon on you,” he said, taking another sip of coffee. “This is good shit.”

“It’s imported. What’s the real story dad. Who wants to hurt me?” you asked.

“Your original manager did that whole event for a publicity stunt. It’s a separate event from what’s happening now. You were unfortunate, or fortunate depending on how you look at it, to have hired Jensen as your bodyguard. The kid needs you.”

“He’s the target, isn’t he, not me.”

“Yes. He’s always been the target. Why do you think they tried to knock you out and secure him? He’s the one they want.”

“How do you know that?”

“I read the police file.”

“How-”

“Y/N, I was never a software engineer. Your mother and you thought I was. You guys thought I was regular Brian. Regular little league coach, regular brags about his burgers on the grill, above average nerdy Brian. Don’t get me wrong. I’m all those things but there was a part of my life you never knew about.”

“Why arere you here?” you asked quietly.

“I had a different job but after the mugging, that’s all it was, I was injured and it got to the point of I could stop my job completely or I could put my wife and child through an inexcusable amount of pain and do something to help people, something no one ever knows about.”

“Daddy, what’s your job?”

“I protect people like Jensen. The good guys. The ones that stop crimes and do what’s right. I’ve been tailing him the past six months. Someone from his past was going to come back which is how he got on my radar and sadly they are very much after him. My job is to stop those people before my protectee even knows I exist. This is a unique situation with you being here though so we changed game plans and I exposed myself. I had to isolate Jensen. He’ll be targeted and my team will be waiting to catch this guy.”

“How do I believe you?” you asked.

“Kiddo, it’s okay if you don’t believe me. I’ve gotten used to the fact that I lost you a long time ago. I know I fucked things up with mom and the boys and Chuck and there was a lot of manipulation on my end too to get Jensen to make the assumptions he did last night. They were good assumptions, Y/N and I led him down that path without him realizing. I’m sorry for that. But my job is to make sure he stays safe and that’s all I can do.”

“I gave him your hoodie,” you said, putting the knife away and crossing your arms. “It was supposed to be your birthday present.”

“I saw it in your closet when I was doing laundry that day the mugging happened. Looks better on him,” he said.

“What, you a spy or some shit,” you said.

“I was a simple...analyst if we want to call it that,” he said. “Desk job. Completely safe. I didn’t start running around in dark corners until later. The mugging was just a mugging. I wanted to help that woman and I nearly died for it. On paper I had to. Life wasn’t supposed to go this way but it’s how it went. I choose that over you and mom and I’m sorry.”

“What makes Jensen so special?”

“He stopped a lot of people from getting killed because he wouldn’t accept an enormously large and tempting payout. He turned in his entire team. His team didn’t like that and contacted a group of bad people, told them he was the one that fucked up their plans before they all got arrested. He got jumped coming back from dinner out one night. One of those team members recently got parole for providing very important information on another case. Jensen was then at risk at that point. He got this other guy thrown in a shithole and it was Jensen’s presumption that he’d never be released and sadly that’s not the case. My group watches those at risk people and we intervene if revenge seems likely.”

“You make it really hard to be pissed off at you for everything when you’re like, trying to save my boyfriend,” you said.

“I was at your graduation,” he said. You turned your head and he smiled. “And your first day on set of your show. I might have veered Chuck into mom’s life after a chat at a bar. I thought he’d be good to her.”

“Why didn’t you just come out of the shadows?” you asked.

“Because the world unfortunately needs people to do what I do. It’s not glamorous. No one knows we exist. But it’s important. It’s important that people that do the right thing have the opportunity to live good lives.”

“Once again, how do I trust that you’re telling the truth?” you asked.

“You don’t have to trust me. It’s okay. I’m sure this individual will make a move on Jensen this morning. When Jensen walks back in this house, you’ll know I was telling the truth.”

“If you’re telling the truth, then what? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m getting kind of old to be running around,” he smiled. “I’m looking at retirement. Maybe a little cabin up near Seattle. I wouldn’t mind that.”

“LA’s big,” you heard behind you. “I’m sure we could find room for you here.”

You turned in your seat and saw Jensen standing there, a tired smile on his face.

“You could have let me in on the secret, Brian,” said Jensen as he gave you a hug and quick kiss. “Instead of making me look like a jackass last night.”

“Had to get you alone. Sorry about that,” he said. Jensen took a seat beside you, leaning forward and staring at him. “Hall’s dealt with I assume.”

“He was the only one left,” said Jensen. “How did you ever even know about me?”

“Don’t ask questions you know I can’t answer,” he said. “Sorry for using you as bait.”

“Better me than her,” said Jensen. 

“I better get out of here,” he said, getting to his feet. You hopped up, your dad stopping in his tracks. “What?”

“You gotta explain to everybody what happened. Everybody,” you said.

“Alright. It’s probably best if I leave after that though,” he said. “I got involved too much as is.”

“If you’re retiring, why can’t you stay?” asked Jensen. “I eavesdropped.”

“I’m not cruel,” he said. “My wife and daughter moved on.”

“You’ve missed the past twenty years of my life. Since I was eight years old you were gone. I don’t want you to go,” you said.

“I can do so much, Y/N. But I can’t watch your mom love another man up close and personal like that all the time. I wouldn’t do it to them.”

“I think after everything, she gets what she wants, Brian,” said Jensen. “Your family is much more resilient than you give them credit for.”

“I have a few loose ends to tie up but I’ll be around more,” he said. He looked inside through the back door and nodded. “People are waking up. I think if we’re gonna do this, might as well do it now.”

“Dad,” you said as he walked inside. “I knew you were lying last night but I didn’t think you were a bad guy if that makes sense.”

“Really?” he asked.

“She takes after her brave and loyal father,” said Jensen, his arms wrapping you. “Sue her.”

“Alright, alright. You’re making coffee kid. I’m gonna need more to get through this.”

______

A/N: Read the Final part here!

[lupically]

#97DB88 | BENNETT.

genre | angst, (unofficially) soulmate au

word count | 1885

warning | none

note | hello anon (ˊ•͈ ◡ •͈ˋ) thank you so much for requesting! i hope this is what you are going for (even though... soulmate aus are usually more fluff than angst...)!

request | from anon

the portal stood in the middle of the storm, swirling, haunting, tempting.

the stormterror had descended without a warning, creating a massive storm in mondstadt that was impossible to miss even from miles away. you and bennett were lucky enough to have been able to head back behind city walls before the wind barrier took over and created a dome around the living space.

it was not safe inside the city, but compared to being stranded outside, you two would much rather be with the others on the inside.

your first plan was to find fischl just in case that girl would get herself stuck in some trouble. you two made it past the stairs, which took some mighty effort because of the strong whirlwind, and you were about to follow bennett and head to one of the residential buildings when a familiar fight caught the corner of your eye.

you stopped to take a closer look at it.

a portal.

no, not just any portal.

it was the same portal that appeared on the roof of your apartment building back on earth, it was the same portal you recklessly entered before you found yourself in mondstadt, your body hitting the head of an unfortunate boy you have now come to know as a loyal friend.

clutching your fists together, you huffed out a breath of immense disbelief as you glared at the blue-black object.

you, and bennett, have been through heaven and hell trying to find a way back to where you belong. for a while, after all the errors and failures, you had even thought about waving your earthly life a farewell and simply settling in mondstadt for the rest of your life.

the thought of staying in mondstadt was not too bad of an idea, of course. the future you could pursue in teyvat with a vision and a sword was infinitely more interesting and exciting than the future you could have chased on earth with a textbook and a degree.

not to mention your friendship with bennett was surely an irreplaceable one. you two have ventured into dark forests together, solved ancient puzzles, and held your hands through dungeons with each other. but, most importantly, whenever night flows and you two would giggle in his bedroom, with you sleeping on his bed and him laying on a mattress set on the ground just next to it.

you have shared nights with him for so long now, you were unsure if you could ever fill the hole of his shape in your earth bedroom.

but, still, you could never abandon the thought of leaving your family and your friends behind; people who have raised and loved you, as well as people you grew up with. your heart would not let you forget the memories you have made with them. whenever you are close to giving up, reminiscence brushes past your body and brings you the smell of your mother's smell and the sound of your best friend's laugher.

ah... just when you thought you were returning home again, here you were, standing before the gateway back to earth in the middle of a dragon's tantrum. if you had plans to go back to earth now, this would be your chance.

flashes of your childhood memories occupied your mind as you took a brave step forward, then another, and another. visions of your friends and your family flooded into your head as you made your way against the stormterror's wind; you were smiling and thinking about the exciting reunion with your pets, or even the disbelieving looks you would get from your best friend when you tell them about mondstadt, about teyvat, about archons and dragons.

just a few more steps and you would be home. just a few more—

"[name]!"

a hand curled around your wrist and halted your movement. you turned around immediately, your gaze shaking with returning light when you found bennett behind you.

he has his hand up to his face, a poor attempt to block out the wind that continuously blew dust and air into his squinted eyes. looking at you, his gaze was nothing short of urgent. "what are you doing? we should head home and take cover! we can't fight the stormterror!"

"i... bennett... i found..." you looked at him, then you nudged your head behind your shoulder at the blazing portal, "the portal... i found the portal..."

he stared at you for a second. his eyes moved between you and the oval-shaped portal emitting vividly behind you. the gears turned in his head before, against all odds that burned in his chest, he perked up and tightened his grip on your wrist excitedly.

"the portal!" he exclaimed, his eyes deadly focused on the floating object. "like the one we have been looking for? the one that can send you home?"

"yeah." you nodded.

"that's good, isn't it? we have been searching for it for so long!" he said, shaking your arm excitedly as the concept of departure took its sweet time to settle in his head. "you can go home!"

you softened. "i can go home."

you felt a heavy churning in your stomach as soon as you saw bennett—the first person you met on this unthinkable journey. albeit you actually dropped onto him when you fell from the sky so the first encounter was against both of your will, he was still your first friend in teyvat, and he has stuck with you ever since.

your journey together replayed like an adventure movie in your head. his willingness to look for an exit with you, his selflessness in choosing to take care of you, his protectiveness whenever you both encounter danger along the way—bennett has truly been the kindest to you, and you weren't sure if you could deal with missing him when you leave.

as if he could read your mind (you would not be surprised if he actually could), bennett flashed you a bright smile—always, always a bright smile—as he took your hands in his carefully and held it before his chest. there was laugher in his voice, a form of boyish relaxation that only he would be able to exude underneath the wrath of his unfortunate destiny.

"now, now! you better not be hesitating about going back home, [name]!" he said in a scolding manner. "as much as i want you to stay in mondstadt with me, i don't think i can be selfish enough to hold you back from being with your family again."

"well, i for one know that... if the situation is reversed and i was in your family's shoes..." he hummed and rolled his eyes up in thought, then he returned to his grin. "it would be great that you met new friends somewhere else, but ultimately, i would still want you to come back home, so i think your parents may be thinking the same thing too!"

you pursed your lips together.

you knew he was just saying it to make you feel better about wanting to leave. you knew him just as much as he knew you, and you could read him just as clearly as he could read him.

there was a glassy plain of tears before his eyes, wobbling in front of the beautiful jade windows. he was not smiling with his eyes, either, like he always does whenever he was with you.

it took minimal cues for you to understand that it was straining him to pretend as if he was happy and dandy about you going home, but somehow he kept on the happy facade even though it was tearing him to shreds.

because bennett saw in your hesitation that you were not having trouble deciding because you wanted to be with him more than you wanted to go home, but because you were worried that he would be left alone after your departure. it was not because of him, personally, that you felt reluctant, and that alone was enough for bennett to let you go.

if you had hesitated because you wanted to be with him, he would have fought for you to stay with all he could. but you didn't, he could see; even though you two were so close, even though the proximity of your souls were vivid and warm, there was a more familiar home for you somewhere else.

bennett only wanted you to be comfortable and happy back where you could feel like you belong. if it was eath that could provide it, he can let you go. he can do that.

"you're not leaving me alone, [name]," he said, "so don't worry. i'll be okay."

you two have talked about it once. the unlikely coincidence that he was the person you fall onto out of everyone else in mondstadt, and the uncanny chance that you two managed to hit it off so well too. you two were like souls that were crafted together and got lost on the path to existence; soulmates separated by time and dimensions, but soulmates, nonetheless.

if bennett could just remember that.

"it's your home," he whispered.

"it's my home," you repeated softly, gripping his hands back.

taking a step forward, you released his hands and reached up for your hair. you took off the clip you have been using to keep your hair away from your eyes, then you moved forward and carefully placed it into bennett's hair. your hand slowly glided the side of his face, your eyes focused on his features to engrave his face in your memory. when your finger reached the tip of his jaw, you leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"thank you so much for everything, bennett," you said.

"i–ah! you're wel–welcome," he mumbled as he fidgetted nervously.

ah! this is the worst circumstance to be kissed for the first time!

he was quick to collect himself and grinned at you. he was smiling from his eyes this time. "well, what are you waiting for? off you go, now!"

your lips quirked down into a bitter smile. your legs felt heavy when they knew they were to walk away from bennett. standing on your spot, you gently pressed your forehead against his, bumping against his goggles lightly as you whispered a tender farewell. 

and he stood in the middle of the storm to make sure you left with the portal before he could dare himself to find shelter. bennett smiled to himself when the portal disappeared from before the water fountain; he was officially standing in a mondstadt without you.

as he turned around to look for shelter, he reminded himself to remember the soulmate theory you two established playfully together.

soulmates who are separated, soulmates who are far away, but all is well despite that, because he will kiss you from a thousand worlds away if he has to, and he will hold you through all the time and spaces the universe could offer. if given the chance, if one day the universe decides to fight for your reunion again, he will run, fly, crawl to you.

"soulmates," bennett whispered under his breath, and before he made his way to someone hiding in a restaurant, he wiped away the tears that rolled down his cheeks.

[writing-red]

The Daughter of the Dog | 1

Fred Weasley x SirusBlacksDaughter!Reader

Summary: That fateful night that would wrongfully land him in Azkaban Sirius Black left his three-year-old daughter at the door of her godfather, Remus Lupin. Now as she enters her fifth year at Hogwarts she is a-fronted by her peers and their outward fear of her presence.

Warnings: bullying, cussing, slow burn relationship, bullying, asshole teachers (Snape.)

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: If y’all like this I’ll continue on with this :)

chapter one, chapter two

“Remus you can’t make me go to school this year. Everyone there already hates me, and now that dad is all over the Daily Prophet, it’ll all just be worse,” you made your case to your godfather for the hundredth time this summer since your father had broken out of Azkaban.

“Y/n, you have friends who will have your back,” Remus said, he felt terrible, and he knew you were right, but he also knew how important it was for you to be at Hogwarts. “I’ll be there, and Dumbledore and McGonagall will make sure nothing happens.”

“Gryffindor’s aren’t as nice as you think they are,” you retorted. “And I do not have friends, that’s a joke. Everyone despises me, even some of my bloody professors hate me,” you were particularly referencing Snape who’d had it out for you since your name had been called for sorting your first year.

