#i think they all got grey as kids from being raised in the tree

[hadthatdreamagain]

headcannon that kismet was some sort of therapy group we're they all started out grey and supported eachother with getting their colors back

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

3rd of December

It was one of those nights when Sirius felt peaceful. It felt amazing to be alive because everything felt a little better and a little more beautiful.

Everything looked dreamy from this tower height. Christmas lights decorating Hogsmeade and the little trees around the castle. It looked magical.

It was definitely not the weed Sirius had been smoking. It was because of bloody Remus Lupin.

There was somthing about Moony that gave Sirius a peaceful feeling. He felt like he belonged. He felt the same when they were ten. All that Sirius wanted to do at that age was play with Remus (Rosie at the time). They had great fun times together but they also had soft moments in which not much talking was needed.

Remus Lupin was not a talker usually. And Sirius was okay with that.

When Sirius was with James, everything was chaotic. Sirius could talk until he was tired and laugh until his tummy hurt.

Not with Moony. Everything was just peace,

And how could it not? Remus was like a warm cup of tea in a cold weather, like a soft song to enjoy on a sunny evening, like a fluffy blanket that felt like cotton and was recently out of the washing machine.

Months, just months of Sirius having him back into his life and Remus was easily back to being one of his favorite people again.

How could he ever let him go?

"The stars look particularly great today" Sirius commented, not to make conversation. But just because he felt like saying his opinion.

"Did you know that some old civilizations thought that stars were spirits guarding Earth?" Remus said, looking up "Greeks believed that if you did something great in life, like being a hero, the gods would give you a place in heaven to shine for eternity"

And that was the thing about Remus. He didn't speak much, but when he did, he said things that left Sirius speechless. When they were kids, Sirius wanted to compete with him, and pretended to know about the stories Remus told him. He found Remus so wise.

"I actually look at the sky and I feel really small" Remus continued "Think about it" he looked at Sirius "Stars are so much bigger than the sun, and ten times worse than Planet Earth... We are nothing... So small and worthless"

Those kind of thoughts were so intense that Sirius shivered.

"Well, thanks a lot, Moony"

Remus laughed.

"Maybe the weed is getting to you"

Sirius wondered how could that laughter be worthless if it made Sirius warm in an instant. That also, made Sirius shiver a little.

"Are you cold?" Remus asked. "Let me give you my sweater"

Before Sirius could protest, Remus was already taking it off. It looked rather warmy and when Remus placed it around his shoulders, Sirius noticed it was very soft. Smelled nice.

"You don't have to give me your sweater, Moony" Sirius felt embarrassed.

"It's okay" Remus smiled "I was wearing like two underneath that"

Sirius realized it was true. Remus had too many layers on.

"Good thing I came prepared" Remus tutted "You're so stubborn. I told you to wear something warmer"

Sirius had a problem with layers, the fewer the better. He thought he looked cool with leather jackets and tees but those were inconvenient on the winter.

"I'm not cold, Moony!" Sirius protested and to his embarrassment, a cold breeze ran through his body making him shiver.

Remus raised an eyebrow.

Remus's sweater was cool though. Sirius was used to Remus wearing granpa sweaters. It was grey and elegant with an argyle pattern. Cardigan-like, with golden buttons. Sirius rolled up the sleeves to have his wrists and hands more free and he noticed the name "Lupin" was sewn inside the sleeve with a red thread.

Sirius almost laughed.

"It was my dad's" Remus said defensively, noticing Sirius's expression "He always labels his clothes"

"I see where you got that nerdy side from" Sirius joked.

"Fuck off!" Remus snapped making Sirius giggle.

"I don't own much sweaters"

"You can keep mine" Remus said, he had placed his head on the wall back and closed his eyes "It looks better on you anyway"

That comment made Sirius blush for some reason, and he felt stupid. Thank God Remus had his eyes closed.

Weed made him girly.

"Thanks, Moony" Sirius said "I always look good anyways"

Remus simply smiled with his eyes closed.

The next morning, now sober, Sirius gave Remus his sweater back, insisting it wasn't his style. He had loved the piece of clothing so much, he had slept with it. Which was a miracle because Sirius practically slept naked.

It was that sweet smell and the fluffiness.

But Sirius knew Remus didn't own much clothes. Sirius could buy anything he wanted with his credit cards. And besides, Remus had good care of all his sweaters and jumpers. He folded them so nicely, it was adorable.

Remus had tried to protest, though Sirius didn't let him. So, at the end, Remus shrugged and took his sweater back.

Sirius had moved on from the subject, until he saw something he didn't like.

Sirius saw Lily Evans wearing it to Math class that afternoon. Lily freaking Evans! Penny Prefect Evans! What the hell?

Sirius tried to tell himself it could be a very similar one. But it had the same golden buttons, the same argyle pattern, it looked as old as the one Remus had. And Sirius doubted a girl like Evans would buy something that looked it belonged to her father.

Sirius felt an unexplicable rage within him.

Remus was not around, since he was not good in Math class, he was in a lower level with Peter. Sirius shared this class with James, Evans and Snivellus.

The pair of idiots always sat in the front.

"Oi, Evans!" Sirius screamed, interrupting whatever James was telling him before the teacher arrived.

The ginger girl looked back to see who was calling her and immediately rolled her eyes.

"What?"

"Nice sweater" Sirius snapped "Did you steal it from you grandfather's closet?"

"Sirius..." James whispered under his breath as a few people laughed at Sirius's comment.

"Fuck off, Black!"

"I think it looks good on you, sweety" James winked, students whistled "Whatever you wear looks good on you"

"Fuck off, Potter!" Lily snapped and turned back to speak with Snape quietly as the latter fumed them with his eyes.

James laughed nervously then turned to his friend to whisper "If you want to insult someone, insult Snivy. He wears awful clothes, not Evans"

"You used to love making fun of Evans" Sirius whispered back.

"Well that sweater suits her" James nodded and then blushed realizing what he had said "I mean, girls look cute with men clothes, it's a sexy thing...You know, when I have a girlfriend, I would like her to wear my clothes...Not that I am saying I want Evans to be my girlfriend..." he hissed, then he frowned "Wait, why is Evans wearing that? She doesn't have a boyfriend..." then he groaned rather disgusted "Don't tell me it is Snivellus's!"

"It's Remus's!" Sirius protested, kind of offended. "He was wearing it the other day"

James raised an eyebrow so high, it hid behind his curls.

"What? How do you know it's the same?"

"Only Remus would wear a granpa thing like that!" Sirius snapped "He was wearing it the other day"

He didn't say he lent it to him, it was too embarrassing.

"Maybe it is a similar one?" James wondered "Why would Remus give Evans his sweater?..." James went pale "Do you think there's something going on between them?"

Sirius made a face. He knew Remus was rather friendly with Evans. But he was friendly with everyone. He wouldn't date her, right? Sirius had told him the whole story of how James had embarrassed himself asking her out plenty of times in the past.

"Let me see something" Sirius raised to his feet without thinking and walked towards Evans.

He interrupted whatever thing she was saying to Snivy and grabbed her arm.

James was openmouthed.

"What the hell?" Lily protested.

"What do you think you're doing, Black?" Snape roared furiously.

Sirius ignored them, he rolled the sleeves up and he saw it. The "Lupin" sewn inside. It was Remus's.

Taking advantage of Sirius's distraction. She pulled her arm away.

"What the fuck, Black?"

"Why are you wearing Remus's sweater?"

Evans seemed taken aback.

"Why are you wearing Remus's sweater, Evans?" James echoed, now standing next to Sirius like a cop.

Lily Evans blushed so hard, she blended with her hair. Snivellus seemed surprised as well.

Sirius didn't like this.

"Well, it is none of your business!" Evans said defensively "But I borrowed it from him because I was rather cold this morning"

"That's ridiculous" It was all that Sirius managed to say.

He was angry, he was angry. So angry and he didn't know why.

"Why is it ridiculous?" Lily asked, raising an eyebrow "Remus is my friend and he was being a gentleman not to let me freeze"

"Lily, you shouldn't have accepted" Snape protested "It is obviously a sick prank from them"

"Shut up, Snivellus!" James put his tongue out "There was probably grease on yours so she preferred asking someone else"

Snape grunted something between his nasty teeth.

Sirius wanted to punch him, punch someone.

"You shouldn't take things that are not yours, Evans" Sirius snapped "Didn't your mother teach you that?"

James opened his eyes like plates.

Lily Evans was furious.

"Didn't your mother teach you to listen when a girl speaks?" she snapped "I told you Remus borrowed it, I didn't steal it"

Sirius was even more furious.

"He shouldn't have done that because that sweater is mine!" Sirius practically yelled

"That's not true!" Lily yelled back "It has Remus's name sewn in the sleeve"

The whole class had their attention on them now. James was trying to stop Sirius. And even Snape seemed embarrassed.

"Well he gave it to me the other day!" Sirius continued anyway "It is mine now so give it back, Evans... Give it back!"

"Well, I told Remus I would give it to him later, so I am not giving it to you!"

"Didn't you hear me?" Sirius almost roared "I said that the sweater is mine now... Remus gave it to me!"

Lily Evans would have carried on fighting if James didn't stop her.

"Just give us the sweater, Evans" he said, eyeing suspiciously at his best friend "We are Remus's friends after all, aren't we? We'll give it to him"

Evans let out a loud groan realizing she had lost.

"Fine!" she spat, finally taking it off "It's just a sweater, Jesus Christ. I don't see what the big deal is..."

She practically tossed it to Sirius and the latter hug it like a baby.

In that second, the teacher came in.

"Sorry for being late, ladies and gentlemen... Let's get right on into the class shall we?"

The teachers eyes locked on them.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Black" he said "Care to take your seats?"

Sirius was still looking furiously at Evans when he felt James's arm dragging him.

"Yeah right away, sir"

James gave Evans an apologetic smile then whispered "What the fuck was that, Sirius?" as they took a seat.

Sirius was just happy to have Remus's sweater back. God, it even smelled like a girl now. What a mess!

After class, while James bumped into some kids from the team, Sirius went to confront Remus.

"Hey..."

"Why did you give this sweater to Evans!? It was my sweater! You gave it to me"

Remus blinked in surprise.

Sirius had sounded so pissed that Peter went pale.

"I suddenly feel the need to go to the loo" he said awkwardly "Be right back..."

When Peter was gone, Remus noticed the sweater on Sirius’s arms.

"I thought you didn't want it" Remus said rather confused "You gave it back to me, remember?"

"Not for you to give it to freaking Lily Evans!"

"I didn't give it to her. I just lend it to her for a bit"

"Oh yeah, why?"

Jesus, Sirius really sounded like a crazy person.

"The girl was freezing in the morning" Remus shrugged "She was even trembling from the cold"

Sirius didn't like the fact that Remus would give the sweater to anyone who was cold.

"Yeah but you gave it to me first" Sirius suddenly blushed realizing how stupid he sounded "It was our thing, our sweater... I just... I just didn't like it on Evans... It doesn't suit her...You know?"

Remus twisted his mouth not to smile.

"It suited you better"

When Sirius’s cheeks began burning, Remus couldn't help but smile.

"Sirius, if you liked the sweater so much, you should have kept it. I gave it you, remember?"

Sirius felt like an idiot.

"I didn't want to take it from you"

Remus giggled "It's okay, I have tons" he said "That one is yours if you want it"

"It can be ours, we can both use it, you know?" Sirius said, now trying to sound more calm.

Remus smirked amused "Okay, deal"

It was just poliester. What the hell was wrong with Sirius? Why did he act so possessive over a piece of clothing?

It wasn't something Sirius would wear anyway. It really wasn't his style.

The smell and fluffiness had been stronger that night. Now it was gone. Either Evans ruined it or Sirius had been pretty stoned then.

Fuck, he was going insane.

"Thanks, Moony"

Sirius put it on though, because it would be awful to lose interest now. After the scene he had caused.

"James thought you had something with Evans. He was jealous"

Yeah, that sounded like a more reasonable explanation to all this craziness.

Remus chuckled "Just because I lent her our sweater?"

Sirius’s heart jumped weirdly when Remus said "our sweater".

"That's ridiculous. She is just my friend" Remus tutted "Besides, I know James fancies her. I wouldn't do that to him"

"He doesn't fancy her. He is just obsessed with her"

"Anyway, there's nothing going on between me and Lily. I swear"

"Okay" Sirius shrugged, trying to sound indifferent.

Remus was still smiling. "You look really good with that sweater"

Sirius tried not to blush like a fool.

"Wanna grab something to eat?" Sirius decided to change the subject.

"Yeah, I'm starving!"

"That's not weird" Sirius giggled putting an arm around Remus's shoulder "Come on, my treat"

"Yes!"

As they walked away, Sirius decided to put this weird episode on the past.

-------

Happy 3rd of December for those who celebrate!

[jillianfahey]

Trolls AU - John Dory's Best Friend

AKA, my idea to give Branch someone to raise and love him no matter what and stay somewhat near cannon.

****************

I was thinking in a twist of cannon one of John Dory's best friends is a female troll named Lily he has known since they had hatched. The two have always been together as their mothers were best friends as well, so whenever the adult would meet or need someone to watch the kids they would be stuck together. So over the years she started helping him out with being the oldest and the other brothers love her, going to her more often than John.

When they are teens and the Band is a thing, Lily is supportive but keeps trying to keep John grounded. Reminding him that yes he's the leader of the band but he is also their older brother and to take it easier on them. We all know that he does not listen to that advice so she tries to take care of the fall out from his words and actions.

One of the things they do is keep watch for bergens together, sitting near the top of the troll tree. It is one of the times JD fully starts to relax knowing that she has no expectations for him. It is in one of these sessions that life takes a turn and they touch enough to make an egg. JD doesn't remember it and Lily does not press him about it, deciding the discussion about the egg can wait until after the big tour with Bitty B.

The day after the disastrous opening show and the band abandoning Branch and their grandmother Lily comes by to see if she can help. Hearing the situation she is torn between comforting the baby and immediately marching out to drag the idiot of the eldest back by the ear. But the baby's need won out and she moved into the pod to help until the brothers came back.

When Grandma Rosiepuff got eaten, Lily was visiting another pod and came back to a distraught Branch. The egg had hatched by this time and the trolling was sleeping in her hair as usual, when she picked up the sad little grey troll reassuring him again that she would never leave him.

Though the next twenty years Lily always kept that promise, changing things for him and helping him build the bunker for the three of them to live in. Staying behind in the first two movies to make sure that things at the village were safe and running smoothly with Branch taking the turn to promise he would come back. And when JD crashes Bridget and Gristel's wedding you can bet that Lily has an earful waiting for him. He is not getting near the boy that SHE raised.

[danketsuround]

sunday six :]

LONG TIME NO SEE i didn't write at all during my long vacation. but i have something for you this time. it's early in most of ur timezones but i'll tag you anyways @four-white-trees @passthroughtime @c-cw-f-saeko @futilecombat @fire-tempers-steel @overdevelopedglasses (i might have forgotten some people it's been too long TT)

here is a one shot that is an extension of my recent fic (thought you don't need to read that for context lol) in which kuwana shares an awkward beer with mitsuru's father. it's a bit longer than what i usually post so if you want a link i also posted it on my privatter (https://privatter.net/p/10683758) but if you don't mind reading it on tumblr you can check it out under the cut. bye!

His father, a high-bred accountant, a former bank teller, was not as reserved as he had been described. He must have sweated his hairline back three centimeters, and worked as hard as any man at a desk could. He clacked on the ordering screen like a keyboard, pressing hard and fast like there were motors in his fingers.

Kuwana was amazed at his speed, his slick-backed greying hair and the shilling way he spoke about normal things. From there he concluded that Mitsuru was born from a growth on Reiko's side--not an ounce of his father was within him.

"Cheers," the father named Jiro said, raising his mug high. "To better health."

Kuwana was late to clink, and bashfully congratulated the air instead.

"Cheers."

"It's nice being back in Yokohama." He lived in central Tokyo now, alone, in an apartment that probably had windows for walls. "I heard they've got nice Chinese food here."

"That's right."

"Mm," he gulped. "Bet you'll miss it."

"I'm sure they have good Chinese food in Ehime."

"Maybe orange chicken!" Jiro's laughter was pointed by a snap and another gulp. He rattled the too-small table with his cross-legged knee. It wasn't that funny, but Kuwana offered him a polite smile.

Between his laughter and the dead silence of the settling table, he seemed to stop and think.

"Reiko is really going to jail, huh."

There was probably a softer image of her still buried somewhere in his mind; one that was pregnant-bellied with swollen feet and that weird post-vomit glow new mothers get. Kuwana only encountered remnants of her motherhood in the rare moments she smudged food off his face or pointed out his shoes were untied--when she said things like "My baby" in a voice that was much smaller than her own.

It was natural that their divorce ended in some anger. Kuwana remembered her twisting her ring around her finger anxiously like it was hot, talking about how they decided to separate the night he couldn't make it to their son's first graduation; how those bimonthly dad weekends were a blessing he often rejected; how she was jealous of how quickly he fell out of love with her and how he could sleep around without worrying about cooking dinner for a picky child. Surely those things rang true and terribly in her mind, like how her distant gaze and sharp tongue rang in his. But it was across the table, there, that Mr. Kusumoto crumpled his pale drunken face like paper and really thought about what kind of woman she truly was, like it had suddenly occurred to him that he was on-paper divorced for a spit over a decade. Then, perhaps he was trying to imagine his ex-wife with a knife in her hand, and he was failing.

"I can't wrap my head around it," Jiro spoke again when Kuwana didn't answer. "Why would she do something so terrible?"

"She's not a monster," he defended her quietly.

"Tell that to the human popsicle they buried last month!" He laughed again. He punched back his beer and the remaining foam bubbled over his shaven face. His hand predictably hit the table again. "For the record, that kid could rot in hell for all I care, for what he did to my son!" Then the bottom of his mug nearly cracks, and his voice gets low and somber and suddenly thoughtful again. "Why her? Out of all people, her?"

Suddenly Kuwana felt on trial. He realized there was nothing he could say to make Jiro understand, so he shrugged and answered, "Revenge?"

"Some revenge!" He ordered two beers on the keypad without looking. "A high school drop out working in the red light district--he would've been dealt with in an alley without her, had she given it some time, some thought!"

Kuwana pedantically thought of revenge as being more hands-on. Their beers arrived, but he was still finishing his first.

"Selfish woman," he spat, and motioned a short defeated cheers with his drink out of habit. "Stupid, selfish woman. Had she really given up on our poor son so quickly, that revenge was the only answer?"

Kuwana's eyes hit the ceiling. He thanked it that Reiko wasn't there to watch him absorb and swallow the insults hurled towards her.

"You look troubled," Jiro observed.

"I guess."

"Did I upset you, new friend?"

He winced. "No."

Jiro's mouth hit his hands. He said something that sounded like, "Dybulycareouter?"

Kuwana lifted his head. "What?"

"Do you really care about her?"

"Yes." He answered too quickly, then cleared his throat. "Yes, I do."

Jiro crossed his arms. There Mitsuru was, a little. "Are you one of those people?"

Kuwana assumed he was talking about the small cult following Reiko accumulated after her televised confession--a group of housewives and single fathers who believed she had done nothing wrong, and, paradoxically, theorized she had been forced to confess to cover up an even larger scandal within the Ministry of Health. He changed the channel any time one of them was stupidly given a podium and a camera--walked a little faster when he saw an apron-adorned woman trying to turn on a megaphone--for his own sanity.

"No," he answered. "We've just known each other for a while."

"That's right." Jiro pointed at him sharply, like he was trying to pin down their connection once more. "How long have you known her, again?"

"A while," Kuwana dodged.

"That's vague," he groaned. "After we divorced?"

"She was wearing a ring when we met."

Jiro took a hurried sip of his drink.

"I ought to reach over this table and smack you."

Kuwana slowly finished his.

"It wasn't like that."

But just then in his mind, he could see the indent of a ring on her finger--and some other residues of motherhood, like the C-section scar on her belly--from long ago. Reiko's unfaithfulness might have been the least surprising thing about it all--next to Kuwana's willingness to participate.

"At least you're honest." Jiro sighed, though his face looked like he knew he wasn't, and that he didn't care. "You and Mitsuru will be on the road soon, right?"

"Soon enough." Kuwana bowed a little. "If I'm quick, we can leave Yokohama next month. We'll practically be chasing her down."

"There's no rush," he said wisely. "She'll be there whether you leave next month or next year."

"That's true, but."

"Have you ever been married?"

Kuwana shook his head.

"I guess you've never had kids before, then."

"I can't."

"It's about as fun as it looks." His eyebrows twisted and he gave a sly wink. "In other words, not fun at all."

"So?" Kuwana couldn't tell if he was feeing impatient or jealous.

"So, so, so..." He chewed his lips in thought. "So, I guess, silver lining: you're lucky you have a choice. Though, I'm not sure why you would choose it, when you can live as a free man."

He thought about how much he hated being so free. It felt like his existence was bragging. He'd be better off confessing in the aquarium window of a koban than across the table from the ex-husband of a woman that should have avoided him.

"Because I've never done it before?" he answered instead.

Kuwana watched his expression change in real time. Jiro's face was all twisted up in annoyance before his answer. He laughed instead. In his own mind he thought it was out of pity, but it was really shock. He knew this when it was followed by a gasp.

"Cheers!" He got so loud that everything quieted around them. It was unsavory to cheers with a half-empty mug with yakitori backwash, but less unsavory when it was half-full. He lifted his mug in a way that beckoned Kuwana to lift his as well. "To new things!"

"Cheers." It connected.

[cartoonedin]

thanks for the like bestie here is all the horatio lore i can semi-coherently elucidate at this time. tl;dr the name is a pain in the ass and so is his unicorn

just a city boy born and raised in south detroit. except there is no south detroit so he was born and raised in north windsor or something lmao. knew nothing but asphalt, polluted air, and general metropolitan bustle until the invitation to unicorn academy made its way to his doorstep. many a dog pissed on the box while he was debating whether or not it was a bomb. 

parents were raised in a doomsday cult. this isn’t too relevant he just values the truth a lot because of it. which is exactly what you want in a student at the school of suspending one’s disbelief right

slightly more relevant he has a very strong fear of heights. palpitations if he’s more than a centimetre away from the emergency call button on any given elevator. he dropped a full dollar out his window at age five and has been traumatised ever since. which is exactly what you want in a student at the school of suspending one over various perilous landscapes right

back to being irrelevant he’s good at maths but only because he’s got a hundred spreadsheets open at any given time to minmax mmorpgs. consistent regional fourth placer in competitions and perfectly content with that.

but anyways! he did not enjoy the ride over and nearly fell out several times. nearly fell over seeing more than five trees in his periphery. actually fell into an infinite conga line of negative thoughts upon finding out that his unicorn had the power of flight. got into emerald dorm and half-jokes that it’s because the hue of the gem matches the ever-rising bile in his throat

hated the riding jacket because it made him look like a lawyer. he got one anyways because he is not a main character and has more positive feelings about the piss yellow tie.

sooooo adamant that his hair turned a dusky periwinkle. it’s grey just say it’s grey (because statistically speaking there’s no way all the kids get cool hair colours and streak placements) (but mostly because i think it’s funny)

also his unicorn is named sky and he spent the entire year trying to convince people it’s the other way around. probably would’ve done so even if his unicorn’s name was cirrocumulus cloud or bird poop

this should go without saying but he had so many life-and-death moments before the final test. like month three and he was still mistaking the winkle wash for pepto bismol. if sky jumped over anything higher than a twig he had a 50/50 chance of jumping into the nearest mud puddle to save himself from a concussion. sorry buddy there’s no b plot to jump start your education! 

had never seen a school library in his life prior to unicorn academy. honestly didn't see much of its library either he slept through 9/10 study halls

got the hang of things eventually. what things? well. let’s just say. things because i’m not googling any more horse photos jesus christ

at the very least he started treating his unicorn like a friend instead of a great scary beast moments away from feasting on his beautiful dusky periwinkle hair <3

it was the day before the final test. everything was going great. he had eaten real food for breakfast without tipping the dwerpins with the last of his birthday money. he hadn’t thought about how his league of legends ranking had to be dropping so hard in a full five minutes. he had, however, been standing behind sky when a bird somewhere in a five-kilometre vicinity made a sound loud enough to incite a strong kick. 

teachers called it a broken tailbone. classmates may or may not have called it a broken butt. horatio called it the best reason yet to drop out of school. sky could have another rider, and many more riders after that to abandoned boot, but he couldn’t have another tailbone. and even if he could, he wasn’t certain he could stomach the experience. especially seeing as he had an especially bruised stomach.

spent summer with a walker under the watchful eyes of his utterly befuddled parents. but he got his xbox back so everyone was happy! except his unicorn probably (she gave her next rider a 10x harder time out of guilt)

became an accountant after graduating from the tri-state’s most mediocre university and, in later adulthood, believed his time at unicorn academy was a really long lsd trip from some really bad halloween candy. he adopted a child after getting promoted to managerial accountant at some insurance firm, appeased her grandmother by naming her macbeth instead of bethany, and lived the rest of his life blissfully ignorant to the existence of unicorns as anything other than his daughter’s favourite piece of fantastical decor. when he’d gotten so good at making up stories about them was something of a mystery.

[tartaglizzies]

Stars and Fate

Fate. That word was something The Wanderer did not believe in. After the erasure in Irminsul, he was no longer Balladeer, Kabukimono, or Kunikuzushi. He was just a wanderer. Of course, he had no regrets. Except for the one fact, he would never be able to meet him again. Even if it for a second.

INAZUMA, CHINJU FOREST

The Wanderer would often visit Inazuma, to return back to his homelands. A simple stroll could calm his mechanical ears after listening to scholars complain, children wail, and Lesser Lord Kusanali insisting he do things that he himself deemed unimportant. Something about Inazuma was welcoming. As his shoes clacked against the stone tile of the path.

The Wanderer hummed along to an old Inazuman folk-lore song. He walked towards the river. Kneeling down and he placed a leaf on the stream, watching it run down the waters. It didn't particularly peak his interest, but it was somewhat entertaining nonetheless.

His ears overheard a voice. One he used to hear long ago. Out of curiosity, The Wanderer got up and followed the voice's direction. Going down the trail and off the path to an area with not that many trees in it,

"Agh, damnit. Now there's a huge tear in this cover! What will I do..."

The voice sighed, complaining. His own voice filled the rustling leaves of the footsteps the wanderer made. The man was youthful in appearance. But not looking older than The Wanderer. His hair was an orange, ginger maybe. He wore a grey outfit. From behind, he reminded The Wanderer of someone he knew, long ago.

"Is someone there?"

The ginger shouted out, looking behind and meeting the gaze of the wanderer, who was leaned on a tree with his arms crossed.

"Woah, you almost scared me there. Are you lost?"

The Wanderer glared at the figure, there was no way. Was he actually here? He kept his cool, after centuries of being stuck on this godforsaken world. The wanderer knew what and what not to do.

"That's a big rip. I'd say you should just buy a new one."

He shouted, his face was expressionless and dull. He knew this was best for both of them. Best that they would never meet again, and he would never see the harbinger again.

But, it'd be fine if he just helped him a little bit.

"No! I can't. You see, it's a special one my little sister brought for me from my country. I don't want to come back with a whole different one. It'd be rude."

Tartaglia sighed, looking down at the tent. The Wanderer scoffed, to think a child would be hurt to have a precious thing given to their brother be ripped and discarded.

That poor kid.

"Ugh, fine. I'll sew it back together, but I need needle and thread. I don't carry mora on me."

The Wanderer looked away, looking back to see his blue, lightless eyes smile up at him. The Wanderer's eyebrows shifted downwards as he looked away.

He felt bad.

Bad that after this, the two will never cross paths again.