“That’s impossible, of course, you have friends, what about the twins?” he asked, and you ignored him. It was true that you were close with Fred and George, but you felt that virtually everyone other than those two Weasley’s hated you.

“I’m glad you, dad, and Uncle James were just so popular when you went to school, and everyone just bloody loved you, but it isn’t the same for me,” you said, finally deciding you were done with the argument and storming upstairs, you knew that Remus wasn’t going to budge about his decision, but you’d put up as much of a stink as you could, and being that September 1st was only a week away you figured your case had failed.

Remus let you storm out, you were fifteen, and he understood that you were going through a lot. Not only were you a teenager and dealing with all of the joys of puberty, but you were the daughter of an assumed murderer, which couldn’t make school much fun. He could only imagine the ways your peers used that to torment you. He couldn’t forget the minuscule things James and Sirius would agonize Severus Snape over when they had been in school. On top of all that, twelve years ago, your father had left you on Remus’ doorstep with a note on your forehead that read:

‘Peter rated out James and Lily, I’m going to Godrics Hollow, if anything happens, take care of Y/n, she doesn’t have anyone else.’

He was right, your mother had died at the hands of Lucius Malfoy before your first birthday, and her parents had died long ago, Sirius didn’t want you anywhere near his parents, neither Sirius nor your mother had living siblings, and Remus was your only named Godparent. You grew up with both of your parents, and all of your family ripped away from you. You had been left only with good memories of the man the world was trying to tell you was evil and a note you had used as evidence of his innocence.

Despite everything, Remus didn’t mind having you around in the least, you were a carbon copy of your parents, just an absolute firecracker, and he loved you just as much as your parents had. While he anticipated his situation to be a problem it wasn’t, as whenever necessary, Molly Weasley would take you in for however long Remus needed. However, your third year, you took a page out of your father’s book, and while at school, you learned how to become an animagus on your own, so that when you returned home that summer, you were able to stay with your godfather though all of his sessions, and help. Remus found as you grew up that you took care of him as much as he took care of you, he was eternally grateful to have you in his life. Now, with everything going on in your life and all the trauma you had ensued, he couldn’t blame you for lashing out. He just wished he could be of more help.

You didn’t argue with Remus about going to school again, and on August 31st, you begrudgingly packed up your trunk in anticipation of your journey to Hogwarts. You and Remus lived in a house you had inherited from your mother in Burford, West Oxfordshire, it was far enough outside town to be safe for Remus, and it was protected with old magic as it had been in your family for centuries. Being that it’s only over an hour-long drive to London, Remus usually drove you to King’s Cross, but since he was going with you to Hogwarts this year, you both took an early train to London, arriving in perfect time to catch the Hogwarts Express.

When you boarded the train, you split ways with Remus as you were due in the prefect compartment so that you could do your rounds. Prefect duty was another thing you were dreading this year, you were sure that no one would be willing to listen to you considering your situation, and you genuinely had no clue why Professor McGonagall wanted you as a prefect anyways.

During your round, you found that your assumptions were correct, no one would listen to you, and you only found yourself getting angry every time you noticed a copy of the Daily Prophet with your father’s mugshot on the cover. He hadn’t aided in the murder of your Uncle James and Aunt Lily, he hadn’t a reason to, James had been his best friend. Not only that, but nobody knew half the story you and Remus knew, but of course, no one wanted to listen to you, and the only evidence you had was the note he had left on your forehead, which was, of course, deemed unreliable. You were sure Peter was out there somewhere, and you were optimistic that if you could find him, you would be able to clear your father’s name, but you had no clue where you could start.

You past by the compartment Harry, Ron, and Hermione frequented to find your godfather sleeping in the corner, that man did love his naps, although you were curious why they had chosen to sit in a compartment with a sleeping professor in it, but you brushed it off. The three had a knack for making odd decisions that never failed to land them into trouble of some sort.

You continued walking down the corridor, keeping to yourself, not finding anyone to be breaking any severe rules. You had decided that as a prefect, your policy would be that if it wasn’t happening in front of you, you wouldn’t report it. After experiencing Percy Weasley’s tyrannical rain, the last thing you wanted was to subject other students to such tyranny. You remained in your thoughts till you passed by Draco Malfoy’s compartment, where the door was wide open.

“Oi! Black!” You heard Malfoy yell as you approached his compartment. “Surprised, they let you come this year considering your murderer father is loose.”

You elected to ignore him and continue walking, biting back the insults you wanted so badly to throw back.

“Or I guess you’re nothing like your father, more the chicken type like your pathetic moth-”

You swung around, resisting the urge the pull your wand out and land a nasty jinx on the prick, “You’re one to speak Malfoy, considering your father is a cowardly murderer who hides behind money and lies. Now, if you want to lose another twenty points from Slytherin before we even arrive at Hogwarts, I suggest you keep running your mouth,” you said without breaking a sweat, silence from Malfoy and his posse following. “I thought so,” you said before continuing on your round.

You made it to the end of the train and turned around to do your final walkthrough you intended to stop into the section Remus was in and see if he had awoken. As you walked down the corridor, you noted the cold fog that rolled alongside the train, the ride to Hogwarts was rarely this cold. As you approached the compartment door, the train came to a screeching halt, and you were thrown up against the door, startling its occupants. You hurried to your feet and entered as Harry Potter opened the door.

“What’s going on?” Ron Weasley asked. You stood back against the door as the lights in the train flickered out.

“I know just as much as you do,” you said, trying your best to push aside any fear.

From his seat, Harry was giving you a weird look. Meanwhile, Ron pressed himself against the window that had begun frosting.

“Ouch, Ron, that was my foot,” Hermione complained.

Ron ignored his clumsiness, concerned with whatever he saw outside the train, “There’s something moving out there.”

With that, the lights turned on and then off again, the train rocking and ice encapsulating the carriage. No longer trusting your own legs, you rushed to take a seat on the bench Harry and Remus were on, though you kept your distance, still grimly aware of the rumours that had been flying around the train regarding your father. Although, your thoughts were stopped as the train halted again, and your breath turned to ice.

“Bloody hell! What’s happening?” Ron cried.

All of your heads turned to the carriage’s door as a lanky robed creature with a hand like that of a skeleton’s slowly eased opened the door. As it approached, you could feel nothing but true sadness echo through your body and mind. It was a coldness you felt would never leave you. The thing you recognized as a dementor entered, looming off of the ground and ignoring everything but you and Harry. The dementor paused as if unsure of which one of you was worth its time. Discerning what was happening and uncertain of what else to do, you rose to your feet to act as a barrier between Harry and the dementor. As a result of your action, and your misery now clear to the creature, it started to feed off of you. At some point, you saw a blast of bright light, but the second it and the dementor disappeared, your fainted, falling to the floor.

“Y/n, Harry?” you heard Hermione’s voice as your eyes flickered open. “Professor are they going to be alright?”

You rose to a seated position to find yourself lying on the floor, Harry on the bench above you, Ron crunched in his corner, a very concerned Hermione Granger hovering over you, and Remus ready with a bit of chocolate as always.

“Here, eat this, it’ll help,” he said as he offered you and Harry the chocolate which you graciously took.

“What was that thing that came?” Harry asked.

“It was a dementor, one of the guards of Azkaban,” He explained to Harry before looking at you, “It’s gone now,” he assured before turning back to Harry to finish answering his question. “It was searching the train for Sirius Black.”

You swallowed your bite of the chocolate quite loudly, uncomfortable with the information at hand.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to have a little word with the driver,” Remus rose, leaving the chocolate bar with you. “Eat, you’ll feel better.” Remus assured Harry before leaving and heading to the front of the train.

You broke the chocolate bar in half and gave it to Harry, “It does help.”

“Harry fainted just after you did,” Hermione explained. You had quickly noticed before fainting that the dementor didn’t affect Ron or Hermione half as much as it had you and Harry.

“What exactly happened?” Harry asked as he took a bite of the chocolate.

“Well, after Y/n fainted, you went rigid, we thought you were having- well a fit or something,” Ron explained.

“Dementors feed on feelings of depression and despair,” you explained.

“Is that why-”

“You felt like you could never be happy again?” you finished Ron’s thought and nodded. “Exactly.”

“But someone was screaming,” Harry said, the memory alive in his eyes. “A woman.”

“No one was screaming, Harry,” said Hermione.

“I heard screaming too,” you said, looking over at him. A silence settled over the carriage once more, causing the reality of your parentage to come crashing over you yet again. You shakily rose to your feet, not exactly well just yet. “I should be going- prefect, duty- let me know if you need anything else.” And before anyone could protest, you were out of the compartment and walking back down the train corridor.

Before you could very much think about it, you entered Fred and George’s compartment, quite unsure of where else you might have been welcome.

“Y/n!” The twins chimed when you entered.

“Sit,” Fred started

“Yeah,” George said.

“We’ve got a question for you,” they finished together.

“A question, for me? Now, what would that be?” You asked as you squeezed onto the bench in between the two despite the empty one just across from you. Although, you assumed Lee Jordan had been sitting there and was just off to use the loo as his bag was up above that spot.

“We’ll show you, but you’ve got to promise us you won’t show anybody,” George said as he pulled something out of his pocket.

“Anybody,” Fred echoed.

“I won’t show anybody, promise,” You spoke in the same playfully serious tone as the twins while George placed a blank piece of folded parchment onto your lap.

Fred placed the tip of his wand onto the map but caught your eye and held eye contact with you as he said, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” winking at you as he finished.

Before you maroon lines and lettering unfurled, curling onto the parchment.

‘The Marauders Map’

A smile found its way onto your face as you realized what was before you. Your eyes lighting up as they followed the script that started to write out names you recognized instantly.

‘Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot & Prongs are proud to present,’

Your smile widened, you knew exactly what this was. Remus had told you plenty of stories of his and your fathers’ school antics, and the Marauders Map was often mentioned.

“Now, Black,” said George.

“That smile seems to say something,” said Fred.

“We’ve got a feeling,” they continued in unison. “That you know who created this masterpiece.”

You looked up at the two of them, your smile not at all lost. “What’s it to you?” you asked. Of course, you knew, but you loved messing around with them.

“Pure curiosity,” Fred smirked.

“Even if I do know who Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are, why should I tell you two?” You asked.

“Because you looove Fred,” George said, and you shot him a glare that easily could have killed him right where he sat. “Because we’re your favorite people at Hogwarts?” He said, quick to edit his sentence.

“Alright, but I want you to let me in on all of your pranks this year. Think about the benefits of having a prefect on your side,” you said, then smoothly leaning forward to allow the twins to deliberate in peace. They caught on in a matter of seconds.

“She’s not wrong,” started Fred, and he rested back against the seat.

“And she’s quite smart,” continued George, following his twin.

“And she has information we want.”

“And you do love her,” George teased his twin.

“And we can trust her,” Fred added in an attempt to ignore George’s jab at his long-standing crush.

“Alright then,” the twins said in harmony, and you all resumed your previous positions. “Who is it?” They asked you.

“Peter Pettigrew,” you started. “Remus Lupin, James Potter,” they breathed in, obviously not having expected to hear the name of Harry’s dad. “And Sirius Black.” You said, your chest swelling with pride.

“Your dad!” started Fred excitedly

“Was a marauder?” They asked at once, and you nodded.

“Well, that makes you pranking royalty,” George said and mocked a bow.

“I would say it does, now I am excited to be working with you two gentlemen this year.”

“We are honored to be in your presence, oh Queen of the Pranks,” Fred got off of his seat and turned to give you a proper bow, prompting another giggle from you, which you didn’t notice Fred blush bright red.

“Boys we have some work to do,” you said, offering your hand as you had seen Queens do before to Fred. He took your hand and gently placed a kiss on it, this time causing a soft blush to rise to your cheeks.

Your train ride continued to be full of playful banter between the four of you, the boys full of questions about your dad’s time at Hogwarts, and you were excited to answer them as best you could. Although in the end, you couldn’t help but be entirely grateful that Fred and George hadn’t written you off along with the rest of the school, even more thankful that they hadn’t also written off your dad. When you arrived at the school, you shared a carriage with the twins, Lee Jordan, and Angelina Johnson, none of whom seemed bothered by your presence. It appeared for the moment that this year wouldn’t be too bad. You expected to resume your spot on the quidditch team as a chaser along with those before you, and the pranks you had already begun planning with the twins occupied your mind.

“Welcome! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!” Dumbledore caught the school’s attention as he assumed his place at the post at the top of the hall. “I have a few things to say before we become befuddled by our excellent feast. First, I’m pleased to welcome Professor R. J. Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Good luck, you, Professor.”

At this, the twins turned their eyes from Dumbledore to you, clearly asking if that was the Lupin you had said to be Moony of the Marauders, to which you confirmed with one nod.

“Wicked,” they said in unison, and you winked at them.

“As some of you may know, Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher for many years, has decided to retire in order to spend more time with his remaining limbs. Fortunately, I’m delighted to announce that his place will be taken by none other than our own Rubeus Hagrid!”

You, along with few others who knew and appreciated Hagrid, applauded at this news as Hagrid rose from his seat and jovially waved at the school, although he nearly toppled the staff table, sending goblets over the side of the table.

“Finally, on a more disquieting note, at the request of the Ministry of Magic Hogwarts will, until further notice, play host to the Dementors of Azkaban. Now, whilst I’ve been assured until such a time as Sirius Black is captured.”

Whispers filled the Great Hall as you swallowed the nerves that rose in your throat as best you could

“Well we’ve got his daughter right over there. Why don’t we just give ’em her! She’s probably a murderer herself!” You heard a boy from the Slytherin table yell quite violently. His idea was supported by a few cheers from those around him and a girl who was sitting next to him following up.

“Yeah, how are we supposed to know she isn’t scheming to sneak in her murderous father to kill us all!” The girl yelled, and you could only feel yourself sinking into the bench as every Hogwarts student’s eyes were now on you.

“Oi! Pucey, watch it, or I’ll hex your ear off!” George quickly stood and yelled in your defense.

“That! Is quite enough!” Dumbledore boomed. “I will not have Miss Black questioned or judged for her being here. Anyone who wishes to contest this may bring it up directly with me.”

With that, Dumbledore continued on with his speech in particular regard to the presence of the dementors, but his words respecting you did nothing to ease the anxiety boiling in the pit of your stomach. At this point, you were wondering why you hadn’t followed in your mum’s steps and gone to Beauxbatons.

“Are you alright?” Fred asked, noting the color that had drained from your face.

“I’m fine,” you muttered.

Fred could tell you weren’t fine, and why should you be? He could feel the hostile looks coming from every corner of the room, some even coming from the professor’s table. He wanted to help in any way he could, and he knew that the most he could do is have your back for the time being.

When Dumbledore finally called this year’s feast to an end, you rose to your feet as Percy had asked you and Robert Greene, the other fifth year Gryffindor prefect, to walk the first years back to the common room.

You rose to your feet, “Your darling brother has decided I’ll be escorting the first years back to the common room, so I’ll see you back there after?” You honestly did not want to be left alone tonight and was hoping to spend more time with the twins.

“We’ll find a good spot by the fire,” George said, and you smiled at him, grateful.

You left and rounded up the first years, some of whom had no clue who you were and some who were clearly afraid of you and clung to the front of the line where Percy and Robert were. But you brushed it off. It wasn’t half as bad as Pucey calling you a murderer in front of the entire school. The walk didn’t last long, and Percy capitalized the whole thing to flaunt his power over the eleven-year-olds allowing you to remain silent and with your thoughts. You split when you made it to the common room, sure that Percy was so wrapped up in his spiel that he wouldn’t miss you.

“Black!” George wailed. “We’ve missed you dearly.”

“How could you dare to leave us for so long?” Fred cried, and you giggled at their antics, sitting on the couch next to Fred.

“I’m very, incredibly, sorry for the time I have spent away but do know that you were each on my heart and in my thoughts the entire time we were apart,” you joined in, causing Fred to laugh, which brought a shade of pink to your cheeks, recently you found how his laugh made the butterflies in your stomach ruffle their wings.

“Anyone else wanna know why Dumbledore’s let a murderer’s daughter live in our dorm?” you heard Seamus Finnigan say loudly enough for the entire common room to hear. “It makes me feel unsafe I don’t know about you.”

“Yeah if he comes to Hogwarts, this’ll be the first place he comes.”

You sharply rose to your feet and turned to face Finnigan, “Actually you’re right Finnigan, I’ve been in contact with my dad, who has been in Azkaban my entire life, planning to come to a school and kill a bunch of children. I am so so bummed you’ve found out my plan. So everyone keeps an eye open while you’re sleeping. I might just appear over your bed in the middle of the night, ready to murder you.”

As you were speaking, Fred and George stood to defend you. Meanwhile, Seamus’s face fell white with fear at your words.

“Anyways aren’t you meant to be a Gryffindor, Finnigan, aren’t you meant to be brave? Because speaking behind people’s backs is about the most cowardly thing someone can do,” you said, anger rising in you. Although, you did not notice Professor McGonagall enter as you were talking.

“She deserves to be here just as much as the rest of you,” Fred boomed to the now silent common room.

“Good evening, everyone,” McGonagall cut in. “I was planning to come up tonight to ensure that Miss Black was being respected as a peer and as a prefect although that clearly hasn’t happened,” she said, shooting a look at Seamus Finnigan. “As she just said, it is expected that you as Gryffindors conduct yourselves with bravery and with understanding for your peers. Should any of you feel that you do not have to listen to or that you are above Y/n because of her parentage, you can come to me for a detention. I will not permit any intolerance of her presence. Is that understood?”

A few people started slowly nodding, causing the rest of your housemates to nod in understanding of what Professor McGonagall had to say.

“Good, now I will be taking ten points from our house for Mr. Finnigan’s comments,” a groan fell over the room, “You shall also be meeting me for detention in my office tomorrow night at seven. However, ten points to Miss Black and ten points to Mr. Weasley for standing up for oneself and for one’s friends.” With that, Professor McGonagall left, leaving the Gryffindors in silence.

“Go about your nights,” Percy called to the house, and everyone dispersed, although you heard the drama start to circulate, no matter what McGonagall said, you knew that you would never escape the judgement of your peers.

“Merlin, and classes haven’t even started yet,” you huffed as you collapsed back onto the couch next to Fred.

“We’ve got your back, Y/n,” Fred said as he put a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Promise,” you implored.

“Promise,” he assured.

chapter two

[aminiatureworld]

Steadfast

Characters: Childe, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,241

Warnings: Swearing, Angst

Premise: He’d always assured you that he wouldn’t change, that he was still the man he was before. And yet how different things were, and how much it hurt to see what had come to pass.

In which the reader sees the changes in Childe

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for this request anon! Really from the bottom of my heart thank you. I really liked the concept of this prompt, I feel like it really gave me an opportunity to focus on how relationships change and grow, rather than always writing about new couples, or people just beginning to fall in love, although there is of course that involved. It’s interesting to see how people grow and change, even if it can be a little sad sometimes. Writing this was kind of depressing, I hope that this wasn’t too sad, considering you requested hurt comfort. I might’ve gotten a bit carried away…

Funny story, I actually hate one of the people Childe shares a name with. Look what you did to Cassandra Ajax the Lesser, look what you did… So to make up for this unfortunate coincidence I pronounce the names differently in my mind. Ajax the Lesser is pronounce “A-jack-s” and Childe’s name is pronounced “Ai-axe”.

I decided not to bullet point this, as I feel like it works better in a more “traditional format”, that being said if bullet points are easier to read I can go back and fix that.

When you’d first fallen in love with Ajax it had been before the change.

Back then everything with him had seemed so exciting, like stepping into the sea for the first time. You were a bit afraid, worried that you might be swept away all at once, but another part of you wanted to run straight ahead, to immerse yourself in this new and exciting experience. Wanted to keep going and never look back.

 You’d known Ajax since before you could remember. The two of you had grown up in the same small village, where one could hardly take five steps without bumping into someone, and being close in age had made you automatic playmates. Ajax was a brash child, not always easy to get along with, but impossible to pull away from. Even when he knocked you to the ground, or sat on you so you couldn’t move, declaring himself the winner of whatever you’d been playing, you’d still run to meet him the next day, the tears you’d shed utterly forgotten. Childhood friends might’ve been a cliché, but it was truly then that Ajax as a person had begun to stick in your mind.

This only continued throughout the course of your adolescence. Attending the same schools you two were nearly inseparable, causing you merciless teasing from the rest of your classmates. Ajax apparently got the same treatment, resulting in him decking a kid who declared you two were going to get married when you grew up. He’d been suspended for a few days, but never seemed to regret it, and when you’d gone over to his house to ask about it he’d grinned as usual, proclaiming he’d gladly do it again.

Growing up was a difficult process, so many snags and pitfalls, new anxieties, and old ones that you’d never truly worried about before. But it was all perfectly fine with Ajax there. He was always ready to pick you up, and flash you a smile to go along with his help. No wonder you found yourself hopelessly infatuated him, years of trust and affection building up to the newfound feeling of love.

 And then Ajax went missing.

You still remembered the terror that shocked your system when his mother visited, tone unnervingly light, asking if you and Ajax weren’t playing some type of game. You’d bolted outside when she’d revealed Ajax had gone missing, running towards the woods that was the only exit to the village where you lived. The adults had quickly caught up to you, but your fears had already grabbed hold, and you found yourself confronted with all you felt for him. You loved Ajax. How did this happen? Love was still so foreign, a word you could throw around but never truly catch. And yet you loved him, you loved him very much. And now he was gone.

They didn’t let you see him initially, saying he was tired, he needed rest, he’d be alright in a few days. Your imagination had run wild, your mind spinning a terrible story. Perhaps he’d been mortally wounded, perhaps he could no longer see, made blind from the snow and the cold. Perhaps he wasn’t really back, and they were simply lying to make you happy. These thoughts chased you, and it was only when you saw him again that your heart settled, even if a part of you whispered that Ajax was altogether changed.

He’d begun to leave the village. Though no one quite knew where he was you certainly knew a lot of brawling was involved. He’d sometimes sneak into your house, in a last ditch effort to keep his parents and the rest of his family from finding out how much he’d truly changed. You’d cried sometimes, seeing him with black eyes and bruising, slashes of red marring his hands, his arms, his face. He didn’t like to see you cry, would start scolding you, as if it was some fault of yours to feel worried, to care for someone who already was growing into a stranger. He always realized his fault though, and after a little while he’d pat the spot next to him. You’d sit down, head sometimes on his shoulder, listening as he spun his tales of greatness into the night, as if he were a knight fighting a great dragon and its army, rather than a troubled new adult with nowhere to turn to in terms of understanding.

 When he’d ask you to be his partner you thought you’d never feel unhappy again. You felt like you were on air, kept grounded only by his arms around you, his heart beating steadily against your ear as you nestled against his chest. You could tell he was happy too, and though it amazed you slightly that he should be as in love with you as you were with him, you could only thank the Tsaritsa and every other archon under the stars, thank them for being so generous as to give you all you ever wanted.

It seemed such a funny thought in retrospect, when it was the Tsaritsa herself who was now tearing him away from you.

 “Ajax, how could you?!” Your voice felt odd to your ears, somehow too thin, distant, as if someone else was saying it. “You knew, you knew that you’d have to join the Fatui. So why, why in the name of the Seven did you start that fight!”

“They were asking for it!” Ajax’s voice was just as raw, frustration mixed with something unknown. Entitlement perhaps, fear otherwise. “You should’ve heard the things they said about me, about my family. How they’d raised a good for nothing thief, a shithead who knew nothing more than how to swing a sword, and who would one day meet someone bigger than him, and die in the street, given to the rats, utterly forgotten. I had to prove them wrong! It was a matter of honor!”

“It was a matter of ego!” You cried, feeling the ground spin slightly underneath you. “How could you let them goad you like that Ajax, goad you when you knew exactly what was going to happen.” Sitting down you put your head in your hands. The world was shattering around you, and there was no one to blame for it except the one you loved the most.

“My darling, please, I don’t want to fight.” Ajax knelt down in front of you, taking your hands in his as you raised your head to face him.

“You always want to fight…” you replied, voice hoarse, pitched barely above a whisper. “And now you’re leaving, leaving to be part of an organization of cowardliness and deceit. What happened to the adventures you were going to have? What happened to the dragons you were going to slay?”

“I’ll get them yet.” There was amusement in Ajax’s voice, but it was clearly forced, and soon forgotten about. “I promise it’ll be alright, my darling I would never do anything to knowingly hurt you.”

And yet you have, you thought. You’ve run a dagger through my heart, and now your talking to me as if I’m not being destroyed by it. It hurts, it hurts so damn much.

“You’re going away.” You finally replied. “You’re going away to a place that will only destroy you more. And now things will never be the same again. Haven’t you wondered about what will happen to you there? If you’ll ever be allowed to return home? Haven’t you wondered whether or not you’ll ever see your family again? Things will never be the same again Ajax, never. You’ve crossed the chasm, and now you cannot return.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Ajax placed a hand on your cheek. “I promise nothing will change. I will always be myself my darling. This is only a stepping stone, a piece of my journey. I promise, I promise I will always remain as I am. And I’ll never forget about you, nor my family, nor this village. Nothing is going to change. I’ll make sure it won’t. So stop crying my darling; tears never looked good on you anyways.”

And yet, how things have already changed. Still, you said nothing, instead wiping your eyes and pressing your forehead against Ajax’s. His familiar presence was reassuring, and you thought of the years ahead of you, perhaps the eternity ahead of you, when you could no longer rely on him being there. Your eyes welled with tears again, and this time you made no move to stop them. You let yourself cry. If there was anything in the world worth crying about, surely this was one of those things.

 There was a new name signed in Ajax’s letters. “Childe” was the first name, “Tartaglia” was the second. They seemed to mar the page somewhat, written in Ajax’s – no, Childe’s – bold, slashing script. You hated the names, hated the memories they stirred up, reminders of all you’d lost in such a small amount of time.

The day you’d found out Childe was to become a Harbinger you’d raged as you’d never raged before. Locking yourself in the small apartment you’d managed to find – having moved out of Morepesok once the memories had become too oppressive – you’d spent most of your time reading the letter over and over and over.

He’d wanted you to attended, writing you were basically his family at this point, and besides, he wanted to show you to the Tsaritsa. Though the line about family filled your heart with no little affection, you’d refused flat out. It would’ve been too painful, seeing the crux of his transformation; the death of Ajax, the birth of Tartaglia. Childe had said nothing to your refusal, but he was clearly worried, and for a while afterwards the letters were more frequent. But even that stopped after a while, and now you savored what little information you could get, the torn pages of last month’s note a testimony to how much you reread them.

You wished that you could somehow end this purgatory you’d found yourself in. Though you’d begun your own career by now, pushing yourself to your limits as you were sure Childe was doing in his, nothing seemed so important as the drama that had comprised your entire life. How long had you known Childe? You could no longer remember. Long ago, so very long ago. Back when the world was simpler, comprised only of candy from one of the big cities, and fighting over the best fishing rod. Tears were shed over particularly brutal games of tag, then forgotten the next day. How odd that world seemed now, something you could never go back to.

 Every once in a while you’d be met not by a letter, but by a visit. Those were the best days. The days where you could set all your worries and your unease away. When you could once more press your ear against Childe’s chest and feel the steady beating of his heart. As long as you could do that, maybe it’d be alright.

“How’s my darling?” Childe’s voice carried down the hall of your apartment. You’d dropped the letter you’d been reading, his letter, and ran towards the entrance. Throwing yourself in his arms you wept tears of joy. Childe returned the embrace just as enthusiastically, though his eyes were dry. They’d changed, his eyes, or perhaps you’d just learned to notice the hardness that resided in them. “I’m home.” Childe murmured, eyes closed, expression one of perfect bliss. “Don’t worry beloved, I’m home.”

His presence never left yours the days he came to visit. Always there was an arm slung around your waist, or a chin resting on your shoulder or your head. His presence was as comforting as ever, and you soaked it in gladly. He’d changed. Not that you were surprised by that, of course he’d changed. His confidence was much more calculated, his words now slicked with flattery and deceit. He easily persuaded the fishmonger to give you a discount, and some sweet talk with the waiter at a café you frequented earned you a free lemon loaf. You took it, knowing that he just wanted to treat you, but the sugary confection stuck to the roof of your mouth, which had somehow developed a bitter taste.

You said nothing about it. There was no longer any point in arguing. You two were tied together by all sorts of strings. History, location, youth, love. And yet you’d gone your own separate ways. No more were the dreams of adventuring together. The real world had come along and stolen it away. The Tsaritsa had ripped that future from your grasp, and with it went your happiness.

“Are you happy, my love?” Childe asked late one evening. You were cuddled on the small couch in what comprised your living room. You nestled against Childe, breathing him in. Were you happy? No. But in that moment you weren’t unhappy either. In that moment you could forget it all.

“Do you think that sailors feel lonely?” You asked instead, drawing circles absentmindedly on the palms of Childe’s hands. He wore gloves now, expensive ones, not like the mittens that were popular in Snezhnaya. It was so odd to watch him put them on each morning. How things had changed. “They must be lonely,” you continued now, “for there’s nothing but the ship, the water, and the stars above.”

Childe paused, staring off into the distance. He did that a lot recently. You didn’t begrudge him it. Sometimes, when he was in a frank sort of mood, he admitted that he didn’t like the Fatui’s underhanded nature. Better to fight something head on than attack from the shadows. He’d quickly added on that it was the Tsaritsa’s wish, and surely she must know better than him. But it must’ve been difficult, following a path so different than the one you were born to. Betraying your nature, every day of your life.