But it wasn't what The Wanderer wanted. It was what needed to be done.

Oh, Tartaglia.

"Whatever, just buy me the supplies and let me fix it."

The Wanderer sighed, Tartaglia got up with a chuckle.

"Let's get going then! Oh shoot, I didn't introduce myself. You can call me Tartaglia, or Childe! Number Ele-"

"You don't need to introduce yourself, I already know who you are."

The Wanderer raised his hat, looking to the harbinger. And giving him a small smile. A smile would never hurt. Besides, if he was never going to see Tartaglia again, wouldn't he make the most of it?

"You haven't told me what your name is, though."

Tartaglia smiled back, lifting up his hat higher so he could get a better view of the shorter. The Wanderer looked away shyly.

"I don't have one, you can call me whatever you want."

"Everyone has one, did your parents not name you?"

"Dunno, I just don't have one."

"Okay then, uh... How about... Hat Guy?"

The Wanderer scoffed, crossing his arms.

"What a stupid name. Is that all you can think of?"

"Hahaha, yeah."

"Just— Come on, let's just get going to the city."

INAZUMA, INAZUMA CITY

"Here we are, this place is wonderful."

Tartaglia walked towards the Ogura Textiles & Kimonos building. The Wanderer looked around, confused. He didn't appreciate the fact that the worker there looked at him oddly.

"Why are we in a kimono-making shop? We don't need kimonos."

"Well no, silly! The Fatui have affiliations here, so we can get some thread and needles here no problem."

"I don't remember that partnership."

The Wanderer muttered, but Tartaglia heard him either way.

"It's a recent partnership. For a little something we have coming up."

Tartaglia smiled to him. Every time the fatuus smiled at him, he felt bad.

The Wanderer would be lying if he said that he didn't miss Tartaglia. But he knew he didn't deserve Tartaglia.

He would only make it worse for him.

"You've been staring at me for a while, are you there?"

"Just get the stuff."

The Wanderer looked away. Hiding his face with his hat. He waited outside the shop as Tartaglia spoke with the shopkeeper. When he got the needle and thread, he waved goodbye to the worker and walked to The Wanderer.

"Are you alright? There seems to be something on your mind. You know, even if we just met, you can tell me whatever you want. I swear I'll keep it secret."

Tartaglia spoke up as the duo walked along each other. Going past the street vendors and children.

"It's nothing."

He responded, looking away from Tartaglia. The bells attached to his attire rung lightly as he walked alongside the harbinger.

"I know we don't know each other that well, but it feels like I've known you for much longer and much closer. If there's anything you need off your shoulder. I'm here."

Tartaglia patted The Wanderer's shoulder.

"I wish you knew."

INAZUMA, CHINJU FOREST

The duo came back to the camping grounds. Everything looked the same from when it was left, but The Wanderer hadn't even noticed the other tents. They must have been the lesser ranked fatui that served under him.

"Where are your fatui agents? I haven't seem them yet."

The Wanderer asked, putting his hands behind his back.

"Oh, they were sent out to scout the area and remove any lingering people. That's why you probably didn't see anyone. Anyways, here's the tent."

They both went to the tent. There was a cover with a large rip in it. Tartaglia gave the thread and needle to The Wanderer.

He started to stitch together the cover. With hundreds of years of experience, he could quickly yet efficiently sew it together.

"By the way, why are you here? You certainly dress Inazuman, but nobody recognizes you. That worker at the kimono shop knows everyone in Inazuma, but not you."

"You're doing a background check on me?"

"I have to make sure I'm not getting close with a serial killer."

Tartaglia joked. Laughing right afterwards.

"So, you're gonna tell me?"

"... I'm a wanderer. Nobody knows who I am anymore."

"Well that's a sad story. Why not?"

"I don't deserve to be known."

"I'm sure that's not true. Everybody deserves a second chance. I think that you're a good person underneathe. Maybe something or someone hurt you. But I know you can do good."

Oh.

The Wanderer stifled a sharp inhale. He clenched his fists.

"I wish I could. But that's not the point. It's you."

"It's.. Me?"

"Yes, you. You don't remember me. But I certainly remember you."

The Wanderer finished his stitchery, he swiftly cut the extra thread remaining, and looked to the ginger.

"Ajax, we've already met before."

He just stared at The Wanderer. His face was colder than ice. The Wanderer wasn't able to understand what emotion he was feeling, or what he was even thinking.

Then, he just laughed.

"I see then, I believe you."

The harbinger started speaking.

"Is that why I feel so attracted and relaxed when I'm with you?"

"Yes. I'm in love with you."

The Wanderer got up, face-to-face infront of the fatui.

"Haha, maybe this was fate. That's what brought us together."

He joked, leaning down to get on the other's height level.

"I don't believe in fate."

And in a swift movement, The Wanderer pulled Ajax down for a kiss.

[misty-groves]

Dolly McMillan

Legal name: Dorothy Jean McMillan

Nick name(s): Dolly, Dolls, Mamaw

Alias: Granny Justice (blame the news)

Age: 75 (born in the 50s or so)

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Lesbian

Species: human (mostly. Some faerie blood. Maybe.)

race: White (But in a Celtic descendant way)

height: 5'2

Apperance: Dolly is a short woman with long curls of silvery grey hair. She wears a lot of jeans, work boots, and flannels or tanktops. She has faint freckles and looks about 15-20 years younger than she is, she's rather athletic as well. But She still looks like a grandmother who would feed you and maybe have a ranch.

Power(s)?: Yes, she has a healing ability and a little bit of a psychic ability. She worked with the healing power, she was never too worried about using the psychic part.

Hi, real quick tw for her backstory and such below: (tw death, implied murder, homophobia nothing in depth, though)

Personality: Dolly is a spunky woman who is not afraid to say what she thinks needs to be said, she's friendly until provoked. She is notably soft to animals and kids (Anyone under 25). She has a dry sense of humor when joking but will usually crack a smile for broad humor.

Religion: Christian (But in a chill way)

Hobbies: Vigilante Justice, Caring for her animals, cooking, gardening, and singing

Job: She sells her animal and garden products at the black market and lives off her dead husband's fortune.

Likes: Music, tea, plants, animals, Community, Wonder Woman, and spending time with her grand kids

Dislikes: Cruelty, drunks, needless violence, geese (they know what they did)

Favorite genre(s): Country, folk, and bluegrass

Family (Yes I spelled the names right, these are all pulled off my family tree or from other people from the region.)

Parents: Mae McMillan and Orvile McMillan (both deceased they'd be like- 100 +)

Siblings: Hazel McMillan (deceased), Obediah McMillan, Hettie McMillan

Spouse: Andrew Killian (deceased)

Lover: Clementine Killian (Yes, her husband's sister)

Children: Abelene May McMillan (deceased), Emmert McMillan (Son)

Grandchildren: Virgil McMillan (grandson), and Lydia McMillan (granddaughter)

Backstory: Dolly was born and raised in the Appalachian (pronounced apple-atch-in) mountains, specifically the portion located in Tennessee. She was born to a family who worked the land and raised livestock, so she learned to do the same.

Dolly fell in love with her high school best friend, Clementine, and immediately repressed it. She graduated with a good GPA and immediately started trying to find a husband.

Dolly got married at twenty, to Andrew Killian, who was a horrible alcoholic that got mean. "Un"fortunately the man died shortly after their twin children were born. And even more on that string of luck, Andrew came from a family with a rather large fortune from being government sellouts, so she is set.

Dolly raised her children with the help of her lifelong "best friend" Clementine. She raised her twins to be good first and foremost, and to understand handwork. She lived a nice, comfortable life running her family's land and selling what they didn't need. She and Clementine were able to add to their little nest egg.

When Dolly was seventy, her daughter passed away due to medical complications. So, she moved out to the outskirts Blüdhaven where her daughter had ended up and took custody of her grandkids. Her son is left to run the land back home, but he and his family are more than okay.

Fun facts!

No one knows what happened to her husband between his disappearance and his body being found in the woods. But he was a drunk no one misses him. Dolly swears she never did anything against her loved ones. (He wasn't a loved one though, and her name is still whispered in awe by those who need to find strength to leave back in her mountain community)

Dolly enacts vigilante justice in a fun way. She's as likely to deck you as she is to give you an effective lecture.

(You might be wondering, how is a 75 year old woman going to deck someone built like Batman? Even if she's in good shape her bones and muscles are going to be weaker.

The answer is her healing power works quickly so any damage she sustains is handled at rates that the Lazarus pit are jealous of so she doesn't bother to hold back. This Woman is wrestling goats and moving bales of hay. She's strong. Also people don't expect it so she has the element of practice AND surprise)

She was wild when she was young, flaming red hair always announcing her arrival. She used to mud wrestle, she won a bull riding competition in high school dressed as a boy to prove a point

Dolly is really good at herbal medicine

Her children and grandchildren got the meta genes, her son and granddaughter are psychic while her daughter and grandson have healing magic.

She just drops random lore at any given time.

The reason she look so young and is in almost suspiciously good shape even for an active elder is actually her healing powers!

She was called a Granny Witch back home, it wasn't a power it was a GIFT (had she had a power like flying or something it would have been witchcraft and that is BAD back there and then)

Had a pet racoon for a while.

Is a HELL of a shot, but prefers not to use guns these days.

She went to her first pride with her granddaughter and she cried because she had never seen so many people accepting of such things at once. To see parents with their kids was a lot and she was happy.

[gruesomejack]

Rabbit stumbled into the sweats Alex brought him and let the shirt hang around his neck, only bothering to pull it the rest of the way on when they got to his bedroom. Humming, he moved to peek at the books and knickknacks as he did every time he wandered in here, simply admiring all the bits and pieces that made up the beautiful boy he fell in love with. He drifted towards his bed and the photos above them, smiling warmly at the array of both artistic shots and goofy Polaroids alike. A sparkle moved over his eyes then as he spotted his guitar; it'd been a whole week! He hadn't gone that long without playing since detention. Rabbit took a step towards it, but glanced over at Alex when he was addressed. "C'mon, I don't give a shit. You've seen my room."

Grinning, he moved towards him and pressed a happy kiss to his cheek. It was really, really nice to be back here. The place could've been a pigsty, and he would've been elated to just spend time in Alex's arms. Rabbit rubbed his hand through his damp curls and did his best not to think about the way they were greying while he tottered off to continue his nosiness. He peeked over familiar posters and the pile of photos on his bed before moving on to the box nearby.

On the top looked like an old family album. Brows lifting, he shot Alex a playful smile and quickly grabbed it before hopping into his bed. "Baby pictures! I wanna see your chubby cheeks!" He said and started flipping through. There were the usual goodies; fat baby in ruffled clothes, decked head to toe in pastels. Another of a toddler on a tricycle and a few professional shots of a little girl in a brightly colored dress and big ribbons. Rabbit giggled and cooed, holding the book to his chest and flashing a bright, cheeky smile for his boyfriend. "Alex!" He said, "Look at your hair! The bows? Adorable." Turning another page, he smiled as he looked, his heart warm and full. School pictures, picnics-- They were all really sweet. "I want a copy of some of these." He told him, "For my wallet. That way, I can break 'em out and show everyone how cute you were." Rabbit laughed again and turned another page. There was another picture of a young man and woman; he recognized the woman as Milly Prescott, but the other... If he didn't bear a striking resemblance to Alex, he might not have guessed it was his father. Glancing at the boy, he thought about making a comment on it but refrained.

Rabbit's eyes slipped to the next page. Pulling his lip between his teeth, his chin tilted. That was the sign outside the campgrounds-- Alex had mentioned being out there with his family before, so that wasn't weird. Smiling softly, he looked through the first few photos before his gaze fell on one that stole the breath from his lungs. Rabbit blinked slowly, and his brows twitched, raising a little. "...Alex?" With shaky but careful hands, he pulled the photo from the plastic sleeve and set the album aside.

Two dirty kids with bright smiles were marveling at the frog they managed to scoop up. It was a cute photo, but it started a tremble in his limbs. Rabbit swallowed and sat up, his eyes searching it as if he wasn't sure it was real.

He'd told Alex the story of being taken out by his foster family to the grounds and trying to make a run for it, but what he'd left out was the day he'd spent beforehand. The memory was clear. He'd met a little girl while they were setting up camp and became fast best friends, tugging her everywhere with him as he looked for trouble. They played in the creek, they climbed trees, they dug in the mud, they pushed over rocks-- Everything a pair of wild little kids would do when the forest was in the palm of their hands. He remembered everything about her except her name. Honestly, he wasn't sure they even exchanged it with how distracted they were by exploring and chasing each other with bugs.

But if his eyes were correct, that little girl had been Alex.

Lifting a hand, Rabbit swallowed and scrubbed over his forehead. "...That's me." He said softly and offered the picture out to him, "That's... us."

A week. Three days stuck a basement, four days stuck in a hospital. He couldn't take much more of this. Rabbit sat curled in the corner of his bed, tired from both the medication in his system and from just... existing. He knew he promised Alex he would behave, and he'd been trying his hardest, but he wasn't sure he'd get through another day without freaking out. Tugging his blanket up and around his shoulder, he grabbed the radio to cradle in his arms as he stared at the blank wall in front of him.

Rabbit wanted to pace. He wanted to pace and scream and cry, but his body stayed glued to his corner as a testament to the hot-and-cold game hid brain was playing with him. Mere seconds ago, he was worrying about breaking his promise to Alex, and now he was stuck wondering if he'd ever have the strength to move again. Clenching his jaw, he wrapped himself a little tighter and forced his eyes closed. He didn't want to sleep anymore, but it was better than this.

The sound of Blondie's soft, distinctive voice filled the four corners of the room as he dozed. Her heart was glass, and his was heavy like a stone, but still shattered all the same.

"That's mine!" Jack snatched the book from his foster brother's hand and frowned. His fingers were shaking as he checked the bound cover, running over the new dents on the outside. Maurice, E.M. Forster. It'd quickly become one of his favorites despite it being outside his usual interests of high fantasy and nonfiction survival books. He didn't dare peek through the pages; he was already terrified of the implications of Desmond knowing he was reading it in the first place. Without looking at him, he stepped back and swallowed, hoping to God the other boy would just pass by and leave him alone for the night.

"How old are you now?"

Jack blinked and brought his gaze up to his brother. "...Thirteen." He answered, his voice soft.

Desmond leaned closer to appraise the young man in front of him. What a little creepy freak. Since the moment his parents dragged him home five years ago, he'd been nothing but trouble with his crying and his tantrums and the running-- He was annoying and weird; he couldn't fucking stand him. A few weeks back he'd been found in the back yard with a lighter and now he'd been caught red handed with some book about a couple of homos? Desmond took him by the chin and pasted a smile on his face. "Old enough to learn to shave."

Jack's eyes widened. Before he could deny the suggestion, a flash of silver metal caught his eye. The moment he saw the knife in Desmond's hand, he wrenched himself free and stumbled into a sprint. No! No, no, no!

The click of the door had Rabbit shooting up and reaching for his face, grabbing at his upper lip. His whole body was trembling, and his heart was racing, drumming and shaking beneath his ribs. He was fine; his lip was fine. It'd healed over five years ago, leaving only the thick scar tissue there as a physical memory.

Eyes shifting to the door, he watched as the nurse tottered in. No cups. She wasn't here to medicate him?

"Jonathan. You're being discharged." She said and offered him a small smile. "You're free to go home. Do you want me to call anyone for you?"

Rabbit stood up slowly. He glanced around the room to make sure he wasn't still asleep before padding his way over. The nurse moved, pushing the door back open and holding it for him, watching carefully as he moved outside. They moved him through the motions, had him sign his paperwork, and gave him a bag of the things he'd come in with. He had the check-in nurse give Jen a call before they escorted him outside the ward.

Brows pinching, he glanced down the hospital hallway and sucked in a small breath. He was free.

@purposefully-lost

[the-faultofdaedalus]

I had a dream that the king and the queen of a small country had a daughter. They needed a son, a first-born son, so in secret, without telling anyone of their child’s gender, they travelled to the nearby woods that were rumoured to house a witch.

They made a deal with that witch. They wanted a son, and they got one. A son, one made out of clay and wood, flexible enough to grow but sturdy enough to withstand its destined path, enchanted to look like a human child. The witch asked for only one thing, and that was for their daughter.

They left the girl readily.

The witch raised her as her own, and called her Thyme. The princess grew up unknowing of her heritage, grew up calling the witch Mama, and the witch did her very best to earn that title.

She was taught magic, and how to forage in the woods, how to build sturdy wooden structures and how to make the most delicious stews. The girl had a good life, and the witch was pleased.

The girl grew into a woman, and learned more and more powerful magics, grew stronger from hauling wood and stones and animals to cook, grew smarter as the witch taught her more.

She learned to deal with the people in the villages nearby, learned how to brew remedies and medicines and how to treat illness and injury, and learned how to tell when someone was lying. 

Every time the pair went into town, the people would remark at just how similar Thyme was to her mother. 

(Thyme does not know who and what she is. She does not know that she was born a princess, that she was sold. She only knows that one night after her mother read her a story about princesses and dragons, her mother had asked her if she ever wanted to be a princess.)

((Thyme only knows that she very quickly answered no. She likes being a witch, thank you very much, she likes the power that comes with it and the way that she can look at things and know their true nature.))

The witch starts preparing the ritual early, starts collecting the necessities in the winter so they can be ready by the fall equinox. Her daughter helps, and does not ask what this is for, just knows that it is important.

The witch looks at Thyme, both their hands raised into the air over a complicated array of plants, tended carefully to grow into a circle, and says, sorry.

Thyme wakes up in a clearing she recognizes well. Her mother is not there. 

The house she had grown up in is a pile of logs on the ground, destroyed and broken and in disarray, and Thyme is afraid. She calls for her mother, once, twice, and then rolls up her sleeves and begins the trek towards town. 

Her home is not here, she has neither her bow nor her knife, and if she means to figure out what happened she needs supplies. People are always in need of a witch, she knows, and her mother taught her long ago the value of a silver tongue. 

Except.

She walks out of the woods, and the town is... different. Smaller. The mill she knew so fondly, that she used to climb in with the other children of the village, isn’t there. 

There’s no indication it was ever there, and all at once, Thyme realizes what the ritual was for. 

It was a time-spell, and now she is in the past. The house is in ruins because her mother has not repaired it yet, the mill is gone because it has not been built yet. 

She is here, because...

She does not know. 

And now, it is up to her to take care of herself.

She learns the date from the villagers, gets herself a room at the inn and a good hot meal in exchange for looking at the innkeeper’s son, who has been wracked with cough for weeks now, apparently. 

His face is one Thyme knows, one that in her days were covered in wrinkles and laugh-lines, and as she goes back out into the woods to collect the herbs she needs to cure the boy, she thinks.

The boy will take the inn over from his father, and he will always welcome Thyme’s mother in with open arms for saving him when he was a child. Either the story had been wrong, or Thyme has already broken things. 

Thyme does not know which one she fears more.

She waits in the village for a full turn of the moon for her mother to come. She knows that this is when she should have come in to town. She knows that she should show up here, any day. 

The boy’s cough gets better and when it’s gone completely Thyme buys herself a knife at the blacksmith’s and returns to the woods, to the clearing she calls home. Hands on her hips, she surveys the once-cottage, and makes a plan. 

The house takes a long time to build. She buys an axe, makes a bow, and sleeps under the stars while the house is very slowly built back up. Walls, roof, floors, and then a fireplace, big and wide enough to fit a cauldron, built from special bluestone she hauls from a nearby hill one lump at a time, all the better to brew inside. 

Mama, she thinks wryly, you better be grateful for this. 

She hunts for herself, mostly, snares rabbits and shoots down deer, strips them of their skin, treats it and leaves the fur out to dry. They’ll be good blankets, a good winter cloak, someday. She knows what plants she can eat, what plants will be good, and she survives. She builds. 

She does not tell the villagers her name, and they know her only as “the witch.” 

Thyme eventually stops waiting for her mother. She watches herself in the mirror, and aches at how much they look the same. How much she’s turning out like her mother. 

She helps the villagers, occasionally travels further to heal illnesses in other villages, but mostly stays to herself, in the woods, collecting books and herbs and the house grows more and more as she remembers it. Her hair, that used to be so dark, raven’s hair, her mother would say, braiding it back for her before she learned to do it herself, gets shot through with white and goes grey. 

There’s wrinkles on her face that didn’t used to be there. 

Thyme stops waiting, and becomes the witch of the these woods.

And then. 

The King and Queen of these lands show up at her door, and they are holding a baby girl. 

Please, they say, We need a son. Give us a son. 

And Thyme, who now has a scar on her cheek from a branch whipping at her too fast to avoid, who knows that her mother had had the same scar, looks at the baby, meets her eyes, and knows that they are her eyes. 

I’ll give you a son, Thyme tells them, as if through a trance, but the cost will be your daughter.

They agree, as she knew they would, and she makes a boy out of clay and wood and she remembers learning how to make constructs like these with her mother, she breaths life into it and sends it off with the King and Queen and she holds their baby in her arms. 

Black hair. Dark eyes. A quiet baby, who looks up at her with a solemness that Thyme’s not entirely sure babies are supposed to have. 

Hello, little one, Thyme says, holds out her finger for the baby to grasp, feels her voice crack down the centre like a burnt-out log when the infant holds her finger in her chubby little hand. 

She’s a princess. This baby is a princess, and this baby is her, and her mother has never existed. She knows all these things now, but the thing that she knows most strongly is that she will protect this child, and not only because this child is her. 

(It is alright to be selfish, Thyme, she remembers her mother telling her, it is alright to take things for yourself. You do not need to give yourself away, remember that.)

She has to build a crib and cradle for the baby, and until it’s finished, until she knows that the birchwood and blanket is as comfortable as it can be, she sleeps with the baby -- with Thyme, her name will be Thyme, and she smiles as she thinks it -- on her chest. 

She goes into the village, walking through the woods as baby Thyme looks at the trees and the plants with wide eyes, brings her to a farmer who has raised three girls, knocks at her door, and says, help me. 

The witch doesn’t know how to care for a child, and she is going to learn. She must learn. 

The farmer helps her gladly, something in her eyes that tells the witch that she misses having children, that however much she loves her girls, grown and adventurous, sun-browned and strong from working the fields with her mother, she misses caring for an infant. 

She learns how to make formula out of goat’s milk, how to burp the baby, how to change and wash her. She learns how to tell why the baby might be crying -- even though baby Thyme rarely cries, prefers to watch the world with her big, dark eyes -- and how to fix what might be wrong. 

She sits with the farmer as Thyme plays with a doll carved from a cow’s bone, and learns how to thresh wheat. 

The farmer never asks where the baby came from, but does remark how alike they look, that Thyme looks just like her mother, and the witch smiles at that. 

Thyme seems to grow quickly, learning to crawl, and then to toddle around while hanging off the furniture, and the witch cries at Thyme’s first, unsteady and unsupported steps, even as she builds high shelves into the rafters of her home so that Thyme won’t end up eating things she shouldn’t.

The witch takes Thyme into the village more and more, first in a bag tucked up close against her chest, and when Thyme grows more, holding her hand as she runs through the woods as fast as her little legs will carry her. Every time Thyme runs off to bring back a flower, the witch feels a surge of fondness she refuses to suppress. 

The mill is built, and the witch watches as Thyme runs off to play with the other village kids, brave and fearless and so, so curious. 

She teaches Thyme her first charm when the girl is eight, and Thyme takes to the craft like she takes to memorizing the names and uses of plants, like she takes to a bow and knife, like she takes to books, exactly as the witch knew she would. 

Sometimes, the witch hates the lie she’s made Thyme into. She agonizes over it, over she should tell the girl her true parentage, should spill this secret like a cut bag of wheat, but--

She does not want Thyme to know that she was traded away so easily. She does not want Thyme to know that to her birth parents, she was worthless. 

She asks, though. Asks, do you want to be like the girls in the books? a princess? and is warmed to the core when Thyme answers no. 

Yes, the witch had known what she had answered. Yes, the witch knows that Thyme loves her life, her studies, the woods, her home. 

(Yes, the witch knows that Thyme loves her mother, because the witch loved her mother. She knows this, and still, she asks.)

The witch teaches Thyme how to make constructs, how to animate them, is proud beyond words when on her fifth try, casting over a wood skeleton covered in clay, the shape of a rabbit, the thing shivers to life, and hops over to push it’s nose into Thyme’s outstreached hands, the girl beaming so brightly that the witch thinks the woods might be glowing with it. The rabbit-construct is lumpy, and uneven, it’s movements slow and unnatural, and she has not yet taught Thyme how to cast the illusion spell onto it that will make it look real, and alive, but Thyme looks so happy that the witch nearly, nearly, forgets her guilt at the purpose of this spell.

Thyme grows, first into a teen, skinny and narrow from how she had shot taller like a willow tree, bony and sharp and lean, and into a woman, growing broad from good food and hard work, takes to hiking into the woods for days at a time with only her knife and her bow and a pouch of herbs, returns home with wild hair the witch combs out for her as Thyme tells her of her adventures.

It matters not that the witch knows all of these stories, knows them because she lived them herself, when she was a girl. She listens to her daughter, dragging the comb through her tangled hair, asks about the falls she found, the cliffs, the animals, the herbs, makes sure that Thyme knows that she will be listened to, that she deserves to be listened to. She listens, because she knows that no matter how much Thyme loves going on these adventures, she also loves coming home, and sharing in these simple, cozy moments.

Winter comes. With the cold comes a grief, a guilt, that weighs heavy on the witch’s heart. She begins preparing for the ritual, for the time-spell that will send her daughter backwards and into loneliness and into the position to save herself from what her true parents would force her to become, backwards to learn the truth, backwards to become her.

She knows why she must do this. She has scryed on her construct, the prince, the soon-to-be-king, every moon since she sent him away and took herself in his place. She sees what he has grown into, she sees what the power has done to him, she sees and she knows that she and her daughter would have suffered greatly in that role. She sees him make hard choices.

She sees him go to war.

She sees the illusion she cast over branch and clay bleed. She sees him, bandages around his torso, arm hanging awkwardly by his side, leave the castle, and wade into the lake outside of it’s walls. She sees the clay in the lakebed melt towards him, heal the wounds, make him fit to wield a sword the very next day.

She does not want that. She does not want that for her daughter.

It is alright to be selfish, Thyme, she remembers her mother saying to her, remembers saying to her Thyme, bleeding for others is a gift. It is valued, but it is up to you to give it.

Spring comes. Reedy plants are tended into a circle. Summer comes. Fires are burned over the dirt, ash mixed with soil. Fall comes. The heart of a boar is buried under the circle, placed to rest with gentle words. The witch and her daughter, Thyme and Thyme, stand together, hands raised, looking at each other.

The witch whispers, I’m sorry.

And her daughter disappears.

[fruit-salad-ship]

So sorry, you’re gonna pull through. Maybe a cute fluff idea in the vampire au? Thinking Peach and Plum got in a fight, Plum said something that hurt Peach and Peach runs off to be alone, Plum thinking Peach is just angry but she’s really hurt.

Grey can tell the difference but doesn’t say anything, he just goes to find Peach, who he finds in a mostly unused room curled up in a corner, wings raised in a kind of bubble around her. He goes and sits close to her, tells her he knows she wants space and he won’t push but will just hang out to let her know he understands and wants to help. She eventually pulls back a wing slightly and lets him in to hold her.

Maybe Plum starts to feel guilty later and goes looking for her, sees them cuddled in the corner. Peach doesn’t notice but Grey makes eye contact and nods her in. Plum nervously makes her apology, tells Peach she can have her space but Plum is ready to hear her whenever she’s ready.

She turns to leave but Peach reaches out to stop her and pulls her into the cuddle pile, and they all just sit and breathe for a while.