“It must be lonely sometimes.” He finally replied, glancing back at you. “But I don’t think they’re lonely, no. The stars may be far away, but they’re steadfast, unchanging. And sailors will always be able to rely on them.” You were silent, considering his views.

“Still... stars are so very cold.”

“Perhaps, but they’re also beautiful, are they not? And like I said, who ever heard of a star changing?” A pause, as it seemed Childe was steadying himself, dipping into unpleasant territory. “I hope I will always be your star, my love. I hope you will always be able to rely on me.”

“I will.” You promised, giving Childe a quick kiss. You meant it, even if you weren’t sure that the metaphor was apt. Childe was forever changing; his mannerisms, his name, his location, his words. Sometimes it seemed as if there was nothing left of Ajax, nothing but a small sliver of light, shivering in the darkness that was fate.

“And I will always remained steadfast in my love for you.” Childe promised in return. “For there is nothing more important to me than family, and you are my family. You are that which I hold closest to my heart, and I’ll never stop loving you. I promise.”

His words were smoother than they had been before, polished by the need to be appealing to those who heard it. But you knew they were true. All throughout your life, throughout the pain, the hardship, the feeling of slowly falling off a cliff, all throughout that the one thing that remained was the love between you and Childe. Even if you had nothing, at least you had that.

“Childe?” He grimaced at the word and you paused. “Ajax,” you began again, “are you happy?”

Childe didn’t reply, instead leaning over to kiss you. You reciprocated it gladly, not truly wanting an answer to your question, although a part of you desperately needed it. Was Childe happy? You couldn’t tell. But despite your newfound hatred for the Tsaritsa, your disdain for the gods which had grown in the years of your hardship, your long abandoned faith, you still prayed to the Seven that Childe was happy. Because he deserved it. Because you loved him.

 You tried not to cry when he left, wanting to see him off with a smile and a wave, the way noble men and women would wave to the knights who were on their way to save the kingdom. But always your voice betrayed you, cracking and shaking, trembling violently against the knowledge that you wouldn’t see your loved one again, not for a very long time.

“Be careful.” You whispered, giving Childe one last hug.

“I will.” He assured you, kissing your forehead. “You be careful as well my love, I couldn’t stand it something were to happen to you. If anything happens, think of me, I’ll rush to your side immediately.”

“Don’t forget to write,” you replied, switching the subject so you didn’t have to think about the implications of Childe abandoning the Fatui, what might happen to him if he tried, “your letters are all I have.”

“I hope that’s not true!” Childe said, tone full of false mirth. “I hope you’re happy beloved, I hope you find happiness when I’m gone. Your life ought not to be spent waiting for me.”

“But you’re all I have.” You replied, staring down at the ground. “Everything has changed. My home, my work, my future. Even you’ve changed, you just keep changing and changing, running farther and farther away. But you’re still all I have. And I have to hold on to you, no matter what.”

Childe brought his hand to your cheek, raising your gaze up.

“I’m not changing my darling. No matter what I do, no matter where I go, I’m still Ajax. I’m still the man who wants to spend his life with you, who wants to travel the world with you, fighting monsters, sleeping under the stars at night. I’m still the man who wants to wake up with you every night and go to bed with you every morning. I’ll never run ahead of you, I’ll never leave you behind. Because if I’m all you have then you are what keeps me myself. You are why I can still be Ajax. And that will never change. So don’t despair, and don’t let yourself be swallowed up while I’m gone. Live your life to the fullest, I promise I’ll always be there, waiting for when you need me.”

 Childe waved from the ship he’d boarded until it disappeared over the horizon. You waved back, even as your arm ached and your hand fell asleep. “Goodbye.” You whispered to the wind. There was no reply, but then again you weren’t looking for one.

Childe, Ajax, Tartaglia. These names all belonged to the one you loved. He was a whirlwind, a rogue current which had knocked you off your feet, carrying you into uncertainty. And yet you welcomed him, longed for him, loved him with all your soul.

Even if things kept changing, even if the Fatui’s hold on him only grew stronger, you’d still believe in him. He was your star, guiding you through a desolate ocean. Even if he sometimes disappeared behind the clouds, he’d always be there. You had to believe that, had to trust him.

He was your star after all.

Your Childe.

Your Ajax.

[agent-cupcake]

Leucoium - Sylvain Jose Gautier x Reader 

Hey hello this is my half of the trade with @lightmyfireemblem​ and I know I’m late but what can I say? I’m terrible :3c This is utterly despicable, okay? Fifteen thousand words of mushy gush Sylvain Jose Gautier romancing. Some angst. Nothing weird this time. She wanted something specific with a winter ball and reader’s feelings, but I got carried away with doing set-up so everything would make sense. Forgive me. 

/

It was springtime when you met him, the time of bloom and blossom in the town of Garreg Mach. You hid from your classmates and teachers alike among the flowers in the greenhouse, such an oddity after a lifetime in Faerghus. Less odd was the way you chased isolation in the fragrant sanctuary. A disagreeable, antisocial child. The youngest of three, a potential playing card in your parent’s deck of the social sphere. Nothing more. Even though you were only just teetering on the tremulous line between girl and woman, you’d long submitted yourself to the natural rule of your family’s cold definition. There was contentment in such a fate, comfort in playing hide and seek with life.

Until you were found.

“Hey there, beautiful,” Sylvain —a classmate and Faerghus lord you knew really only in passing— greeted you, pulling you away from your book. He stood among the flowers in the filtered green of sunshine drifting in through the glass, his hair and uniform stylishly messy and expression open and friendly. “I was looking for you. Not that you made it particularly easy.”

You looked up at the tall man from your book, confused and unsettled by being approached. If you weren’t the only one around, you probably would have told yourself he was talking to someone else as just cause to ignore the greeting. As it was, you couldn’t think of any real response. The level of familiarity he used to address you was jarring, uncomfortable. But even as an awkward moment passed of your confused staring, Sylvain didn’t falter. He was all confidence and smiles and bright, bright red. The kind of red that the goddess painted the leaves and berries of dangerous plants to ward people off, the kind that was best left to be admired from afar but never touched. And you were used to that type of spectatorship, to living behind a veil of reality where you could stay out of sight and out of mind.

Even so.

“Find me?” you asked after clearing your throat.

“The professor asked,” he said. “Y’know, if you keep skipping class, you could get in trouble.”

Although you had a variety of reasons why you hadn’t gone to classes that day, you doubted that they’d hold firm to any amount of questioning. It was childish of you. Unseemly.

With a sigh, you got to your feet. Strangely, Sylvain offered his hand. To you, the gesture registered as something like a threat. Not because it posed any danger, but because you understood what it meant and what was expected of you and the polite thoughtfulness of the offer. Rather than try and deal with any of that, you avoided it altogether, acting like you didn’t notice. Luckily, he didn’t seem to be bothered.

“Of course, I’d be more than willing to speak up on your behalf,” Sylvain told you, his voice hurried as if to ease your mind. “Me? I can take that kind of thing, but it doesn’t seem right to punish a delicate girl like you for losing track of time.”

You frowned up at him, holding your book tight against your chest and uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot as you considered him. Beautiful, he said. Delicate. Was this normal? How were you supposed to respond to things like that? The two of you were practically strangers, nevermind the glaring class difference. Although, it was not just class that separated the two of you. There was some social, deeply personal gap between people like you and him that couldn’t be defined by status or money or title, something that couldn’t be bridged. Couldn’t he tell?

Awkward, you shrugged. “It’s okay.”

Sylvain frowned. “Right… So, uh, do you like flowers?”

“I do,” you answered. Trying to ease the conversation into a slightly more comfortable place, you slowly added, “You don’t see much of them in Faerghus. Not like this, anyway.”

Even though your comment was simple, it seemed to energize Sylvain right back into a smile. “Right? It was kind of shocking. To be honest, I didn’t even know so many types of flowers could be grown,” he said.

You nodded, giving a faint hum of agreement.

“No matter how beautiful they are, though,” Sylvain said, not discouraged by your lack of response, “they pale in comparison to your beauty.” He paused before adding, “What do you think? If you and I were flowers, would we have a budding romance?”

It shouldn’t have worked. It was a terrible, terrible line. But it kind of did.

If it weren’t for your crippling lack of social prowess, you might have fallen for it. But instead, you ducked your head and cleared your throat and asked where the professor wanted to see you because you knew what you were and had no idea how to respond to such things. In so many ways, you were as fresh as the snow white lambs only just making their way into the world, as vacant as the breezy spring winds that danced over the surface of rippling water. Not because of your innocence, but because of your lack of experience. The difference between those two things was the value of either in a girl like you.

Did he know that? Did he see that?

Sylvain certainly backed off after that awkward first meeting, letting you run off with the disquieting sensation of eyes on your back.

But still, he returned. You had been hiding in the Knight’s Hall, making up on the homework you’d missed in class. Sylvain approached you with an apology for making you uncomfortable, which was unexpected and baffling. A few days later in the library, he sat down and struck up a discussion on literature. After that came an invitation to dinner which you declined. And then an invitation to tea which you accepted. After a certain point, you understood who he was and his rather damning reputation. Not that you really cared. Who were you to care? To judge? The gap between the two of you was impossible, but he acted like it didn’t exist. And you liked that.

Sylvain was your first friend. You wondered if he knew that, too.

Spring bled into the warmer season and, despite your glaring lack of social skills and suspicions that he was merely humoring you, the odd dynamic continued onward.

Summer’s end was wet and tempestuous. Congested hot stormclouds brewed above and pressed thick tension down onto the dreary frightened group marching their somber return to Garreg Mach from Conand Tower. The rain had stopped for a spell, mud squelching beneath your boots and the sound of demonic screeching echoed in the silence among your fellow students. Shadows encircled Sylvain’s red-rimmed eyes, his face pale despite the tan he’d managed to cultivate over the sunny season. He told you about the cruelty of a brother driven to barbarity by his jealous rage. He told you he shouldn’t care. He told you it was fine.

But dusk fell, inviting a forceful deluge, and Sylvain told you what hate felt like, what it was to cough up blood and loathing and wish to see yourself destroyed under its crushing weight. Beneath the pounding, pulsing, palpitating hypnosis of the rain, Sylvain told you about pain, and fear, and the destruction he’d inherited through his blood. He forced the words out through gritted teeth as if that alone could contain the simmering, seething disgust and scorn he held for the world that cultivated men like Miklan and men like him. You listened, just about the only thing you knew yourself to be good at.

By the time the rain stopped and the sun rose, Sylvain was shrugging the previous night away with a smile and apologizing for his behavior. He acted unbothered and laughed like everything was fine but the sound was too forceful and within the next two weeks he dated and broke up with no less than eleven girls. Something made sense to you after that, an understanding you’d never had for another person. You weren’t a spectator to him. With him.

Autumn drifted into Garreg Mach with the spun gold of harvest and scent of tanned hides from the hunt. Rotting leaves crunched beneath your feet, death and decay inviting the unraveling disaster that seemed to never end.

In a rare moment of quiet, Sylvain asked about your family. The casual curiosity stole your breath, made your eyes widen like a deer who’d been spotted by the hunt. It was, you knew, a pathetic story. Anticlimactic, pointless. But you told him. In the isolated cover of the library, you leaned your chin into the crook of your folded arm and stared with glassy eyes at the books stacked up in front of you and told Sylvain that you knew your parents didn’t care for you like they did your sisters, that sending you off to the Academy was a way to give you pedigree you’d never get from your own merits. You told him about inadequacy, and what it was to not be enough, and the way that words could be ground deep into the marrow of your bones until you stopped being a person and accepted an identity given to you by others because it was too difficult to try being anyone else. Sylvain put his hand over yours and told you that they were wrong about you, his lovely dark eyes filled with the compassion so many accused him of lacking. He looked at you like that and told you that he understood. And you believed him.

As surely as the sun would rise in the morning and the seasons would change, Sylvain became a habit of yours. The odd hours he’d help you study, the afternoons drinking tea together, the crystalline moments of having your life saved time and time again because you always found yourself in the bloody fray of the front lines, nearly suicidal in the surge of destruction. But Sylvain never called you helpless, or useless, or weak, or childish, or disagreeable and you knew the gap could never be bridged, but you liked the warmth of being near him, even if it was nothing more than fragmented charity.  

“Why?” you asked once. It was cold and your breath misted in front of your dry lips.

Sylvain shrugged casually. “I dunno. I guess you’re just easy to be around.”

And that made you laugh. Honestly laugh. Because nobody had ever said that, you doubted anybody had ever thought that. You, disagreeable and antisocial and unable to hold a conversation or eye contact. Not you. But he sounded so genuine, so casual, like it was the truth. Somehow, it was the truth.

“What about you?” Sylvain asked. “Why do you like me?”

You looked at him and wondered. He was a strange man to be sure. Cruel. Cold-hearted in ways that should have made him unlikable. Flirtatious in ways that made you decidedly uncomfortable. Womanizing. Dispassionate about many things you’d been taught to place importance on. But that wasn’t it. Not by half. Nor was it that he was handsome, or smooth talking, or because he had a title or Crest. Those things —like the mountains or the moon or his red, red hair— just were. No. You stared him down and considered that question because you knew there was something that went deeper than any of that. Why did you like him? Because he had been kind to you. Because for some reason you couldn’t explain, he tried. Because, despite everything, he seemed to care. To understand.

You shrugged. “I guess you’re just easy to be around.”

Winter in Garreg Mach was, despite the tragedy, filled with excitement for the White Heron Ball. You were a poor dancer but nobody had really expected you to participate anyway.

So you avoided the cheerful party in favor of the chilly winter night, watching snowflakes drift down in careless little clusters. They were big and wet, but not oppressive or unkind. It was too warm in Central Fódlan for them to stick just yet.

“I thought you might be out here. Not too keen on parties?” Sylvain asked, the question playfully knowing. It didn’t surprise you that he’d somehow be able to find you. He had an uncanny ability for that. You nodded in response. Not put off by your lack of verbal response, Sylvain took the spot beside you to watch the snow slowly drift down from the velvety dark void of the sky into the calming halo of light. “Guess that’s not surprising…. Anyway, assuming you don’t mind my company, I’d love to stay here for a bit. I need to lay low for a little while.”

“Why?” you asked.

“The girl I’ve been going out with saw me dancing with another girl and made a big scene,” he said, frowning. “She accused me of cheating on her.”

“Were you?” you asked, giving him a sideways glance.  

Sylvain shrugged. “Well, yeah, but I didn’t think we were serious enough for her to freak out on me like that.” He let those words settle before his expression changed, a mischievous smile forming on his face. “Anyway, enough of that. As long as we’re here, it’d be very remiss of me to pass up on the chance to ask the cutest girl in Garreg Mach to do me the pleasure of a dance.”

You met his eyes. It was too dark to see their steady sepia color, but the far off lights allowed you to see the way he looked at you. What would it feel like for him to hold you, his hand in yours, the other on your back? Twirling around in synchronized steps, close enough for you to smell him, to feel his warmth. You looked away.

“No, thank you.”

“And the chances of me changing that answer to a yes…?”

“Very low,” you responded with a resolute nod. “There’s not any music.”

“That’s fine, we’d be guided by the sweet melody of love,” he said. You didn’t reply. “That was a joke. C’mon, it’s just you and me here. Even if you’re terrible, nobody else will see.”

It was presumptuous of him to say that you would be terrible, but he wasn’t wrong. Nobody had ever accused you of grace. You thought about tripping and stumbling, messing up the rhythm, embarrassing yourself completely in front of Sylvain. The idea made your face hot, your stomach dropping and shoulders curling inwards. “No.”

Sylvain sighed. “Is it because of what I told you about the girls from earlier?”

“No,” you said, confused by the question.

“‘Cause I know how it probably looks, but I swear that it’s completely different from you... I guess I say that a lot, too,” Sylvain paused, frowning like he wasn’t sure how to continue that line of thought.

You weren’t sure if the idea of being “different” was a good or bad thing. Was it because he didn’t view you as a girl? Or because you were just friends? That was a good thing, wasn’t it? It made your heart ache a bit. It made you wish, just for a second, that you were better at dancing. Then you wouldn’t be an afterthought sought out when his other options were removed. Even if you were just one of the cycling girls he spun around, you would spend those moments in his arms being an object of desire. Fleeting affection, temporary happiness. Moments, as lovely and short-lived as the dainty snowflakes illuminated by the light. You wondered if that was what he wanted, truly.

“Does it make you happy?” you asked after a moment. “The girls, I mean. Dating, dancing. It seems like it causes quite a few problems for you.”

Sylvain looked at you with something like surprise at the seemingly random question, his stare becoming harder than before as he considered something. Finally, he shrugged, forcing a casual air. “It’s fun, I guess,” he said, his voice tight in a defensive way. “Why? You’re not about to start lecturing me, are you?”

“No,” you told him.

“Okay,” he said, his disbelief clear.

“I wouldn’t ever lecture you for what you choose to do,” you told him softly, regretting having brought it up at all. “You’re your own person… You deserve to take responsibility for your own happiness.”  

“Oh, well… Thanks, I guess,” Sylvain said awkwardly, a beat too late. The silence crinkled like dry paper between you. “Um, anyway, you know what would make me very happy?”

“What?” you asked, glad for the change of subject.

“A dance with the cutest girl I know,” Sylvain said, shooting you a winning smile.

Cute. That was a word he used a lot. You weren’t sure anybody else had ever accused you of such a thing.

“Maybe another time,” you said, staring down at the paving stones, uncomfortably flattered. And you didn’t mean it and you were pretty sure Sylvain knew that, but he laughed and stretched his arms behind his head and didn’t ask about what you’d said or why you’d said it, letting the moment be.

And then the world shattered beneath the monastery.  

It was the bleakest, coldest, darkest part of winter when Dimitri lost it. Edelgard marched her armies on Garreg Mach through the frosted freezing air. War consumed everything you had thought to be stable, shaking apart the walls around you. When you returned, home was not quite the home you’d known before leaving. Like you didn’t quite fit anymore.

Seasons turned as stubbornly as ever. Years passed, day by day, moon by moon. As the third daughter to an earl in Gautier territory, you stuck around during those years of war, your habit continuing to grow during the occasional visit to your far more powerful and important friend. He didn’t have much time for you, and that was fine. It was what you were, a pale shadow hiding in the places so nobody would mistake you for something more. And that was fine. You taught yourself strategy and politics and occasionally allowed yourself to pretend to amount to more.

It was winter, winter again, when the war campaign rallying behind Dimitri and Professor Byleth returned in earnest, ice beneath your feet and chills gripping your skin beneath your armor, numbing your fingers and toes. It was winter and you and Sylvain were brothers in arms, and that was fine. You liked fighting at his side, you liked sitting in the dining hall and listening to your friends talk from a chair in the corner and pretending that this was your life, that you could have this always. Even on the edge of death and despair. Even then.

It was springtime when Sylvain confessed, the few final days right on the edge of summer. Out of the snow and miserable bluster of winter warfare spring had emerged, the chill air warmed by a dahlia sun filtered through a gauzy haze of lingering wet mist. Five years had passed since Sylvain waltzed into the greenhouse, five cyclical, cynical seasons of horror and destruction. But to everything a season, and the rebirth was coming. A new world emerging like chicks from their egg, flowers from seeds.

The two of you sat in the garden near the dining hall, enjoying the changing weather over tea. You wondered how much had really changed, considering the way you felt compelled to avoid Sylvain’s dark eyes, constantly shifting in your chair. More and more you’d become aware of a certain type of tension between the two of you, an awkwardness you didn’t know what to call or how to handle. It was different from the friendship you’d fostered, but not quite. It made your stomach twist into knots, jumping with the pitter-pattering wing-beats of butterflies.

It had really begun after Dimitri’s coronation. Considering the circumstances, the party hadn’t been anything special, but there had been a feast. And some drinking. And even a bit of dancing. Sylvain had kissed you and told yourself that it didn’t mean anything because he kissed a lot of girls and he was drunk, nevermind that he had neither been with another girl that night nor had his voice been altered by the telltale slur of intoxication. But what other reason could you think of to explain it away? After all, he couldn’t mean anything like that. Not when it came to you.

Even so.

“Y’know…” Sylvain told you, uncharacteristically awkward. “The wars gonna end soon.”

“That’s true,” you said, keeping your eyes distracted by watching the wind dance among the grass and shake the tree’s leaves into a shimmery wonder.

“And I hope that, by now, you know that I… uh…” Sylvain trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished. “Well, you know.”

“Know what?” you asked, put off by his shift in tone. “Is something wrong?”

Sylvain’s eyes widened and he scratched the back of his head, a nervous movement you’d noticed a few times. Not quite like now, though. Not with the way his cheeks were slightly pink and his body tense and eyes flicking away from yours. Usually, it was you who avoided eye contact.

“No! Of course not. What would be wrong?” he asked. “I was just wondering… Do you have any plans? For after the war, I mean. Or, I guess what I’m trying to ask is if you’re, y’know, seeing anyone?”

“I’m seeing you,” you offered after a beat. You knew what he was asking, but not why he’d ask. That made you nervous, your heart thumping unhelpfully.

“What?” Sylvain asked, his eyes wide. A second later, that expression of shock composed itself in understanding. “Oh, you mean… Right. That’s… not what I meant.”

“I know.”

Sylvain frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in something like frustration. “You’re difficult to read, you know that?”

“So are you,” you said under your breath, staring down at the toe of your shoe. Alliance merchants had come to Garreg Mach with all sorts of finery and wares, but you’d never gotten out of the habit of living in the hand-me-downs of your older sisters. These shoes had been nice when they were purchased by now they were old and worn and not quite yours, your feet not the ones to have broken them in.

You looked up at Sylvain, folding your hands carefully in front of you. “Obviously I’m not seeing anyone.” You hoped there was nothing bitter in your voice, that he wouldn’t pick up the ache you felt in saying it aloud. “What about you?”

“Nope, I’m completely single,” Sylvain said a little too quickly. A moment later, his shoulders deflated. “Actually, it’s kinda funny, I haven’t had much luck with girls recently... But that’s not what I wanted to talk about! See, I was just thinking. I mean, I wanted to tell you that I… I think this thing between you and me is… It’s good. I like it. I-I like you.”

You’d never gotten the trick to responding to such things. Praise, flirtations, whatever he meant by them, it seemed to always catch you off guard. Especially now, especially like this. Avoidance or honesty, you had to pick one. Eventually, you decided to go the way of honesty. “I feel the same,” you said slowly, hesitantly.

Sylvain smiled a big, goofy smile like he won something, looking at you like you were worth looking at. Like you were beautiful. He called you beautiful a lot, but it was just a word. A word without meaning, lots of things were beautiful without meaning. Flowers, snow, fire, all of them could make a person’s heart ache with their beauty, yet they could never last long enough for the word to stick. That look in Sylvain’s eyes, though, that was different. It made you feel differently, almost enough to convince you that it meant something, that you meant something.

“You told me a while ago that I deserved to take responsibility for my own happiness,” Sylvain said. “At the time, I thought that you meant that it was okay that I was doing the things I was doing. Chasing girls, being a good-for-nothing, just accepting that one day I’d be married off for my Crest. But that’s not what you meant, was it?” It took a second, but eventually, you remembered that conversation. So long ago now that it felt like another lifetime. In a way it was. Another life, another season. Undeterred by your lack of answer, Sylvain continued. “You’re pretty wise, you know that? Even if you say that you’re not.” He sighed, running his palms over his thighs nervously. “Anyway, I think you were right. And I’d like to do that. To decide for myself how to be happy, to decide for myself who makes me happy. And I realized... that it’s you. So… Uh… I don’t expect you to answer right away, but that’s how I feel. I just needed to get that off my chest.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You realized from a third person point of view that were you just sitting there, looking at him with a wide eyed, open mouthed look of shock and it was definitely not very attractive but you felt like you couldn’t move, like your brain had shorted out.

“Me?” you finally asked.

“Well, yeah,” Sylvain said, his eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t see anyone else around.”

Me? You wanted to repeat that question, ask it a million times until his answer made sense because it didn’t, not when he was talking about himself and happiness and what he wanted. Not you.

Looking at Sylvain, all you could see was the same attractive nobleman who came searching for you in the greenhouse with a grin and questionable intentions and a bad pick-up line, all you could see was the immeasurable chasm that existed between the two of you. Not status, not wealth, not title. Just you and Sylvain, the core of what you were and what you amounted to.

The longer your silence stretched on, the more concerned Sylvain’s expression became.   It was a cute look. He always pretended to play it cool, like he didn’t actually care that much, especially when it came to girls. But he did. “Hey, are you okay?” he began to get up to come towards you, but you jumped to your feet, swaying unsteadily.

“I need to, uh, think. About this,” you said, the words coming out stiff and as stilted as you felt. Sylvain sat back, frowning. When he looked like that, you wanted to say yes, to agree, to throw yourself into his arms and beg him to smile at you like he had so many times before. You couldn’t tell if that desire was selfish or hopeful or idealistic.  

“Yeah, I figured you would. That’s fine.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. Then, just as quickly, “Thank you. Goodbye.”

Sylvain said something more, but you didn’t hear it. You weren’t running away from him. Fast walking, maybe, the worn soles of your old shoes hitting the paving stones at a rapid pace. Why? You wondered that with every step. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to.

But you did.

It was only when you were secluded in the safety of the greenhouse that you realized how much of a fool you’d made of yourself. You realized something else, too. You realized why you hadn’t done what you wished you had and thrown yourself into his arms, informed by an angry little whisper that sounded an awful lot like the family who had cast you out to Garreg Mach to keep you out of sight for a time. Hiding in the muggy nook between exotic flowers, you knew yourself to be the disagreeable and unlikable girl you’d always been. You had told Sylvain once that he deserved to be responsible for his own happiness, but that didn’t mean you. Not awkward, strange, and occasionally even unlikable you. You were many things, but you weren’t a good tempered lady who could help him in his duties as Margrave Gautier, not someone worth loving. Not someone who could give him what he needed to be happy.

It was springtime, and the world was blooming.

It was beautiful, it really was.  

/

In one of the last lingering days of late summer, you sought him out. The day had been long, longer than any other. But now it was over. For some strange reason, you couldn’t help but feel some regret for that fact. Edelgard was dead, her fallen body marking the end of an era, the tragically human final act of an age of titans and gods. A new age had begun. Looking half a fleeting ember, the victorious sun laid between heaven and earth, casting its last radiant gaze across a place on the cusp of change. Tomorrow, it would rise over a different world, bringing with it a new dawn.

The won city Enbarr was torn and ragged from the battle, heartache at every corner. There was a hollow, spectral feeling to the destruction. People had been evacuated from places like these, places where the damage was the worst. It was a ghost town now. Marching back through the complicated network of streets that had served as a battleground only hours prior wasn’t exactly what you wanted to be doing. Not really. You had already done many difficult things today, taken many lives. This wouldn’t be the most difficult, not by a long shot, but it weighed heavily on your shoulders. Your final task. After this, you could rest.

You found Sylvain in the wild, crackling air of dusk’s saturated flare at the edge of the famed Enbarr canal, blanketed in the golden honey light of sunset. Late summer in Embarr was overripe and damp, swollen with the saltwater dew from being so near the sea. The humidity was worse here, at the lip of the waterway. Congested condensation and a cloying, musty scent clung to your scalp, beading up on the skin beneath your clothes.

Sylvain sat with one foot dangling over the edge, the other knee bent to make an armrest. He had an uncapped flask in hand. Inches away from the toe of his boot, the water rippled and distorted with his reflection. Sylvain looked every bit the hero he was with that handsome, contemplative expression as he looked to the horizon. You sat beside him without asking, staring up at the approaching night sky and letting out a big breath you’d been holding for what felt like hours. Days. Months. Years, five of them in total. It was a very big breath.

“Hey gorgeous,” Sylvain said.

Your head tipped back to give him a sideways glance. Smiling, of course he was smiling at you. The summer had darkened his skin a shade or two, his cheeks and nose tinged pink from the burning, radiant sun. It should have looked off with the bright red of his hair, but on him, it just worked. His teeth were white against the tan, but you saw something beyond the attractive expression. The slope of his shoulders and furrowed brow, the cloudy distraction behind his umber eyes. Not to mention the alcohol you could smell on his breath. Sylvain had paid the price for heroism. You all had. Enemies, allies, friends —rivers could run with the amount of blood that had been spilled. Who had he been thinking of? Edelgard? Hubert? Dorothea? Sylvain and the lovely songstress had been close, all those years and years ago.

But maybe it wasn’t her, maybe it wasn’t the searing gash of fresh tragedy that drove him here. Maybe he drank to ease the ache of old wounds, a pain that most had forgotten by now. Miklan had been a black hearted and cruel man, but he was Sylvain’s brother, and he had been the first to die.

“Hi,” you said, meeting his smile with a small attempt at one of your own. There were times to point out his charming charades, to ask what it was that he had been thinking about, but not now.

“What brings you here?” Sylvain asked. There was a subtext there. A surprise. You hardly ever approached him, always waiting and hoping for him to come to you first. Uncertain, awkward, too frightened of rejection should you make your desires known. This was, in a way, almost like an echo of your disastrous first introduction.

“You.”

Sylvain blinked. “Oh? It must be my lucky day.”

Lucky day? You wondered about that, a tumultuous gust of emotion swirling in your stomach. The victory had been absolute. No large losses, none of your friends had died today. Yes, that was lucky. The people of Enbarr had readily accepted Dimitri as their ruler. Also lucky.

You looked away from Sylvain, towards the sky. The sun was quickly disappearing. So quick, taking the spun sugar clouds and tangy sweet hues of sunset along with it. It moved despite all your wishes, prompting the future onward without mercy.

“You look pretty cute when you’re lost in thought like that,” Sylvain said. “But shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. “What about you?”