(Oh dang it now I’m crying too I’m so sorry)

Why is it alwasy the vampire prompts that get me haha

Thank you for concerns, I will be ok, alwasy am.

That night, as the moon sat in a waned position, hardly any light from its thin slice, Peach couldn't help but recall a handful of very distant memories. She could not remember her family, or her friends, nor the name of her home town. The streets she played in as a kid didn't exist anymore, and the apple trees she use to climb, toppled and rotted many centuries prior to this night. And yet, no matter what she did, she could not get the smell of damp and mould from her nose, nor the irritation that bubbled up recalling the endless dripping, echoing around the cold stone room she once fondly referred to as her 'tomb', a dark and isolated place, the den of the vampire who ended her life.

These memories were some of the first set in her mind once she'd been turned. They did not fade, though she truly wished after all this time, that they would.

In the dark of the night, she hunkered down in the comfort of her own wings as they wrapped around her, creating the only saftey she recalled being able to turn to, a covered nook to sink into and try to dissapear. The room she was in was dusty, dry, unused mostly, a space littered with items gathered from the years she'd spent wandering, none meaning very much of anything to her anymore.

It must have been a while that she was sat in silence, recalling the row from earlier that day, fateful words slipping from Plum's mouth that just seemed to sting a little more coming from her. Before long, the room was flooded with a path of light, door opening out into the hall, footsteps entering before the door shut again.

Grey, his heavy footfall was unmistakable, she didnt need to look to see who it was, she heard him come up the stairs and linger by the door for a minute prior to this.

"Go away." About all she could say, tucking up tighter in her wings, but he still continued to settle on the floor next to her, crossing his legs, sighing.

"She didnt mean it." He shifted to get comfortable, leant against a box.

"She did, and she was right to say it. I'm not mad at her, i'm mad at me. Just go do whatever it is you humans do these days, leave me alone." She shifted to face further away from the large man, hoping he'd get the hint.

"She's not right, you're not-" "A monster?" Peach finished his scentence, shooting him a cold leer over one shoulder, before tucking the wing on that side up more, hiding further. "I am, she's right. I just didnt like to hear it from her." an honest moment, feeling a single weird thud in her chest that didnt happen much anymore, the heartbeat long dead, giving her a kick, a brief moment of feeling something akin to guilt, maybe grief, or sorrow? She couldn't recall.

"I don't really remember what it's like to be human anymore, can't imagine you can look at me and see anything other than a beast from a story book. Something to be feared." Her gaze lingered on the distant stars, the moon the same as the night everything changed, that much she could not forget.

"When I was one of you, I carried a sword, and marched with my troop, we fought together, laughed together, did everything as a team, a family." Peach's memories only recalled their faces as she last saw them, turning her stomach a little. "We went to investigate witchcraft claims, and got ambushed by something we did not understand, now of course, I know it was a Vampire, but back then we assumed it a devil, a demon. Guess it kind of was..." Her wings relaxed a little, face peaking out, staring off out the window, the sting of tears unusual for her, perfectly able to push them back, forget that feeling and focus on feeling nothing at all. "It killed every one of my group, the captain pushed me out the way of claws and I watched him get torn to shreds, every time I turned, another of my family fell in battle. Through nothing but dumb luck, I was the last one standing. For surviving the longest, and taking fearful swings at the vampire who attacked us despite impending death, I was 'gifted' this." She glanced down to her hands, their clawed forms so similar to that of the woman who'd turned her, this elegant creature you'd look at and assume was a lady of a rich and noble house.

So clearly that night would repeatedly play in her head, every other memory foggy and faded, but those moments never went away. A futile swing to keep the Vampire back, watching it catch the sword in its delicate hands, snap the blade as if it we're a twig, before throwing it across the battlefield like nothing. Disarmed and alone, Peach thought for sure she would die there, dropping to her knees in defeat, sweat and blood mixed with the dirt and light rain. The faces of her comrades were all drained of life, each member of her family tossed to the ground like ragdolls around her, gone. Rage like nothing she'd ever felt before swept her back up on her feet, a dagger drawn, rushing the elegant form of her attacker that glided closer by the second. She did not see the vampire move, did not see the talons come into range, not until the sting of pain came, and a resistance held her in place, face to face with this creature as it grinned, its features long and hauntingly beautiful, splattered with blood, not a hair out of place.

Looking down now, there was no sign of the damage as she hunkered under her wings, no remainder of the mark left from that attack, in a flash it felt like she was sitting on that floor again that night, glancing at the claws dug striaght into her chest, punctured right through the gear she donned, shards of metal stabbing inward, if it wasnt for her pounding heart she’d have been more aware of the crack of bones in her chest. She took a rattled breath and felt a lung start to fill with liquid, the shock of the pain setting in. The dagger was dropped as her entire body got thrown back with what seemed like no effort at all, despite the sheer difference in size between her, and this thin long woman.

Her last memory from being human was her face, the vampire who changed everything. Peach was willing to die there, accepted it, looked up at the clouds, felt the rain on her skin, and let the raspy breaths draw shorter, a moment of peace as the clouds gave way to the moon, same thin crescent she was looking at now, sitting near this human who refused to leave. She'd been quietly contemplating her past for a while, looking over to Grey who was also staring up at the sky with her, no words. He reminded her of one of them, one of those fine soldies she use to trave with, something so familiar. Perhaps that's why she was drawn to him in the first place.

Her hand, despite its dangerous apperance, gently touched his, one wing creeping back to fold neatly behind her, the other starting to recede too. She put her head on his shoulder, stayed there for a moment. He was warm, a nice change from her ice cold body.

"When I think of a monster, I think of the woman who turned me. I spent a long time trapped in her den, this damp stone room with no light, no windows, no way to tell how much time was passing, she kept me under lock and key until I did what she asked, for god knows how long. She took everything, and left me a shadow of her own image. What scares me, is that you two look at me, and think i'm capabale of the same thing."

"We don't, you're not like that. We've seen you with the police scanner up at night, listening in for domestic violence calls, preying on those who are actually in the wrong. You even learnt to use the internet just to trawl around looking for local hate groups, so you don't hurt anyone who's actually a decent human. A monster woudln't care enough to do that." His big arm snuck around her shoulder, pulling her in tight for a hug. It was a moment that warmed her, literally and metaphorially, not a thing she felt often, revelling in it briefly.

The door behind them creaked open a little Peach didn't turn to look, instinctivly pulling away from Grey, putting her wings up again to hide from sight.

This time, light footsteps entered, a familiar scent of perfume following soon after. The form crouched down close to the wall of wing that hid their undead housemate away. Plum had heard the conversation from out in the hallway, the guilt of her hot headed comment from earlier setting in like lead, and now, with Grey giving her a 'go on' look, she took a breath.

"I'm sorry, what I said earlier, it was unfair, I got so mad about the broken teapot I just lost my cool. It was too far..." Peach did not exit her hidden position, didnt even move, nor utter a single word. After a few moments, Plum got back to her feet, a heavy pang of sorrow seeping in as she turned to leave, but a hand grabbed hers. It was ice cold, and soft. She tracked it back to the wings, having snuck out from under one, feeling the air aroud the room move, ruffling her hair a little as that same big sail slowly retracted back and folded up, followed by the other. Peach, hesitant at first, gave a little tug on her hand, glancing from the corner of her eye at the human, who gave a weak smile in return.

Plum returned to the floor, crawled into her lap, much to Peach's surprise, and wrapped her arms around the woman's neck tightly. Shortly after, Grey scooped them both up, getting use to sneaking an arm under the wings to drag the woman back easier.

The dark dusty room laiden with items from the past, now contained the future, and there was a distinct few seconds where Peach silently begged to retain these memories, prayed they'd stay long enough to recall fondly one day.

[amane-by-together]

Umbrella for the Autumn Rain || Teru Minamoto

genre: ???

pairing: teru minamoto x female! reader

summary: teru and [name] used to be close as children until years go by [name]'s inferiority complex got the best of her making her avoid teru. will she finally face head-on to her childhood friend?

Unforgivable.

[Name] watched from afar while Teru slains the supernatural so flawlessly, he moves his katana as if it was a part of him. Teru is an expert when it comes to exorcising evil spirits which envied her since she cannot do the same as him. He can even produce black lightning that seemed almost impossible to do.

Teru was her childhood friend. Both of their families knew each other due to being exorcists. The two of them had worked together, exorcising countless supernaturals until the present time. Practically, they grew up together yet how come Teru was better than her?

As [Name] notices his excellency throughout the years, she decides to distance herself from Teru to improve her skills as an exorcist by herself and hoping to surpass him one day. Teru and [Name] often work late at night, depending on which type of disturbance they were tasked to vanish. No matter how many days she trained to master her skills, Teru was always one step ahead of her.

“[Name], I need a hand.” Teru called.

“Got it.” She replied, running towards him to see what he needed help with. “Do you want me to freeze him for a while?”

“That’ll be great, thanks!”

[Name] unsheathed her katana and stabbed the supernatural as it slowly freezes till it cannot move anymore. Teru sliced the supernatural with full force before it disappeared in black smoke. He sighed happily when the job was done for the night. “I’m kinda hungry,” Teru mentions, putting his sword back to its scabbard. “Do you wanna grab something to eat before going home?”

“No.”

Teru chuckled. “Cold as ever, [Name].”

“Was that a pun?” [Name] asked, not amused by the joke he made.

“It wasn’t intended.” Teru wiped his jaw using his knuckles. [Name] shakes her head, she has no time for eating with her childhood friend and she needs to train for their next exorcism together. [Name] despised her parents for making them work together all the time, especially when they compare how good Teru is as an exorcist.

[Name] remembered when she and Teru went to the Star Festival together a few months ago. She can still recall what she wrote on her tag before hanging it to a tree. She wished that her relationship with Teru could go back to its normal state instead of what they currently have. Ever since the festival happened, both of their bonds are slowly regressing to their state when they were children.

“I have to go now Teru.” [Name] picked up her katana and sheathed it back to the scabbard. “Make sure to walk home safely.”

“[Name], sweetie.” Her mom placed their dinner on the table. “You and Teru-kun seem to be kind of off lately, is everything alright between you two?”

“Everything’s fine, I guess…” [Name] answered. She couldn’t tell her mom that she was evading Teru since then. The time she will be approaching him head on once she feels like she can surpass him. During her train of thoughts, a certain wonder came across her head.

How does Teru feel about her? Did Teru ever notice their relationship changing? They used to be so close but now they hardly have anything to talk about. And it’s all because of [Name]’s inferiority complex towards Teru.

The next day after that, [Name] usually avoids Teru in school but she does talk to him when he asks something about academics. Even at school, he’s always better than her and it's frustrating her even more. “[Name]!” The female turned around and saw Teru walking towards her, waving his hand. “I was wondering if you’re free later at night since I needed help in defeating this supernatural.”

“...I’m not going to join later.” [Name] crosses her arms, looking in the other direction.

“Huh? But you usually don’t miss it, right?” Teru questions, getting confused at her unexpected reply.

“Teru… I said I’m not.”

“[Name]-”

[Name] clenched her fist and slammed it against the wall in disheartenment, causing Teru to flinch at the impact. “I’m not going to go later!” she shouted. Good thing they’re alone in the classroom or else some student might interfere. “I don’t want to!”

Teru was shocked, this isn’t the first time [Name] got mad at something. [Name] retracted back, holding her arm in dismay and looking at Teru one last time. “S-Sorry, I don’t feel like talking right now… I need to be alone…” [Name]’s voice slightly cracked, then hurriedly ran away from Teru.

“[Name]... What’s wrong?”

You’re being a burden, [Name].

Why can’t you be like Teru more?

Are you scared of what he might do when he realizes you’re avoiding him?

Running away from Teru is the one preventing her from changing. A measly little wish from the tag won’t work if you don’t do something about it. If [Name] is going to distance herself from Teru a little longer, she won’t be able to make things right ever again.

[Name] does not fear supernaturals, even the sickening looking ones and the ones who brought the biggest of curses. But facing Teru head on, is her biggest fear. Just thinking about talking to Teru made her stomach sink.

“I wish Teru and I were more honest and closer with each other.”

That’s what she wrote from her tag from the Star Festival. [Name] knows she’s the only one who can make it come true. “I made my decision. I’m going to talk to Teru.”

The rain started to pour heavily, grey clouds enveloping the once blue sky. [Name] quickly placed her bag above her head and ran to a nearby shed. A lump formed inside her throat, then tears started to run down to her cheeks. She squatted down to the ground and continued crying, hating herself for not changing and hating herself for avoiding Teru.

“I didn’t think you’d be here.”

[Name] looked up and saw Teru, standing there and putting an umbrella above her head. “Teru? Why… why?” She asked in a soft whisper. If only Teru knew that she reminded him of the sun after the rain but she was too prideful to say it out loud. Her face was full of regret at that very moment. How dare he treat her with kindness even though she treated him like he doesn’t exist?

“[Name], come on.” Teru gently takes her hand and helps her stand up. Looks like the students weren’t wrong when they said that he looks like a prince. “Let’s get you home, it’s raining.”

No matter how many times [Name] has pushed Teru away, or even avoided him to an extent, he’s always by her side. Teru was trying so hard to get their closeness back, and yet [Name] was being stubborn of not letting him. [Name] started to tear up once again. “[Name]? Are you okay… did I make you mad again..?”

“...Teru I’m sorry…” [Name] cried. “I’m so sorry…”

Teru smiled slightly at her. “I know…”

Teru decided that [Name] should stay at his house until the rain stops. Her mom brought the key with her so [Name] couldn’t go inside her house. It’s been a while since she went to their house so some furniture arrangements had changed from what she remembered.

Both teens sat there in silence, mentally asking who's going to break the awkwardness. “... I apologize for what happened recently Teru.” [Name] spoke, remembering that she shouted at Teru that she didn’t want to go exorcising with him. “It’s time for me to look you in the eye and be honest.”

“I’m sorry… what?” Teru questioned, his tone was a bit dreadful which surprised [Name]. He’s always been so fearless, at least that’s what she thought by looking at him. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve developed an inferiority complex because of you.” [Name] started to speak, trying to let her feelings from her chest go. “You were always better than me whether it was about academics and exorcism. I didn’t want to be compared to you, I just don't want them to rub it in that you’re better than me…”

“I started to distance myself so that I can improve myself. Then one day I’ll be able to surpass my parent’s expectations, then you as well. No matter how hard I try, I see no effort in my improvement because you’re still better than me.”

“[Name], that’s not-” Teru blurts in.

“I have to…” [Name] raises her hand to prevent Teru from talking further. “If I don’t tell you this I won’t be able to change and let this stupid thing go.”

“I watched you fight countless times. There are times I would look away when you do your job because my thoughts will taunt me by saying that I’m a burden and then my hate for you would go stronger.”

[Name] painfully smiled at Teru, her eyes were puffy from crying. She sighed and kept on talking. “I made a wish from the tag that one day we could be more open and closer like when we were kids. I tried to get along with you, and started to fight supernaturals alongside you. I believed that there’s no point in relying on the stars to make my wish come true so I did it on my own.”

“I just… can’t take this anymore…”

“I’m disgusted by myself, avoiding you at all costs just so that I won’t be able to see you being the best at everything. To the point that I don’t want to do exorcism at all—”

“[Name]... you… You lied to me!” Teru shouted out, his voice slightly breaking. Everyone knows that he’s always laid-back and reserved, and seeing this side of him was out of character. “You said that we’ll always work together no matter what happens. We both sacrificed our childhood for fighting off supernaturals and you dare to leave me alone just because you thought I’m better than you?!”

“How could you?” Teru felt betrayed knowing that [Name] has always been distancing from him from the start. He thought he was just a change of attitude, he wanted to think it was a change. “I don’t think of you as a burden! Your skills are graceful as it is and I saw your fighting improving everytime we fought together.”

“I didn’t realize that I was hurting you…” Teru tried his best to hold back his tears, sniffling at the process. “I’m sorry [Name], you can hate me all you want but please don’t leave me alone in this hellhole…”

“I wanted to be close like we were back then and I guess it won’t be happening…”

[Name] sees that Teru was looking down on the ground, contemplating on what he did in the past few years to hurt her. The truth is that [Name] was actually hurting him. She took his hand, wrapping with hers. “Despite the fact… that you surpass me… you actually stopped and waited for me to improve.”

“How could I not?” Teru laughed lightly, placing his hand on top of hers. “I can’t leave my dearest friend like that, you know?”

“Even though I was sometimes strict towards you, you were kind enough to hold the umbrella to protect me from the rain.” [Name] said, squeezing his hand softly with a gentle smile curling up from her lips for the first time. “And of course, I’ll continue to fight alongside you. I’m not leaving you that easily, Teru.”

“You know, you were better than me in other things.” Teru sheepishly rubs the back of his blonde hair. “I can’t do household chores and I can’t cook.”

[Name] chuckled. She finally had closure with Teru, had blurted out their feelings and now she was able to walk by his side because she wanted to. “Teru, promise me you’ll wait for me.”

Teru pulled out his pinkie finger. “I promise.”

Then they both linked their pinkies together, sealing their promise. [Name] started to feel funny in her stomach when Teru’s face started to get closer, somehow he radiated warmth. Before they did something, the door suddenly opened.

“I’m home, Teru-nii!” Kou announced with a big smile on his face with sparkles all over along with his little sister, Tiara coming in. [Name] and Teru scooted away from each other and whistled innocently. “Ah! Nee-chan is here too!”

“Kou-kun, long time no see.” [Name] walked over to ruffle his hair, then she bent down to the little sister. “Oh my, Tiara-chan is all grown up.”

Teru and Kou watched [Name] carry Tiara in their arms. “Nee-chan seems to be in a good mood, did something happen to her?” Kou whispered to his big brother.

But Teru can only smile as a reply.

a/n: even though i red the umbrella event story of sayo and hina many times it never failed me cry ;-;

[elles-writing]

Little Secret

Request: Wonderful! Could please write an escenario in which y/n (half elf and half human) was part of the company cause Gandalf hired her. She and Kili fell for each other and secretly started courting. Once Erebor was reclaimed everything was going back to normal. Thorin asked her to stay for as long as she liked. When Fili & Kili's mom got there, she had lots of meetings with Thorin so y/n was not able to properly meet her. The day that they are actually introduced, Thorin announces Kili's and Fili's arranged marriages which took everyone by surprise. Y/n and Kili try to figure and fix things out in order to convince Thorin to put off the arrange marriage but it does not work. Therefore, y/n decides to leave Erebor and ends up leaving to Dale; befriending/ helping Bard and his kids.  During her time there she finds out that she was pregnant with Kili's child. However, she never notifies Kili nor goes to Erebor to announce it thinking that he had his duty as a prince and it would be harmful for him/ his arranged marriage. So, she makes the decision to raise the baby on her own. Time goes by and on a normal day (when she was 9 months pregnant) that she's walking around Dale  while feeling contractions she bumps into Kili. Thank you so much!❤️ Sorry for the long message 😅 - @just-a-dreamer23

A/N: I know, I know, this is soo long. But, I enjoyed writing this story!! I've been trying to overcome my lack of motivation to write, so maybe it isn't as good in some parts, as my other stories, but I wanted to keep it that way, so I hope you enjoy anyways.

Tags: @guardianofrivendell @just-a-dreamer23 @anjhope1 @lathalea

The afternoon was hot. The best thing to do, was to take a nap. At least, in your opinion.

Nothing would attack in this heat, you thought, as you rested under a tree. A while after, you noticed pointy hat and grey cloak of the same colour. You lazily waved.

"Gandalf, long time no see!" Gandalf smiled at you.

"Good afternoon, Y/N." You stood up and looked at him, waiting. Gandalf never came just...for no reason.

"How are you doing?" Gandalf asked, and you shrugged.

"I'm just wandering around, as usual. You know me. I never stay in one place for too long." You said. Gandalf knew that, obviously. Being a child of an elf and a human, you felt like you never belong anywhere.

Elves felt really tense and quiet, and humans were quite loud for you, because of your hearing. And you aged lot slower than them, so making friends was also quite...not it.

"I've been looking for you, to join an adventure," You curiously gave him a look.

"An adventure? What kind of adventure?"

"Well," he looked at you.

"You know about Erebor and the line of Durin, right?" You frowned at him, and quickly shook your head.

"Gandalf, I can't-I can't join the dwarves! They will hate me! Everyone knows they hate the elves, and I'm half elf!" You said.

"Well, who said they will know? You owe me help," he reminded you. You thought back to when he healed you after orcs attacked you, and you sighed. He was right. This was the least you could do.

"And, who knows. Maybe they will like you," he gave you a look, and you folded your hands on your chest, and let out a sigh.

"Alright then. Where and when am I supposed to be?" He gave you all the information you needed. And you started your way to the Shire, looking at the first evening stars, as the starlight is what the Elves of Mirkwood love so much.

You got to the Shire around late afternoon after three days of traveling, and smiled. The hobbits and their houses were tiny, so you couldn't help, but smile. Maybe it won't be that bad, having perhaps a hobbit friend, after all...

-

You remembered the moment when you first met Kili. You thought Gandalf was there at Bilbo's house, but when you opened the door...

"Are you Master Boggins?" You frowned at the brunette dwarf.

"Do I look like a hobbit to you?" He looked at the other dwarf, then back at you, but there was Bilbo already.

Later on the journey, he found you without your cape on. It was your turn for bathing, but him and Fili forgot some their things at the river.

You just put off your cloak, and put your hair down from your headband. You heard steps, so you quickly turned around.

"You are..." Fili started.

"...an elf?" Kili finished. You huffed.

"Half elf. My mother was...human." you whispered. Painful memories of your early life came up, and you blinked to stop the tears.

"Don't tell anyone, please..." you looked at them. Both Fili and Kili must've seen something in your expression, that made them realize the importance. They nodded. Kili was, however, curious. Lot more than before, and asking you about elves. You talked about it when Thorin was far enought to not hear what was your conversations about, but it wouldn't matter much. Gandalf told them you spent part of your life living with the elves, which was true.

In fact, Kili became fascinated by you. He liked you before, and had a feeling, which he wasn't sure about. Interest, curiousity, the need to protect you, adoration...

In the moment he saw you, he realized you were his One, his love for life. And when you got closer, he asked you to court him. You said yes. From then on, you shared many quiet and stolen kisses and moments together, in the shadows of forests or your bedrooms in pubs.

The moment everyone else (except for Bilbo and the Durin brothers) found out, was when you came into Mirkwood. Thranduil ordered his guards to take your cloak and headband off, and now, everyone could see your pointy ears.

There was a moment of silence.

"What made an elf, to travel with group of dwarves?" You gulped and looked down.

"I'm a-a half elf," you whispered.

"My father was from here." You explained, and the king shot you a glare. He was not stupid. He knew you tried to pull his attention away.

"Take them to the dungeons, except for Oakenshield," he said.

When you made yourself as comfortable as you could on the cold floor, you overheard the dwarves trying to find out who you actually were and what you wanted.

To your surprise, they didn't talk about you in a bad way. Just curiousity. Thankfully.

-

"Do you think she will like me?" You said to Kili. He was writing a letter to his and Fili's mother, Dis, the happy news - Erebor was reclaimed, and they all survived. It's been a week since, and Thorin decided it was the right thing to let his sister know as soon as possible. She was surely worried.

Kili turned to you.

"Like you? Like you? She is going to love you," Kili grinned at you, and you had to smile a little too.

"Yeah, but...you know, I'm not a dwarf," you said your worry aloud. It was true. Being a half-elf, you and Kili started courting in secret. Thorin was not really kind to you, at least the first half of the journey. However, the rest of the Company liked you lot more. Especially Kili. After a while of knowing of what did you feel, you decided to tell him. To your surprise, but happiness, Kili shared those feelings. And since then, you had a tiny braid, hidden in your hair, and Kili as well.

And stole many, many secret kisses.

"I don't think mum is going to have issue with this," Kili stood up, and gently placed your hair behind your ear.

"You're my One, and you make me incredibly happy. I'm sure she won't have problem with you being half elf," You cupped his cheek, and softly smiled, as you looked deep in his kind brown eyes.

"I love you too, my short Prince," He stood on his toes and kissed you, getting a giggle from you. He pouted, when he heard you called him short, but you knew he didn't mind it.

You kissed him, and felt his smile on your lips. You were leaning down, when suddenly you lost balance, and both you and Kili ended up lying on the floor. Kili and you let out a yelp, but then broke into giggles.

"I love you," Kili said, when you finally stopped laughing. You cuddled into his chest and breathed in his scent. Kili smelled like smoke, food and fresh air.

"I love you too," Kili gently stroke your hair, and you got up.

"Where are you going?"

"You have to finish the letter, and I promised Tilda I will take a walk with her before the dinner." You helped Kili to get up.

"Alright my beloved, have a good time," he gently kissed you, and sat back to his desk. You smiled, and ruffled his hair.

"You too, my dearest." You smiled, and left the room.

-

It's been a few months, and you were finally, finally going to meet Kili and Fili's mother, Dis. She has been there for around two weeks by now, but, you haven't got the chance to meet her and be introduced to her yet.

You were officially going to meet her during upcoming celebration. Needless to say, you were freaking out.

Your stomach was tight from anxiety for a few days already, and that afternoon, it felt absolutely horrible. You haven't eaten whole day, just because all you thought about was the evening.

You spent around an hour of putting on and off different dresses from your wardrobe, trying to figure out which one to wear.

"Y/N?" Kili knocked on the door of your chambers.

"C'me in," you said. He came in, and his eyes widened, when he seen you sitting in front of the mirror, your eyes red and the mess everywhere.

"What am I supposed to wear? I have nothing to wear!" You started crying. All the stress and anxiety in past three months got the best of you. Random moments of crying, because of tiny things, were happening on daily basis.

"Dear, what is happening?" He pulled your hair back behind your ears.

"I-I just want-want your mum to like me," you muttered.

"And...it stresses me out." Kili nodded, and shortly hugged you.

"She is going to love you no matter which dress you wear, I promise." He whispered to your ear.

"Now, I think..." Kili looked around.

"I think the...the dark green dress will be perfect."

When you changed into the dress Kili picked you, Kili brushed and styled your hair. He pulled the top section into a clip, and you pulled a few strands, to frame your face. You smiled at yourself in the mirror.

"You ready?" Kili asked. You just silently nodded.

As you walked down the hall, Kili was trying to figure out where his uncle, brother and mother went to. He couldn't see them anywhere, and he was sure he was once in a while not late.

When you entered the huge throne room, you could see Fili, and let out a breath of relief.

"Fili, have you seen-"

"Kili, there you are," A woman came from behind Fili, and looked over her younger son.

"Have you brushed your hair?" Kili huffed.

"Of course I did." He said quietly, so nobody could hear him. He was visibly embarrassed, and you let out laugh. She suddenly turned to you. Her deep blue eyes reminded you Thorin, but they had the same twinkle as Kili and, occasionally, Fili.

"I don't remember I seen you here before," she said.

"Well, I usually spend my time outside of Erebor, so I think that might be it," You nervously smiled. She hummed.

"I-I'm not a part of the royal family," you said, and almost groaned. Now that was embarrassing for sure.

"Y/N, this is my and Kili's mum, Dis. Mum, this is Y/N," Fili said, and you felt your cheeks heat up.

"I-um-" You tried to say something, but she pulled you in short hug.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," she gave you a smile, and then went back between the guests with Fili.

You let out a breath.

"That was embarrassing," you groaned. Kili chuckled.

"No, not at all. She likes you." It suddenly felt like it was much easier to breathe.

"She-she does?" Your eyes widened, and Kili nodded.

"Of course! And you can bet she will steal you to me during the evening,"

"How do you know that?" You turned to him with surprise written all over your face.

"She is my mother. I know her for a long time." He just said.