“I am.” He held up the flask with a lopsided smile. “Want some? It’s good, I snagged it from the Imperial storehouse.”

You eyed it for a second before giving in. Dimitri would have yelled at the two of you. Well, no, he’d have frowned in disapproval. Ingrid would have yelled. But you took a swig of the spiced liquor and decided that it was fine. Faerghus had a lot of alcohol, but it hardly ever tasted good. This was good. It left a searing trail down your throat and into your stomach, twisting your thoughts up into a properly warm buzz. You took another drink.

“The war is over now,” you eventually said, handing back the flask. “But it’s not really over, is it?”

Sylvain hesitated before answering, the rushing water beneath your dangling feet filling the silent space. Stars were revealing themselves now, chasing away the day for once and for all. “It’ll take time to make things right again, but the worst is over. Probably.” He paused and you could feel him looking at you, his stare intent. “Why?”

“You said before that you care about me,” you said, unable to meet his eye while remembering that afternoon and all of the embarrassment that had come of it. “Do you, uh, do you remember?” “How could I not?” Sylvain asked. “Gotta be honest, it’s been a while since a girl ran away from me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, frowning. “I was… Overwhelmed.” To say in the least. Just thinking about his confession made your cheeks blaze and stomach churn.

“It’s okay. You get this adorable expression when you’re embarrassed,” Sylvain said. He was grinning, you could hear it in his voice.  

Rather than panic by trying to figure out a retort to being called adorable under these circumstances, you thought about what it had felt like to kiss him all those moons ago. You measured the honesty behind the words of his confession and thought about the pain he hid so well from the world in a gnarled, terrible place in his heart. You thought about the secrets you’d exchanged and the many times he’d saved your life. You thought about the terrible person he occasionally indulged in being, and the wonderful man who existed despite that. You thought about Sylvain and the words came to you like the sweet nectar drawn from the dainty honeysuckle bloom. You wondered if you could really deserve it and the words came to you softly, emerging harsh and low, pulled out from your lips like poison from a wound.

“I really care about you, Sylvain,” you told him stiffly.

“Really? That’s good!” he said, grinning. When you didn’t answer, his posture wilted. “That is good, isn’t it?”

“Dimitri asked me to stay in Enbarr to smooth out the transition into a unified Fódlan.”

“And you said….”

“Yes.”

Sylvain let out a breath that was almost a humorless laugh, his lips turned up in a half-smile that didn’t at all meet his dark eyes. You felt your heart break, just a tiny bit. The easiest thing to do, just a few words, yet one of the heaviest tasks you’d performed all day.

“So… That’s it?” he asked.  

You loved him. You had for a while. Loved him in all the different forms the feeling could manifest, you knew that with an oppressive weight of fact. A vicious whisper in your mind insisted that he couldn’t love you, that it was all a beautiful little lie. Pity, even. But maybe it was all fake and manufactured and the feelings he spoke of were meaningless because you were just that easy, awkward and strange and never quite fitting in, you made a perfect target for someone like him to swoop in and seduce and you’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. But it felt nice and you couldn’t find yourself to care, or to blame him even if that was the case. Because it was nice. And warm. And lovely.

Besides, if it was true, if he was honest, then this was for the best anyway. He deserved better than what you could offer.

The sun was gone, the wild darkness of summer nights enveloping the two of you in an intimate cloak, a world of your own.

“Would it really be very hard?” you asked, staring up at the stars to avoid his eyes. “After all, I’m…”

No, you didn’t finish that thought. Not aloud. But you thought it —I’m me, and you’re you.

That was the crux of it all, wasn’t it? Sylvain wasn’t perfect, far from it, but he was far more than he thought of himself. He was strong and smart and caring and strangely considerate in ways people didn’t expect. He was the seductive dark heat of late summer nights, the cloying musky death and decay of autumn leaves beneath a crimson sun, and the destructive crackling blaze of a winter fire. To that, you were the cold shadow cast by a meek spring sun, a dotting of yellow headed weeds among a garden of gorgeous flowers.  

And one day he’d realize he’d made a mistake. Was it worse to imagine having your heart broken by his honest and sharp tongue when that day came, or to be kept around out of his sense of duty or guilt? If you could believe that Sylvain cared for you now, that only meant that it would hurt both of you that much more later. The sour, disagreeable third child. Of all the things the seasons had changed, you’d never shed yourself of that title.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sylvain asked. His expression was wounded, an edge of defeat in his voice. Your shoulders tensed up, a knot forming in your throat. “You don’t believe me, do you. That’s… Well, I probably deserve that.” He sighed, a stressed sound. “Fine, I’ll prove it to you. I’ll show you that I’m serious this time, that I mean it. I’ll-”

“I do believe you,” you told him, cutting off whatever he was about to say. The water was dark, it’s inky surface winking with the faint hint of shimmering reflected light as it rushed past. You stared at it, trying to keep yourself under control. “I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“The right thing?” he asked flatly.

“I don’t want you to wake up and realize that you only cared for me because of the emotions of war, or because I’m convenient. I-I don’t want to be your mistake,” you said, practically glaring at the canal to remain steady. “I want you to be happy, and I… I don’t think that I can do that.”

“You already do,” Sylvain said.

That shocked you into meeting his gaze again, unable to find the words to respond. In the dark, the color of his eyes was lost. But his intensity was heavy and warm and as intoxicating as the liquor and you were drawn to it like nothing else in the world because the way he made you feel when he looked at you like that was incomparable. But you were just you. Awkward, strange, uncertain. Even unpleasant in so many ways. How could you truly believe you deserved to be looked at like that? Like you mattered.

“You’ll come back to Faerghus, won’t you?” Sylvain asked. “After you’re done here, I mean. His Majesty can’t ask you to stay in Enbarr forever, right?” Dimitri most certainly could ask that of you, although you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if you wanted to return to Faerghus, Dimitri wouldn’t force you to stay. Sylvain didn’t seem to care about your answer, he likely knew it just as well as you did. “Right, so when things have calmed down here, you’ll come home,” Sylvain said, like that settled something.

Home. What did he think of as your home? The miserable cold estate of your father in Gautier territory? That no more sounded like home than Enbarr did. Perhaps you could continue work as an ambassador, or perhaps you would stay in the former Empire. Perhaps that would be better for everyone. Out of sight, out of-

“You will come back, won’t you?” Sylvain asked when you didn’t respond, his voice softer.

“Yes,” you said, unable to deny him that.

“Promise me something, then,” Sylvain said. “When you come back to Faerghus, you’ll give me a serious shot at proving to you how much I truly care about you.”

Your stomach turned over unhappily, nervously. What were you meant to feel about that request? Hope? Happiness? Guilt? Trepidation? In a way, you felt all of them at once, the sensation almost as overwhelming as the humidity. Once again, you wanted to say yes. You wanted to throw yourself into his arms and accept what would come of it.

The water rushed, bugs buzzing in the distance. You said nothing.

“C’mon, you wouldn’t wanna break my heart, would you?” Sylvain asked, his smile just about the only distinct thing you could make out in the dark.

“When I return...” you said slowly, considering it. What were the chances of that, you wondered? By the time you returned, the strange and faraway future, Sylvain would be Margrave Gautier. You couldn’t imagine him staying alone for long, not really. So it was a nice promise, pretty words, but no meaning. Just like beautiful, lovely, pretty, cute. Meaningless, without consequence. Another lovely thing to hold in your heart even when he’d forgotten all about you, a piece of treasure clutched in a dead man’s hand at the bottom of the ocean. “I promise.”

“Heh, you really know how to make a guy work for it,” Sylvain said, grinning like he’d won something. But it was just a casual, silly promise, nothing more. Even so. “It’s a promise, then.” He lifted the flask like a toast and took a hearty drink before passing it to you. It was almost like a kiss, your lips touching his by proxy. An innocent kiss, then, tasting of honeyed liquor and heat in your head and chest and head. A toast to a future you didn’t believe would come to pass. But you wished for it. You really did.

/

Autumn came later than it did in the north. Beginning with rippling waves of golden wheat and changing leaves, the infectious scent of fall harvest and drying earth greeted you each time you left the city. Not to be outdone, the vibrant infection of dying things and decaying earth crept into the streets of Enbarr, a velvety cloak fog sneaking into the streets. Fall hit Enbarr without the intense bite it had for Faerghus, which you couldn’t help but appreciate considering the amount of traveling your new position required of you.

It was difficult, you were hardly a politician, but you made it work. This was good. You needed to become strong. In a way, it was like setting a goal. You told yourself all the time that you could never be worthy of the promise Sylvain had made to you on that summer night, all the while working to become a woman who was. Strong. Beautiful. Self assured. Oh, you tried.

Sylvain wrote, occasionally. He told you that negotiations with Sreng were difficult. The leader of the country rightly had little trust for a place and people that had brutally annexed half of their land and only recently emerged from a terrible war. Oddly, being the victors made the position even more precarious, especially with the militantly nationalistic values the Chruch of Seiros had instilled within Fódlan for so long. Certain countries were willing to make alliances out of the fear, but others doubled down because of their worries that Fódlan could so easily ruin them.

Sylvain made no acknowledgment of romance or your promise, but there was something. The scent of his cologne that found its way into every envelope. The casual, loopy lattice of his handwriting. And the way he signed each letter, words you kept locked up tight in your heart. With love, Sylvain Jose Gautier. Forever yours, Sylvain Jose Gautier. Affectionately, Sylvain Jose Gautier.

You scorned yourself for the hope you felt. But you couldn’t quite kill it, either. /

Winter in the former Empire was as mild as the fall, all things considered. You didn’t even see snow until you ventured up into the former Arundel territory. Sylvain wrote less often. He must have been frightfully busy. Not to mention the difficulty of getting the post in or out of the snow-thick Faerghus. You tried not to take it personally.

Sylvain said, the weather there is probably nicer than here, it feels like I’m always cold these days. Cold and busy. Sylvain said, of course, it would be better if I could bask in the warmth of your smile. Sylvain said, Dimitri has decided to pick up the tradition of winter celebrations in Fhirdiad, any chance you’ll be there? Signed, Your devoted and freezing, Sylvain Jose Gautier.

You told him that you couldn’t. The nobles in the Empire were ready to crack at any moment, even a few weeks away would surely shatter the whole thing. Maybe next year.

Maybe. The word tasted like hope when you said it and you tried to keep your expectations in check.

Winter became spring became summer. Sylvain hardly ever wrote throughout the changing seasons, but neither did you. Too busy, too distracted, too forgetful, too frightened of rejection. Whenever you put the pen to paper, you found that all you could write was that you missed him. So much that it had become a terrible ache. Was that too selfish of you? Too terrible? You wondered if he had found a new love yet, if he thought of you. You wondered if he missed you, if he thought about you as often as you did him. You closed your eyes and pressed your nose to the heavy parchment that smelled of Sylvain’s cologne and dried ink and expensive paper and pretended for a moment longer that you could return to Faerghus as a woman who deserved to be at his side, that he would have you.

Autumn came again, the musty warm scent of sunshine on crispy yellow and red piles of leaves and sweet musk of death. The former Empire was finally becoming stable enough to free you from its clutches, the lords kept in check under Dimitri’s reign. Perhaps you would serve as an ambassador after all, Dimitri seemed willing to entertain the idea.

Winter descended a mild grip, bestowing a chilly kiss onto the city of Enbarr. No teeth, no cruelty. No snow. Although it was possibly one of the worst seasons to trek up north, you knew it was time to return. You had said maybe, but this was the goal you’d been building yourself towards all this time. You looked in the mirror and told yourself that you had changed throughout the year. No longer the disagreeable, antisocial child you had been. Even if Sylvain had forgotten his promise, even if he no longer cared.

Even so, even so.

/

The day had been short, shorter than most that you had spent in the mild climate of Enbarr. Comparatively, winter days in Fhirdiad were fleeting and freezing, the sun coming out just in time to wave goodbye. So many things had changed in the year and a half that you’d been away. Faerghus was a different beast entirely from the barren wasteland it had been. Trade routes had been established, relations between the former Alliance and Empire strengthened, and a certain feeling of life returned to the citizens. Fhirdiad was hardly recognizable, decked out in lights and wreaths in honor of the winter celebrations they were so fond of. Clean streets, rosy cheeks, playing children —you could barely reconcile the image of the city as it had been with the place that greeted you.

You had changed, too. Stronger, smarter, you had more perspective about the world. More confidence, maybe. Hopefully. By the goddess you hoped.

Many things hadn’t changed, however.

Until you were certain of your position and had a place to live, you’d taken a room in an Inn near the palace in Fhirdiad. It was cold and unornamented, such a stark contrast to the decadent rooms you’d taken in Enbarr. One thing you were at least somewhat certain of was that you hadn’t told anyone where you were staying. Despite that, barely an hour after you arrived, Annette and Mercedes towed an unenthusiastic Ingrid to your door. To get ready for the ball, they said, acting as if no time at all had passed.

With them, you didn’t feel as strong a need to prove yourself or the way you’d changed, the growth you’d achieved. They were quite unlike the sisters you’d grown up with, warm and kind and energetic. All the while tripping over themselves to inform you of everything you’d missed in the time you’d been gone, Annette and Mercedes styled you like a doll. “Ooo, you should wear your hair down like this,” Annette said, arranging your hair around your shoulders helpfully. “And I’ve got this shimmery eye pallet that will look great on you.” Mercedes dug through your luggage to find one of the many fancy dresses you’d acquired while living in the former Empire. “I think this dress matches the theme, don’t you think, Annie?” she asked. Surprisingly, even Ingrid joined in. Her hair was still short, but she applied makeup and donned a dress that showed an impressive amount of shoulder. Still, she rejected the lipstick Mercedes offered, saying that there would be sausages at the party and it’d get everywhere.

None of them mentioned Sylvain. You didn’t ask. It was nice to be around them again, to simply bask in their company. Making friends in Enbarr hadn’t been an option when so much of the court would have gladly seen you dead. Odd, you hadn’t realized how lonely you’d been.  

By the end of it all, you couldn’t help but feel a bit vain. Yes, you had changed quite a bit. Where you had been a scrawny and awkward girl hovering between stages of life during the war, you were now truly a woman. Elegant and graceful. Peace had allowed your hair and skin to finally shine, given the proper attention that long war campaigns had denied. No longer living on rations and training constantly, your body was softer than it had ever been, filling out the dress. You put on a practiced smile and stood up straight and told yourself that it was natural, that this was who you wanted to be.

Snow drifted down in lackadaisical twirls when the four of you entered the royal palace ballroom. It was a place you’d only seen once, when Dimitri took the throne. You had strong memories of that night, ones that made your stomach dip and churn with anxiety. And excitement.