"She seems to be...different from Thorin," you said, hoping it wouldn't come out as offensive. Kili chuckled.

"Mum and Uncle really aren't that different. Uncle just focuses more on the kingdom and mum, on family," Kili said in low voice, so that only you could hear it.

When you sat down to the table, where the royal family and the Company was, you looked around. You and Kili did secretly hold hands under the table, and you talked to Dis, who was sitting across the table.

"Good evening, everyone," Thorin said, and the people got more quiet.

"It's my pleasure to meet all of you here today. I have some things to say, before the celebration starts." Thorin paused, and Kili leaned near you with a grin.

"It's just a few formalities, don't worry, love." You smiled at him back with tight smile. You felt something was not right. Thorin talked about the kingdom a little at first. The next news was, however, what you were afraid of.

"I'm very happy to say, my nephew Fili is going to marry-" you let out a breath. Kili turned to you with worry.

"Do you feel okay?" He asked, when suddenly...

"And my nephew Kili, who also has already arranged marriage, with-"

Kili stared at Thorin, and you as well.

"Kili-Kili, please-" you tried to stop Kili from going to Thorin. Kili was visibly angry, his jaw was tight, and body tense.

"Kili? What is happening?" Thorin came and let through his teeth. You suddenly felt everyone's eyes on you.

"I need some fresh air," you whispered and walked away, as quickly as you could. When you left, you came in your chambers, kneeled to your bed, and started crying.

You knew it. You should've known before.

Thorin would do this. Even when Fili and Kili were children, he would make sure they had wives already. They were princes. They needed to have a wife.

And Thorin...Thorin would never allow Kili to court you or marry you.

The next day, Kili came into your room. He had dark circles under his eyes, and gave you weak smile.

"I promise we will work this out," he muttered, and pulled you close to his chest.

Kili was asleep - and you let him - but, you thought about your situation, and tried to come up with possible solutions.

However, it was as if there weren't any.

It's been a few days, and you cuddled into your blanket. You fell asleep, and when you woke up, you looked around the room.

This place isn't for me anymore, you thought, and started packing your clothes into your bag. You changed into tunic and trousers, and wrote a letter to Kili, that you were sorry, but it was probably better to have a wife his Uncle would like, that you were leaving and never coming back, so he shouldn't be looking for you.

You quietly left the palace, and walked out in the morning. The air was fresh and nice, and for a moment, you forgot your sadness.

You walked to Dale, and decided to meet Bard. You had nowhere to go, and maybe staying there would be good, before you'd go...somewhere else.

The guards let you in, and as you thought of going to Rivendell, you noticed Bard.

"Bard?" He turned to you, and nodded at you.

"Hi Y/N. What brings you here?" You sighed.

"I'm leaving Erebor, Bard...but the problem is, I need to think about of where-" you suddenly felt dizzy, and Bard catched you. He called for a healer, that's what your hazy mind could catch.

You basically woke up, in a room. On a bed. Comfortable bed.

"Lie still, lady Y/N," the healer said. You frowned a little, when she placed her ear to your stomach.

"I can hear the heartbeat clearly. The baby is most likely around three months old," she said.

"What baby?" You asked, confused. You looked from the healer to Bard and Bard to healer. She took your hands in hers.

"You don't know, my lady? You are pregnant. I can clearly hear the heartbeat of your child," she softly smiled at you. You shook your head, and felt a few tears escaping your eyes.

"I'm...I'm with child," you whispered. You could not believe it. So perhaps, it wasn't just stress...

"Who is the father?" The healer asked, when she helped you to sit up. You nervously looked in your lap.

"Kili. Prince...Kili. Kili Durin." You said, and Bard and the healer shared a look.

"He...he doesn't know. Can we keep it a secret? Please?" You looked at them.

They said yes. Bard was like a father to you, and let you stay. He showed you chambers, that would be your home for next few months at least.

You never went back to Erebor. You thought Kili had to marry the princess, so you just tried to think of the baby you were carrying.

It wasn't that hard, honestly. The baby was often restless, though.

As if it missed Kili as much as you did...

Even if the baby would have to grow up without it's biological dad, you were sure you'd be able to take care of them well.

Some days, you were happy, and didn't think of Kili too much. It pained you, yes, and you knew you had to be strong for the baby, so you often asked someone to teach you something, such as how to prepare different meals, how to knit or how to play piano, to name a few.

Other days, you felt sad. It could be because of the weather, or hormones, some days you just woke up sad, and sometimes it was when something reminded you of Kili. Those days, the baby was the most restless, and the maids told you it was because the baby missed it's father.

You sat down to the armchair next to the window in your bedroom, and looked out on the street. Nobody could see you from here, so it made you feel safe. You looked up and seen Erebor.

"There's your daddy, over there," you whispered to the baby.

The answer you got, was soft kick.

-

"Does it hurt?" Sigrid asked you, looking at your belly. You smiled at her.

"No, it doesn't." You stroke your stomach. You've been pregnant for past almost nine months. Bard was so kind and let you stay, and even offered you bigger chambers, which you gladly agreeded to. The chambers were perfect size, and the baby could have their own small room, overtime.

You let out shaky breath. You wanted Kili to know about all of this. To be there with you, talk to you and to the baby.

But, it was not possible. It would hurt his reputation, and perhaps even his marriage.

You dried your tears, and carefully stood up. Even as pregnant, you were able to stand up yourself, luckily quite easily. You felt very thankful for some of your genes being from the elves, because, as Bard explained to you, humans had it harder.

When you slowly got yourself out of the castle, you breathed in. The air smelled nicely - you smelled fresh bread, old leaves, fresh air from the lake. Mix of summer and autumn. You felt it was one of the last few warm days, before the typical autumn comes.

You looked around, and your cravings were begging you for some freshly baked, soft warm bread with fresh butter, melting on top of it. You thought of the crispiness of the bread's crust, and your mouth started watering. You groaned, when you felt how your stomach let you know some snack would come handy.

You slid your hand to your pocket, and made sure you have enough money.

You started walking, to find some bakery, and as you looked around, you noticed one on the other end of the street.

You let out a breath, and started walking towards the small store.

You were almost there, when you overheard a gasps, escaping a few young girls. You slowed down and listened to their conversation.

"Did you see him?"

"Yes, I did. Do you think it really is the Prince?"

"Of course he is! I mean, look at him. I'd recognize the hair clip everywhere." You frowned a little, when you suddenly realized it. You stopped walking, and felt hot wave running down your back, and liquid running down your leg.

You carefully looked down. It was clear.

You turned around, and - damn it! - your eyes locked with Kili's in the exact moment.

He started walking towards you. You clearly recognized happiness in his eyes, and relief.

"Y/N, where have you been those past months? I was worried about you," He said, and when he was near you, you recognized even the wet shine in his chocolate eyes. You felt sudden rush of guilt.

He must have notice the guilt on your face. Kili frowned a little, when he took a notice of your belly, under the dress.

"I-you..." You noticed it. He was holding back tears. You shook your head, as you tried to hold your own.

"Kili, it isn't like this...please trust me!" You felt another wave of heat running down your back, and stepped forward, but sudden dizzines made you take wrong step. Kili quickly catched you.

"Kili, I-this is, uh..."

"You moved on," he said. You shook your head.

"No, it's...you are the father," you said, but didn't notice what was his reaction, because suddenly, you realized what was going on, as you were holding your belly.

"I need to get back, and find a healer and midwife," you let out through your gritted teeth.

"We will get there quickly," Kili let out, and you had a feeling.

"Don't you dare to faint!" You let out.

Kili helped you to get back. You noticed Sigrid, and told her to quickly find healer. She didn't ask anything, and quickly runned away. You let out a groan and gripped Kili's arm.

"Lady Y/N, we need to get you to the room prepared for labour," the healer said, and checked on your belly.

When you got there, and changed into simple gown, you laid down as the healer told you.

Kili stayed there, and you were gripping his arm and hand.

"I'm not fucking letting you to sleep with me ever again," you said through gritted teeth. Kili took a shaky breath, and you shot him a glare.

"Don't you dare to faint, Kili Durin! You did put this baby inside me nine months ago, so now-"

"This is just the pain speaking from Lady Y/N, Prince Kili. Don't take it personally," Kili gulped and nodded.

"You're doing great, love," he said carefully. You let out a huff.

"I didn't finish! Now you will deal with me breaking your arm, because it hurts!" You almost yelled at him.

"I can see the head, my Lady!" The healer smiled.

"With this next contraction, you will push as much as you can!" The healer said.

"Okay, one, two, three-push!"

"You're doing great, dear. The baby is almost there," Kili tried to cheer you up.

"You have no idea how painful it is!" You screamed.

"My lady, this is going to be your last push, are you ready?" The healer looked up at you, and you nodded.

"One, two, three, push!" The healer let out. You gripped Kili's hand, and suddenly...

You heard a baby scream.

"It's a girl!" The healer said happily. You smiled, and let out some happy tears.

"You-you did it!" Kili said, and you wiped off your eyes.

"No, we did it," you muttered, and he kissed your cheek.

"How do you feel, Y/N?"

"I'm okay," you smiled. The midwife checked on you, and handed you your baby.

"Everything seems to be in order," she said and smiled. You smiled at her back. She was there for you for all those months, and you got close.

"Thank you so much," She nodded.

"I'll leave you alone," she said, and left.

You stroke the baby's cheek.

"How are we going to name her?" Kili whispered, and stroke the baby's chubby cheek. You shrugged.

"Well...I'm not sure. I was thinking of Arina," you said.

"It's...it's beautiful name," Kili said, and you realized he was crying.

"Kili...I'm so sorry for...for hiding it from you," you whispered. Kili shook his head.

"Love...it isn't your fault. Can I...can I hug you?" You nodded, and he slid his arm around your shoulders.

"If anything, it's my fault." He muttered.

"I should've known where did you go, and-"

"Shh," you said.

"We can talk about that later. Arina's asleep now."

You were quietly watching the baby. The midwife came back soon, to check on you and the baby, and when she left, Kili spoken up.

"We talked Uncle the marriges out." You nodded.

"You left Erebor by then already. I was looking everywhere for you, only if I knew-" you subtly interrupted him.

"I didn't know either. I wanted to go to Rivendell, but...then, I found out. It would be risky, so Bard let me stay here," You shrugged.

"Do you still want to leave, though?" Kili looked at you with sad eyes, when he looked away from your daughter. You shook your head.

"No." Kili grinned, and gently brushed his hand over your cheek.

"Just for your information...mum was going nuts when she found out about the arranged marriges. She likes you a lot." You smiled, and took Kili's hand in yours.

"Well...let's hope she likes her too," You looked at Arina's sleeping face.

You came back the next day. Kili had to go to Erebor that evening, but in the morning, he came back.

When you entered, you overheard a strong female voice. You quickly realized who was the woman.

"I don't care my brother has a meeting. Go tell him he has to come here. It's a family emergency," she said, and turned to you and Kili.

"Y/N, where have you-oh, who is this?" Dis turned to you, and noticed the baby. You shared a look with Kili.

"This is your granddaughter," You said carefully. Dis looked between you and Kili, and it seemed like most things clicked to her. She smiled.

"Well..."

"Dis, what does that means?" Thorin's voice came from different hall, and you noticed Fili giving you a knowing smile.

"Thorin..." you said, and he turned to you. He seemed to be confused, but then he looked at Arina.

"What does this-"

"Uncle, let's get some privacy first," Fili said.

When you came to library, Thorin turned to you. Dis stood up, as if she would want to protect you.

"Uncle...Y/N and I started courting on the quest in secret. We planned to get married, but when you announced the arranged marriges for me and Fili, we-"

"I left Erebor, because I thought you would never accept me as partner for your nephew, Thorin. I found out I was pregnant, however, I didn't want to hurt Kili's reputation or his marrige, so I never came back to announce it. He met me in Dale yesterday, and I, um...I went to labour." Thorin has been looking at you and Kili. Your body was tense, and Fili, Kili and Dis were ready to protect you any moment.

Thorin slowly closed this eyes, and placed his face into his palms. When he looked up again, he let out a sigh.

"Fili, Kili, sister, leave us alone."

"But Uncle-" Fili said, but Thorin shook his head.

"I said, leave us alone. It won't be long." They three left, and you were a bit afraid.

"Kili is a prince, yes. But, he is also a dwarf, who needs to have someone who he is happy with." Thorin said, looking away from you.

"I noticed, of course. You make him happy, Y/N. I thought it was just childish love, that you would leave, and it would break Kili's heart. I owe you honest apology, Y/N. For thinking you wouldn't take his love seriously." He looked at you, and you let out a small smile. You nodded.

"Apology accepted, Thorin. Courting Kili makes me incredibly happy, and I am honored to say he is my lover," you said, and Thorin looked at you.

"Well, and when it comes to, um...you staying, you can stay here. If you would like to."

"I'd be very thankful."

A few years later

"Fi, look!" Kili said, as Arina walked towards Kili, again. She was giggling, as her father was dancing with her. You laughed.

"Kili, be careful!"

"Daddy, look!" The little girl pointed to a butterfly, who sat on her dress.

"Yeah, it's beautiful," Kili said, and she pouted.

"Don't move, or it will fly away!" Arina let out, and let the butterfly gently walk on her palm.

"Uncle, look, I got a butterfly!" Arina showed it to Fili, who nodded with nervous face.

"Oh, it's beautiful, Ari. Would you put it, um, a bit away from me, please?" She put the butterfly on a flower, and Fili let out a breath.

"I'm sleepy, mommy." She came to you, and lean her head on your shoulder.

"Ari?" A little boy came, and the girl jumped up with grin.

"Vili!" She squealed, and started tickling her cousin.

"Granny!" Arina gasped, when she noticed Dis.

"You are growing up so fast, Ari!" She said proudly, and you two shared a look.

"Aye, that's what she does," Kili let out a chuckle, and gently kissed your cheek.