After being relieved of your cloaks and announced, you paused to take it all in. Built in much the same fashion as other Faerghus structures, there was a harsh, utilitarian cut to the grand palace ballroom. The low ceilings lent a bunker-like quality to the place, although you wouldn’t call it cramped, either. Everything was cut with sharp angles and little detailing. Most of the stone was smoothed and finished but not colored or altered. Despite the relative simplicity, the floor plan was expansive, giving the party goers more than enough space to spread out into the various nooks and alcoves. The dance floor, a rather new addition, was set on a platform on the far end, the band set up on a slightly higher platform beside it. Tiles on the floor were what truly denoted the inherent wealth and style of royalty. The Crest of Blaiddyd was the largest, patterned across the dance floor, but the major noble Crests from Faerghus were printed in other important spaces. It couldn’t be seen from the entryway, but a sequence of stained glass panels representing Loog’s war for independence was set behind the King’s table.

Ingrid broke off from the four of you, ostensibly in search of the buffet, but Annette took your arm. “We should go see His Majesty first! I’m sure he’ll be super excited to see you again.”

“Annie,” Mercedes chided. “I’m sure there are many people she’d like to see.”

“No, I’d love to see Dimitri again,” you said with a smile that felt somewhat weak. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to see Sylvain, if you were ready for that. At the same time, you felt like you couldn’t wait.

King Dimitri was easy to find. He cut a grand figure in his royal ensemble, mingling among the people with a genuine smile. His confidence in the role of king had clearly grown, his movements as easy in his gala finery as they were in armor, not to mention the way he interacted with people lacking the awkwardness you were used to.

He smiled and greeted you, even kissing your hand, and it was utterly genuine. Dimitri was as polite and kind as you remembered, but it was wrong. He looked at you and that blue eye didn’t linger or seem surprised, he saw no difference between the woman who stood in front of him and the nervous, awkward girl he’d celebrated with after the war. Only a year and a half had passed, but still.

“You’re here to stay, then?” Dimitri asked. You smiled, but it was strained. To stay in Faerghus, yes, that had been your plan. But why? To do what? You realized right then how silly it was to be wearing a face full of makeup and a gown, like you were playing an odd game of pretend. You wanted to be validated, to prove to them all how you’d grown. That you were worth something now.

“I am.”

“I’m interested to hear everything about the situation in Enbarr,” Dimitri said enthusiastically. His eye flicked behind you, a new group of people hoping to meet the celebrity Savior King. “Er, later, if that’s alright with you.”

“Yes, of course,” you responded. “Later.”

He shot you an apologetic smile as he bowed out.

You turned back to scan the ballroom and you told yourself that you weren’t specifically looking for a dash of bright red among the muted wintery colors because that felt an awful lot like hope. And that was silly. You had grown, you had changed. Childish promises were hardly a concern of yours, now. When disappointment struck your chest at the absence, you ignored it.

Instead, you set to work trying to find where Mercedes and Annette had disappeared to. Before you could stray too far, a familiar soft voice called your name. Mercedes stood beside the hulking figure of Dedue. “I was just telling him that you came!” she said, smiling.

“It seems that everyone is here,” Dedue noted. “I’m… Glad to see you again.” He bowed, stiff and polite. It didn’t necessarily shock you that he would regard you in the same way as he always did. Straightforward and famously terse.

“Dedue just got back, too,” Mercedes said.

“From where?” you asked.

“I was in Duscur,” Dedue said.

At your confusion, Mercedes added, “After Dedue left Dimitri’s service, he and I have been working on opening a school for the children of Duscur.”

“Yes, it is a difficult project, but a worthwhile endeavor,” Dedue said, wearing a small smile as he looked down at her. A private look that you didn’t quite grasp. “In any case, a great many things have changed while you were away. It must be shocking.”

“A bit,” you said vaguely, surprised by their behavior. Caught off guard. Awkward. “I’m going to go get a drink.”

“Of course, we’ll catch up with you later!” Mercedes said.

Drifting over to the buffet table, you saw that Ingrid was right about the sausages. The spread was quite grand, but you’d grown used to such foods by spending so much time in Enbarr. Maybe a little spoiled, as you couldn’t help but note that many dishes were missing. But your stomach was far too nervous to eat anyway, so you accepted a flute of bubbly champagne, sipping at it as you made your way around.

People looked at you, watched you, but none of it was quite like you wanted. Did they see you because of the way you looked, the ways you’d changed, or did they view you as an awkward introvert pretending at being a lady? Which, you wondered.

You saw Ashe at just about the same time that he saw you, your eyes locking and his face immediately breaking out in a smile. “I heard you were here!” he said enthusiastically. He didn’t look older, not really. His hair was a little longer, but that was it. It was the same Ashe who had taught you the names of all the flowers in the greenhouse greeting you with the same smile he always had.

You smiled and nodded, unable to think of any more elegant greeting.

“It’s great to see you again,” Ashe said. So genuine, it made you feel bad for being so bitter. “I wish I had more time, but-” His eyes danced around the crowd, looking for something. Or someone. “I brought my younger brother along to introduce him to everyone, but I’ve no idea where he might have gone.”

“Do you need help looking?” you asked, the words more polite than anything.

“No, thank you. I can manage,” Ashe said gratefully. “I can’t wait for us all to catch up.”

“Me neither.” Your smile was thin because you knew he certainly didn’t see you any differently. And you weren’t sure what it was that you expected, that you wanted. Only that the absence made you feel a bit hollow, like you wanted to retreat to the shadows and hide.

You found Felix by acting on that impulse. He stood by the wall, on the fringe of the crowd with a slightly annoyed look about him. He didn’t wear the current style of laid back formal wear with a militaristic edge, but a cape and coat and boots. They were fine and well maintained, of course, but little more could be said for the look. Despite that, Felix had a way of standing out, his narrowed eyes watching the crowd like he expected something to happen. Or maybe that was just a vain hope. “So you are back,” he said, turning to acknowledge your presence. His expression didn’t change, but his voice wasn’t exactly cold, either. You’d always felt a certain sort of understanding towards Felix. But that was probably why the two of you had never become very close, either.

“Try not to look too excited. I might get the wrong impression,” you told him, the vaguely clever retort coming out in a practiced way after the words had been properly arranged in your head. That made him smile. But there was no other reaction, no indication that he noticed the way you’d changed or the way you looked.

The previous song ended with a flourish, the next one picking up right on its tail. Laughter buzzed around the expansive room, conversation and heat filling the space.

“Do you need something?” Felix asked. He didn’t sound frustrated, more distracted.

“No,” you said. “Actually, have you seen Sylvain around?” you asked. And you tried to keep your voice casual, but something kind of cracked towards the end and you could hear the naked want in your voice which was all kinds of pathetic.

“No, I haven’t,” Felix said, seemingly blind to your slipup. Right. Felix wouldn’t notice that sort of thing.

“Is he with someone?” you asked.

Felix snorted. “I don’t know. Or care, for that matter. Why don’t you ask him?”

“If I could find him, maybe,” you muttered softly, although you knew the words were more of a cover for your nerves than anything. “What about you”

“What about me?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

Felix eyed you for a second, his narrowed gaze unnervingly piercing. “Why?”

“Isn’t that what people normally ask their friends after having been away?”

“Probably,” Felix responded with a nod of understanding, but he didn’t answer.

“Right,” you eventually said, more to ease your awkwardness than anything. The person you wanted to be probably could have conjured up some way to draw Felix out of his shell, but you had no idea.

Instead, you bid him a farewell and ducked out. It was all so very anticlimactic. You’d been dreaming of the moment you’d return to court, confident and beautiful and desirable. But nobody looked at you like you wanted to be looked at, appraising you like you were worth admiring. It was like nothing had changed and that should have been comforting, but instead it just made you feel oddly weak. If you hadn’t changed in the way you thought you had, that took away the lie you’d told yourself so you didn’t feel so silly, the lie that you weren’t doing this for him. That you hadn’t returned because you were following the sweet trail of a promise made in the heady aftermath of battle and victory by tongues loosened with alcohol and intimacy ignited by the wild cocoon of a late summer night.

You wanted to be beautiful, but that wasn’t it. You wanted to be seen as beautiful. And worthy. Throughout the war, you had all remained in a half state of adulthood. Undeveloped and held back from moving forward until the war was over. That was why you had been unable to accept his proposal. One day he’d lose that mischievous affection in his eyes and you’d be left gutted and hollow and cheap. He’d realize you weren’t enough and leave you like a broken and useless toy. And things hadn’t really changed, not in the way you wanted them to have changed.

It felt like failure. Deciding to get some wintery air to calm yourself down, you abandoned your glass and reclaimed your cloak to wander outside into the garden. Most people opted to stay inside, but the weather wasn’t unmanageably cold. The tall stone walls kept the wind at bay, and the temperature wasn’t really so bad considering the heating artifices that had been set up in intervals along the paving stone walkways. You put up your hood to defend against the faint fog of the lazy snow. Mostly, though, you were just amazed by the sight that greeted you.

No flowers were cultivated at this time of year, most of Faerghus was killed by the brutal weather. To replace them, the garden was decorated with elaborate ice sculptures. Art was as rare in Faerghus as flowers were, making the sight a genuine surprise, but not an unwelcome one. It drew you out of your poor mood, giving you a much needed distraction.

Some of them depicted familiar scenes, frozen tableaus made to reflect scenes of scripture or history. Not just Faerghus history, either. All three nations were given spotlights among the icy sentinels.

The most interesting one, to you, was the ice Dimitri, standing double the height of the man himself with Areadbhar at the ready. Byleth had received similar treatment, the Sword of the Creator held high to fall on whichever unlucky individual happened to be beneath it. You wondered what the pair thought of such treatment, such deification. Either way, the sculptures were nothing short of breathtaking.

The arrival of a group of people urged you onwards, deeper into the frozen wonderland of stone and ice. It was colder as you got further away from the main plaza, the main sculptures grouped where they could be seen and admired. Darker, too, colors fading as if you were walking beyond the clustered beating heart of the celebration and into something else. Something eerie. You’d been too lost in empty ponderance to notice how far you’d walked. There weren’t any sculptures here, just ice molded into shapes to replace the empty flower beds, regular stone statues posed amidst the path. Just as you were about to turn around, the dark spoke.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that really you?”

Recognition hit you instantly like a sharp flash of late summer lightning. Even muffled through the wool of your cape’s hood, you knew exactly who that voice belonged to. Despite that, you had to turn around to be sure. Just in case. No matter how much you doubted yourself, Sylvain Jose Gautier himself stood behind you, wrapped up in a dark cloak that allowed him to nearly fade into the shadows. Only his face, as pale as you remembered, stood out in the magic light. He was smiling, shadows cast beneath his arched eyebrows and high cheekbones, his red hair both unruly and stylish at the same time. Although the finer details were lost between the darkness and distances, you were more than aware that your memories didn’t at all do him justice.

“It’s you,” you said, unable to think of anything more articulate. Even with as much as you’d anticipated this moment, you hadn’t planned for it, not like this. Actually, you weren’t even sure what you had planned for.

“Uh, yeah,” Sylvain said after a beat, grinning. “I hope you weren’t expecting someone else.”

“I wasn’t,” you said quickly. “You surprised me.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said. “I’d have thought of a better ice breaker, but I wouldn’t want any of the mages to get mad at me for ruining their hard work.”

It was almost surreal. He was the same as he had been. The line was stupid, but it worked, it made your chest ache.

“Okay, I know. That one was terrible,” Sylvain said with a rueful laugh when you didn’t answer, scratching the back of his head. “Guess it’s kinda an off day for me… I didn’t know you’d be here. I mean, I heard that you were, but I wasn’t sure. Especially since it was so hard to find you.”

“Sorry.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Sylvain said. “In fact, I’m overjoyed.  Although… I’d be happier if I could actually see your face. Don’t get me wrong, I love a bit of mystery, but I appreciate beauty much more.”

It took a moment to register what he meant, but eventually, it dawned on you that with the only light at your back and your hood up, your face was probably entirely obscured. “Right,” you said. It wasn’t exactly the grand reveal you hoped for, but it was still something. You pulled down your hood in a way you hoped didn’t mess up your hair. Trying to remain somewhat surreptitious about it, you turned slightly, enough to catch the light better. The air was colder without the buffer of the wool, but you didn’t exactly mind it.

“Wow,” Sylvain said, his voice soft, surprised. “You look beautiful.” He looked at you in the way none of the others had, his breathy voice quiet and expression stunned. Not in the artificial way of his flirtations, but something honest and fascinated. A moment later, as if coming to his senses, Sylvain’s awe turned awkward. “What I mean is that you look stunning tonight. Not to say that you never looked nice before! ‘Cause you did, er, do. You’ve always looked beautiful, but this is different. Good different.”

“Thank you,” you said, unable to keep from the spread of a slow smile across your face, a giddy feeling making your heart jump. Nerves, doubt too. But it wasn’t so bad.

“No, really,” Sylvain insisted, his expression earnest. “I almost feel bad for the mages who set this all up. Your mere presence completely devalues any piece of art. How could anybody admire something else when you’re around?”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you said after a moment of consideration, trying to deliver the line in a properly playful way. It must have worked, because Sylvain’s face broke out into another wide grin.

“You think so?” he asked. “‘Cause if you do, maybe you’ll do me the honor of touring this little exhibition together?” Sylvain held out his arm, one of his eyebrows quirked hopefully.

“I would,” you said, jumping at the chance to give such an easily presented answer and taking his proffered arm before you could talk yourself down.

“By the way, how’d you wind up all the way down here?” he asked as the two of you retraced your way back to the main plaza.

“I guess I was distracted,” you told him, trying your very best to keep your gait normal and not look at him. It hardly made a difference. Standing so close, you could smell the wool and tanned hide of his fur trimmed cape, the deeper musk of his clothes and the body beneath them, the leather polish of his gloves. It was intimate in a quiet, still way.

“That’s it?” Sylvain pushed, expectant.

You tried to figure out what that might be before giving up. “What do you mean?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing,” he said. “I guess that part of you hasn’t changed.” Sylvain seemed pleased with that observation, but you weren’t. He was right, it was just like you to get wrapped up in your desire to isolate and your own thoughts and feelings. To isolate yourself.

Brushing past other couples, you and Sylvain walked and admired sculptures depicting Sothis creating the Fódlan. Serios with her sword held high, her hair and dress picked up by an unseen breeze. The Four Saints. Nemesis, the King of Liberation.

All the while, Sylvain was looking at you. The feeling was heavy even as you tried to avert your eyes onto the shining sculptures. They were marvels, genuinely, but you could barely see them for as hard as you were staring.

“Is everything all right?” you finally asked, meeting Sylvain’s eyes nervously. As much as you had craved it, you had been avoiding his gaze.

“Yeah, of course. It’s just… It seems like a waste to keep you out here all alone where nobody can admire you,” he said. “Then again, that makes me pretty lucky, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose,” you said slowly, “it depends on how you define luck,”

“Running into you?” Sylvain said. “I’d say that’s very lucky. Some might even say it’s fate.”

“That’s silly.”

“You don’t believe in fate?”

“No more than you do.”

“If it’s not fate, how is it that I seem to constantly run into you like this?” Sylvain asked, his voice and smile playful. “Face it, we’re fated to be together.”

You didn’t respond to that, trying to gauge how serious he was and coming up short of anything other than conflicted confusion.

“By the way,” Sylvain said after a moment passed, “what are you doing out here? You couldn’t have gotten dressed up like this just to admire the scenery all by yourself.”

“I was inside for a while,” you told him. “I said hello to everybody.”

“Except me.”

Did he sound a bit hurt? He was smiling, but there was an edge to his voice. “I couldn’t find you.”

“Really? Then you couldn’t have been in there very long. Are you sure that’s it?” Sylvain pushed suggestively. “You didn’t come out here to, I dunno, meet someone?”

“Obviously not,” you said carefully, holding just a bit more tightly to his arm. Not clinging, you didn’t want to think of yourself as clinging. “I’m known to be unfriendly and antisocial, it would be more out of character if I didn’t run away and hide.”

“I don’t think you’re that bad,” Sylvain said, either not picking up on your self deprecating tone or ignoring it. “Felix definitely has you beat in that regard. He’s completely hopeless.”

“If he wore a dress you wouldn’t think I was any better,” you responded, making a valiant attempt at teasing him to avoid giving in to your self pity.

It worked. Sylvain looked down at you like he was shocked, at a loss for words. “You have changed,” he said dramatically. “Ouch. You leave for a year and suddenly you know just where to hit me where it hurts. Did Ingrid tell you about that?”

“I’m just saying,” you said, skirting around that question, “that you’re biased when it comes to girls. And other feminine individuals.”

“Well, maybe,” Sylvain allowed. “But not about you. I pride myself on having enough personal experience to know firsthand how cute and charming you can be.”

“What is strange,” you said, forcing the conversation onward to ignore the way he made your stomach buzz with thousands of little butterfly wings, “is that you’re out here. Unless you’re meeting someone.”

“I was,” Sylvain said, “but I already found the girl I was looking for,”

You didn’t know what to say to that, all of your quips and clever retorts running dry, a dizzy intoxicated sort of feeling rising up into your head. Rather than answer, you pretended to be very interested in a sculpture of an eagle. It stared down at you with beady and judgmental icy eyes, it’s wings folded and posture regal.

“Anyway,” Sylvain continued, “I’ve heard that you’re in Faerghus to stay.”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” you responded.

“You know, I was prepared to wait way longer,” Sylvain casually noted as you continued down the line of sculptures to a lion cast in ice, his mouth forever fixed in an intimidating roar. “I had an image in my head of how I’d try to woo you as an old man. I figure that I’ll be one of those graceful old grandpas who uses a fancy walking stick and everything. Obviously, you’ll age very gracefully. Probably would have had to get the ring resized for your old lady hand, though.”

Your heart thumped, the palpitation hard enough to make your head spin.

“Um… What?” you asked in a faint voice, your arm going limp and releasing his as you stopped in your tracks. Sylvain hesitated, his feet brushing against the stone as he half turned towards you.

“Don’t you remember?” Sylvain asked, confused. “The night that the war ended, we made a promise.”

“I remember,” you said, swallowing down a lump in your throat.

“Great! So, uh, where do you think I should begin?”

“Begin what?” you asked dumbly.

His eyes narrowed, a frustrated glare that accused you of being purposefully obstinate. “Wooing you? Y’know, proving the extent of my undying love and all that.”

“Oh, that,” you said, your stomach dropping and a cold breath catching in your throat.

“Yeah, that,” he echoed, his confidence fading a bit. “If this your way of politely rejecting me, it’s okay to just say it outright. I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

Winter’s unyielding touch pierced the bubble created by walls and warmth, a draft of cold air teasing your hair, slipping beneath your cloak and making you shiver. Snowflakes settled in Sylvain’s messy hair, sparkling as they caught the light.

“I don’t have anything to offer you, Sylvain,” you told him after it passed, your eyes flicking away from his to stare hard at the lion’s icy maw to keep your eyes from stinging. “I thought that if I took some time and tried, I could. I wanted to, but coming back here and everything… I am what I am.”

“And I wouldn't want you to be any different,” Sylvain said. From your periphery, you could see that he was frowning, his brow furrowed in concern. “What do you think you don’t have that I want… Or.. Or expect? I don’t mean to be crude, but I could get almost any girl I wanted. At the very least, she’d be compelled to marry me because of my-”

“Crest and title,” you filled in, your voice flat.

His lips quirked up like that was a funny thing to say, but his eyes didn’t change. “Yeah, that. I mean, that’s how it is, right? That’s the person I’ve always been told I was. The fate I accepted. Until I met you. You showed me that I can be more than that. And this past year…” He laughed dryly, a gloved hand brushing the snow from his hair nervously. “Well, to be honest, it’s been pretty miserable. But it made me think even harder about myself and about what I wanted. I’ve made my choice.”

“And what’s that?” you asked. And you knew what he meant but that knowledge was unbearably presumptuous, something you could hardly let yourself dream, let alone be given in real life. So you asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sylvain asked, “You.”

Dizzy and cold, you probably could have been knocked over by a particularly stiff breeze. “Me,” you said softly. Not a question, just an attempt to taste the word, to understand it. He didn’t even hear you.

“But…” Sylvain continued before stopping himself. He sighed, shook his head. “Now don’t get me wrong, I love the chase, but I’ll give it up if you tell me right now that you don’t want me. I can accept that. However, if there’s even the slightest chance that I can convince you that I truly, genuinely want to be with you, I’ll do anything.”

“I’m not worth all that,” you said, but your voice was hushed and cramped by your swollen throat, spoken to the ground because you couldn’t look at Sylvain and admit that. Not directly. Couldn’t he tell? Beneath the makeup and hair and dress and all of the things you’d done to grow, you were still the pathetic slip of a girl he found in that greenhouse. The same nothing girl you’d been your entire life.

“What?” he asked, taking a step towards you.

You looked up, daring to meet his dark eyes. The words hurt to say. Icicles piercing between your ribs. But you did. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You don’t deserve me?” Sylvain asked slowly, emphasizing the words as if to make sense of them. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he considered you, picking you apart with that too-keen gaze. “So all of this, the way you’ve been acting… I think I’m starting to get it. You think that you’re not enough… For me.” After saying that aloud, Sylvain laughed another humorless laugh. “Why, what makes me different?”

“Everything,” you said, speaking at a nearly inaudible hush because you didn’t trust your voice. “You’re my first friend, the only person who’s ever made me feel like I mattered. I couldn’t bear to ruin this because I…” Words weren’t your forte, they never had been. You knew that, he knew it. But you swallowed against your dry mouth so they could come out all the same, the warmth of your breath fading into the cold and carried away by the wintery air to the heavens above. “I love you.”

Sylvain didn’t react at first, staring at you in shock. Finally, just when the tension was ready to kill you, words emerged from his parted lips. “You…me…I...” He paused, then shook his head as if to clear it, to focus. “Come again?”

“I love you,” you repeated, the words coming louder now that they’d already been exposed, brittle in your mouth.

“Right…” He blinked once. Twice. “Do you remember earlier when I said that you were less hopeless than Felix?” Sylvain asked.

You nodded.

“I take it back.”

You purposefully fixed your gaze at the frosted ground with some mixture of embarrassment and nerves. Regret, too, it was tangy in your lungs. As it happened so often, you found yourself without anything to say. What were you supposed to say now that all of your damning insecurities were out in the dark winter cold? His tone was semi-playful with that last remark, but it was true. You were hopeless, you hadn’t really changed at all and now you felt like you were going to cry. Right here, in front of him, running your makeup, ruining the night-

Refusing to allow you to sink back into your own head, Sylvain grabbed your hands. Both gloved, his in leather and yours in silk. Despite that, you could feel the firmness of his grasp, remember the way his skin was calloused and rough against your own. You looked up to meet his eyes on instinct, confused and surprised by the easy way he touched you. But not displeased, not enough to shake off his grasp.

“I couldn’t bear to see you change,” Sylvain told you emphatically, his dark eyes serious and eyebrows raised. “Sure you’re a little weird sometimes and I can’t say that I always understand what you’re thinking, but I like that. I like the way that you listen to what I have to say and the way you try to understand me. Me, not my Crest or title or whatever. I like the way you smile and the playful look in your eyes when you say something clever. You’re intelligent and supportive and kind.” The words had an odd rhythm to them, like they had been practiced before but Sylvain couldn’t quite dole them out in the measured way in which they’d been composed. Each one was caressed by his voice before puffing out in a little cloud in front of his red lips, accentuated by the pleading, vulnerable cast of his eyes on yours. “I like you…” he told you, his fingers tightening around yours. “No, I love you. And if you’ll have me, I’ll prove it to you. I’ll show you how wonderful I think you are. I’ve thought up a few pretty compelling ways in this past year.”

From an outside perspective, you could imagine that you were standing as still as the lion made of ice. Rigid, your eyes wide, your lips slightly parted as if to make way for words you weren’t able to speak. In your own head, however, you just felt dizzy. Aware of the cold biting the tip of your nose and freezing your feet in their brand new fancy shoes. Your breath was held as if to retain Sylvain’s impromptu speech for a moment longer, as if you could parse out the meaning of his words just from keeping them in.

“Uh…” he finally said, frowning. “Are you okay? Maybe that was too much...”

“No!” you said, the word finally breaking through the barrier of your mind to your lips before you could rethink it. Too loud. You flinched, clearing your throat to more easily manage your voice. “N-not too much.”

Sylvain waited expectantly for more. But there wasn’t more. What were you supposed to say? How were you supposed to offer him something even halfway comparable to that confession?

“Should I give you some space?” Sylvain asked, his grip loosening around your hands.

You panicked, holding onto him tighter. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m trying to… I mean, I… I don’t know what to say.”

Slowly, hopefully, a smile tugged at the edges of Sylvain’s mouth. “Have I ever mentioned how cute you are when you’re flustered?” He seemed to ponder that for a second before adding, “Strike that, you’re always cute.” Another beat passed and his expression sobered. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t able to show you how wonderful you are before you decided that you’re not.”

“Don’t say that,” you told him.

He frowned, but nodded. “You’re right. All I can do now is spend the rest of my life making it up to you…. If you’ll have me, that is.”

“Sylvain,” you said carefully, trying to keep your voice even so it didn’t slip away from you. “Is this a proposal?”

“Huh, well, I guess it kinda is...” He frowned. “I hate to say it but I’m completely underprepared for this. I haven’t really asked your father and I don’t even have the ring on me, also, I was envisioning more flowers. But…” He paused to compose himself before nodding resolutely. “Yes, this is me proposing marriage to you. I’d be the luckiest guy in the world if I could spend the rest of my life with you by my side.”

Like sugar in tea, everything that had been holding you back from accepting him was dissolved away. All the reasons you’d clung to so you could justify your cowardice and insecurities were dwarfed by what Sylvain was offering. Because you were weak, because you couldn’t hold onto the martyr mentality anymore. Not like this. “Okay,” you said. It was barely more than a whisper because you could feel the tears coming back, making your throat tight.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” you clarified, just a bit louder. “I’m sorry I made you wait.”

Sylvain smiled. It was a look you knew well, one that you had treasured since the first time you saw it. He grinned and looked at you like you were worth wanting, worth caring about. Like he’d won something grand. “You’re a girl well worth waiting for,” he told you. “Although, we do have some things to make up for. I guess we’ve got time for that, though.”

Time to make up for the seasons apart. The thought alone made you feel giddy. Overwhelmed. Like this was a dream. Maybe it was, although you couldn’t say you minded the idea too much, assuming you never had to wake up.  

“Is that a promise?” you asked.

Sylvain pulled you in closer. He was warm despite the cold, he smelled good even though your nose was a bit stuffy from the tears and chill. “You’re the only girl I’ll ever want, the only girl worth looking at. I swear my heart to you.”

You blushed, looking away. “That’s-”

“Too flowery?” he butted in nervously. “Sorry, force of habit.”

“I don’t mind it,” you told him slowly, honestly. “Even though it’s embarrassing. Maybe you don’t remember but the first time we met, you told me that if we were flowers-”  

“We’d have a budding romance,” he said with a wry smile. “That was bad, I know.”

“It worked,” you said. “I never told you, but it did.”

“Really?” Sylvain’s eyes widened. “I thought you hated me for the longest time.”

“Never.”

“Even when I kissed you?” he asked. “You avoided me for a while after that, I was worried I had scared you away.”

“I didn’t want you to think that I felt like you owed me something for a mistake.”

“A mistake,” Sylvain repeated, his voice twisting the idea into something ridiculous. His leather-clad hand reached up to cradle your cheek, pulling your eyes up to meet his. Playful, dancing in the dim light. “Fine, what if I kissed you now?”

Your eyes widened, flicking down to his smiling mouth. Wide, full bottom lip, constantly on the verge of a half-smirk. Sylvain was so close, it would be very easy for him to close the distance between the two of you. “If you want,” you said. His thumb brushed across your lip, making you shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. “Yes.”

It had been winter when he first kissed you. Now it was winter again and the air was cold but Sylvain’s mouth was hot, his arms wrapping you up in a scorching embrace. Whatever else you were, in that moment, you could believe that you weren’t alone. You could believe that you —nothing little you— were wanted in the only way you’d ever wished to be wanted. As yourself, as someone worth loving, a girl worth caring about. Beautiful, not in the transient way you’d always feared.

The two of you parted and your breath was quick and warm as you tried to steady it, your pulse racing. “I love you,” you murmured quietly, your eyes closed. Finally, those words felt comfortable in your mouth, like they had a right to be spoken. Sylvain laughed breathlessly, delighted, his arms still wrapped around you.

“I don’t think you have any idea how happy it makes me to hear that,” he said. “Beyond happy, actually. I didn’t think this was possible.”

“You make me happy, too,” you told him, peeking through your eyelashes to meet his eyes. Warm. Tender. Excited.

“When you smile at me like that… You know, I don’t think there’s a single more beautiful sight in the world,” Sylvain said in an unfamiliarly soft voice, his dark eyes adoring. “It almost makes me not want to share you with anyone else. What do you think about eloping?”

“Eloping?” you repeated, caught off guard.

“Yeah. Right now, tonight,” he said. “I’m sure we could find someone…”

“You’re that impatient?” you asked, halfway questioning the playful intent behind the suggestion.

“You did keep me waiting for around, what, five hundred days, give or take? It’s romantic to act with such passionate abandon.” Sylvain paused, a wicked smirk twisting up the corner of his mouth. “If we stay here too long, I might feel inclined to want you to dance with me...”

“No.”

“Not even if I ask nicely?” Sylvain asked. Although his voice was innocent enough, the way he’d raised an eyebrow and suggestively licked his lips oozed bad intent. And desire. For you. The thought was as potent as any liquor you’d ever tasted.

“No,” you repeated, your voice less firm.

“So there’s no chance I can persuade you?” he asked, leaning closer.  

You opened your mouth to refuse before rethinking it, your stomach tied up in a dozen wonderful, unknown sorts of knots. “You could try.”