[prettyboykatsuki]

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

mamas boy - m. atsumu 

➳ tags ;; fem!reader, fluff, a little emo 

➳ wc ;; 1.1k

➳ plot ;; you and atsumus mom meet for the first time 

she can see it all over your face that you are the kind of love her son was destined to find

➳ a/n ;; why did writing this make me ugly cry... 

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

atsumu miya doesn’t plan on leaving you home alone with his mother during your first meeting. 

but he’s something of a mamas boy, and when she ruffles his hair and hands him a paper bills folded neatly, he already knows the drill. she wraps her hand around his closed fist and lists off the ingredients one by one - green onions, ginger, and 2 cloves of garlic. 

then she whispers something while looking at you, sharp eyes as she leans up and says whatever secret she can’t let you in on. you squirm a little in your seat, trying your best not to be intimidated. it’s hard, because atsumu miya’s mother is.. well.. intimidating. 

and you’ve seen her in pictures, many times in fact. she’s a single, working mother. she smokes skinny cigarettes and has two ashtrays just on the kitchen table when you arrive. they’re a pair - a black and white cat. her hair is streaked with salt and pepper grey but it’s still a rich brown everywhere else. she has a mild case of crows feet but soft looking hands - a mole on her right one. her nails are painted a fresh purple, lavender and unchipped. 

you can’t sit still at the table. she hasn’t spoken much to you at all but you can hear her pull out a chair with a back of her foot. she brings a pairing knife, two bowls, a cutting board - clearly well-loved.

the first thing she picks out of the basket is an apple of many. you give her a panicked smile, hands flailing

“oh! uh, lemme help you with that,”

she shakes her head, puts the whole thing down before patting the pocket of her apron. a package of pretty cigs.

“mind if i smoke?” 

you shake your head. she nods, smacks the plastic against her palm three times before cracking it open. she lights with a decorative lighter. it’s engraved with something. the match flickers and the air fills with the lightest scent of tobacco. she lets it hang from her lips, taking a sharp inhale before letting it out in a long cloud. 

one thing you know for sure is she’s the type of woman you could only dream of being. shoulder length hair, pushed back with only a hairband. she cuts the skin of the apple with her fingers curled around the knife, thumb against the blade with confidence. it cuts smooth, sharp. 

“i’ve heard a lot about you,” 

your first reaction is to be surprise. you let out a confused really? before shutting yourself up - but for the first time in conversation, she laughs. it’s warm and a little raspy. 

“don’t be so nervous,” and her voice goes a little softer “im surprised that knucklehead could pull someone as pretty as you,” 

this time you flush, cheeks warm as she gives you a smile. it’s sly in a familiar way, a little knowing too. she taps the ash of her cigarette and starts cutting the skinless apple into slices. the peel goes in one bowl, the fruit in the other.. 

“ah.. thank you,” 

she nudges a slice towards you, chuckling when you eat it with a soft chomp. 

“atsumus always been stubborn as a bull. so is samu, but atsumu is real loud about it - always got something to say,” 

the words ring so true you let out a full, rowdy laugh - covering your mouth a little. she’s unfazed, agitation and affection woven intricately together.

“his head damn big and he’s too arrogant - noisy and never picks up his damn socks,”

her every word is full of love, the unmistakably critical kind. the kind of love that is ugly and unconditional. it’s a tough love, through and through. hardened by years of experience. 

“but he’s a good kid. not free of flaws, but he’s... good. i think i raised ‘em alright,” 

you nod, big and bright like the sun.  it’s always been her and her boys - something like love and romance so lost on her - she’d almost forgotten what it looks like. 

almost. 

but she still remembers love, even now - when she was was young and rosy and glowing just like you are. she can see it all over your face that you are the kind of love her son was destined to find. the kind of love that looks past her shoulders and stares at the baby photos on the wall. the kind of love that offers to cut fruit, the kind of love that eagerly urges one to try. to press forward. the kind of love that stays and grows and fixes. 

when she remembers what love looks like - she can see it all over your skin. in the strands of your hair. the corners of your mouth, in the center of your gravity. 

“... he better be a good man to you. if he’s bein’ a shit, come find me and i’ll set him straight” 

and her voice shakes like a leaf in the wind. her heart aches in a way she could never expect. and she can feel her own resolve crumbling, just a little. this unexpected feeling that she hadn’t lost her son but gained a daughter instead.

“i’ll keep that in mind,” and you stare at the ring on your finger with affection, at her with gratitude that words couldn’t carry “but.. he’s a great man to me. always been,” 

and her heart clenches. and she thinks to herself - she did alright after all this time. the affirmation is so heavy, she gives you a trembling smile. it’s all she can afford. what a weight you’ve lifted so easily off her shoulders. that she raised a good man, the kind their father could never be. 

“ma! i’m home,” 

both of you are startled as atsumu struts into the kitchen. there’s a cake (the secret!) from a bakery, and the groceries she’d so headily request. he sets the bags down on the kitchen table, next to the white cat. he leans to kiss his mothers temple and returns to wrap his arms around your shoulders, kiss your cheek and nudge it. 

“what’d you two ladies talk about while i was away,” 

and you roll your eyes and smile at her, wink - like the two of you share a secret you can’t let him in before rolling your eyes. 

“oh you know, just how you can’t pick up after your damn self miya,” 

he scoffs, stares at his mother indignantly as you laugh your ass off. 

“ma, c’mon! it’s not even that bad,” 

she looks at you, and smiles - shaking her head. the cigarette has gone all to ash. the sun is setting beneath the trees and it feels like a heavy burden has been lifted off her shoulders.

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

[songbirdstyles]

white wedding.

summary: your estranged aunt leaves you her estate in her will with the stipulation that you have to be married to receive your inheritance. luckily, harry is more than willing to help.

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, smut, angst if you squint.

song inspo.: white wedding - billy idol

word count: 13.4k

You weren’t too close to your Aunt Alice for the entirety of your life - there’s a picture, you think, hung in your parents’ house of her and some of your other family members, crowding around your bassinet when you were just a baby, her face turned up into a scowl amid everyone else’s gleaming grins, and it was a lovely foreshadow into your relationship with her. She sent you $10 on your birthdays and Christmas (an amount that your father had always scoffed at when he thought you weren’t listening - ‘she’s a goddamn millionaire,’ he’d hiss to your mother, ‘and the most she can spare her only niece is $10?’)  and you could remember, when you were 9, seeing her at a family reunion where she sat at a table pressed into a back corner and nursed glasses of wine during the entire event.

It goes without saying, you suppose, that she wasn’t the kindest lady. Your mother had told you how Aunt Alice cut off your father for some reason nobody could quite discern and, so, she never held a much larger place in your life than a mere branch on your second grade family tree project -

But, still. It’s rather difficult to regard the dead in such a negative manner so you try and focus on the good parts of your late aunt. Twice, she wrote ‘love u’ in your Christmas card. And, at said family reunion, when you walked over to her table to say goodbye before you left, she delivered a sloppy, strangely wet kiss to the side of your face that smelled distinctly of chardonnay (a scent you hadn’t quite been able to place until years later.) And - 

“Are you alright?”

Harry’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, gazing out the rain-streaked car window at the night sky with an odd air of sadness surrounding you. You had been trying to hide the slight dash of sadness you feel at the memory of your aunt by disguising it with a mask of sleepiness that has you leaning your forehead against the cold window, eyes squeezed shut. But Harry can read you like a goddamn book - like the back of his hand. It’s what best friends are for, you suppose.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, tilting your head away from the window to glance at him in the driver’s seat. And, the truth is, you are fine. It’s not as though you’re entirely too saddened with the news of Aunt Alice’s passing. She’d always had health issues, according to your parents, and you’re not sure what, exactly, has sealed her fate - you’re simply more confused by it all. “Well - when we were leaving the movies, I got a call from my dad. My aunt died.”

You can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath and there’s a brief hesitation where you know he’s trying to gauge how you feel about it. “Oh,” he settles on, turning to look at you in the eye when the car rolls to a stop at a red light. “M’sorry, love.”

You shrug, glancing down to squint at your fingernails in the darkness of Harry’s car. You’d begun to pick at the baby blue nail polish he’d delicately applied the night before (they matched his, naturally) and it really is a nervous habit you should work on, but you can’t be bothered right now. “We weren’t close,” you admit, leaning back against the headrest. “It’s just weird, is all.”

“Are y’sad about it?”

“Not quite,” and it’s the truth. “She was wealthy, though. I think she wrote novels or plays or something - I’m not sure. And I was, apparently, her closest living relative that she didn’t despise.”

He clicks his tongue softly, making a left when the light finally switches to green, and his eyes shift back towards the road. “Left y’somethin’ in her will, did she?”

“Her countryside estate,” you confess, voice soft - it’s not the climax of your story but it certainly sounds like it should be, and you can see the confused crease in Harry’s eyebrows when you look up at him. “I looked the address up online, Har - it’s gorgeous, 6 beds and 7 bathrooms. I guess we had similar tastes in that regard.”

“Y’don’t sound too thrilled, for someone who jus’ got their dream house handed to ‘em on a platter.”

“There’s a stipulation in the will.”

“Ah.”

You smile tightly. “I’ll only inherit the house if I’m married.”

It’s something you’ll never understand. Aunt Alice never married and lived in that grand old house (your dream house) all by herself, and if you’d known about your role in her will perhaps you’d have argued it with her in person - the hypocrisy of it all, how goddamn unfair it was. And it’ll kill you - truly kill you - to see that house go to whoever her next closest living relative is who she doesn’t hate. Probably some third cousin twice removed, considering how great she was at cutting people off.

And Harry sits for a moment in silence, considering it. “Seems very - very - can’t think of the word.”

“Sexist? Unfair? Dumb?”

“All true,” he agrees, giving you a sympathetic smile, and it makes you feel the tiniest bit better, even if it’s just for a moment. “Barbaric, maybe.”

“I hate her,” you declare, crossing your arms over your hoodie-clad chest, and you most certainly don’t, but you’re angry enough to mean it in the moment. When your father had told you, you hadn’t thought about it too much - besides being confused by the entire thing, being left a house by a relative you hardly knew - but saying it out loud makes you angrier, squeezing your eyes shut. “Would you know she never married? How does that make sense?” “It doesn’t,” Harry repeats, and you glance out the window, lifting your palm to wipe at the cloudy stain your forehead had made against the glass - you’re just less a minute away from your apartment building, and you rip your phone from Harry’s charger and shove it into the pocket of your hoodie. “She left you time, right? T’get married? Tha’ seems only fair.”

You snort, ignoring the way his lips turn up into a smile at the noise. “She gave me a year. I mean, I’m 23 - I wasn’t intending on settling down for another couple of years.”

If you were less distracted, perhaps you’d see his responding silence for what it is - time to think, gears grinding in his head, as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building and leans over the center console to wrap you in a hug. Harry’s a talkative person and he’s only really quiet when he’s got something on his mind, but you’ve got something on yours too (probably more than he does) so you ignore it. And his soft murmur into your hair of ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow for breakfast’ sounds every bit as distracted as you feel so you simply pay it no mind.

It’s easier that way, for now.

 --

 “I’ve been thinkin’ about your situation.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, bent over his plate of French toast as though he hadn’t spoken at all. His sunglasses are perched at the end of his nose so you can see his eyes - which, in your opinion, defeats the purpose of even wearing the stupid things in public. But, whenever you two go out together, he insists on wearing them, along with a grey beanie protecting his infamous head of curls from any wandering eyes, and the bizarre attempt at a disguise always makes you feel like you’re having breakfast with a burglar. 

“Not much to think about,” you shrug, popping a forkful of omelet into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I was just mad about it last night, you know. Heat of the moment, sort of thing.”

“I’d be mad, too,” Harry tells you, and it’s getting more difficult to ignore the way his words send heat creeping up your neck, and you glance down at your plate of eggs with a small smile gracing your face. “Not jus’ heat of the moment, either. Really mad. S’bullshit.”

A second of silence passes, and you let his reassurance settle over you - simply having him agree with you on the stupidity of the entire situation makes you feel a thousand times better. Even if you don’t get the house (and you’ve already progressed into the last stage of grief over almost certainly losing it - acceptance) at least you’ll always have Harry, and maybe that’s enough.

But the house would be nice, too.

“What were you thinking about?” You question, lifting your eyes back up to meet his through his tinted glasses, and if there wasn’t the barrier between your gazes you’d be able to note the nearly shameful glint in his eyes as he digs into his stack of sugary sweet toast, doused with maple syrup and towered high with fruit. “About the situation, I mean.”

Harry begins to speak once more just as you reach over with your fork to nab a piece of banana, and he swats at your wrist as you pop the slice of fruit into your mouth. “Don’ steal my banana, babe,” he tells you, eyes narrowing in mock anger, and you roll your eyes at the name. “Anyway. S’not totally crazy, that you could get married in less than a year.”

Yes, it is, you want to reply back, but you can tell he’s ramping up to something important, so you rest your fork on your plate and furrow your eyebrows at him pointedly. Truthfully, even if the love of your life happened to be sitting in front of you, you’re not sure you could go through with marrying them, anyway. It’s such a heavy commitment and, God, you thought you’d have more time. Time to explore and experiment and not settle down (in your dream house) just for the sake of it.

“What if we got married?”

And that - is not what you were expecting him to say.

You’re not sure if he’s kidding or not so you give it a minute before responding in any capacity. Just stare at him, and he makes a point of hooking his pinkie in the center of his sunglasses and tugging them down his nose just a bit so you can see the absolute lack of amusement in his eyes. He’s all business, goddammit, as if he hadn’t just basically proposed to you in the middle of eating your fucking omelet.

But you can’t be sure he’s serious, and you also can’t be sure that the way your stomach flipped wasn’t because of a particularly egregious sip of chocolate milk and not the prospect of marrying your best friend. So you lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you kidding?”

Harry just shakes his head, grey beanie sliding up just a bit for one chocolate coloured lock of hair to escape the confines of the dumb hat. “M’being dead serious, babe. I’ll get down on one knee an’ prove it, too.”

“Don’t do that,” you beg him, reaching out to grab at his wrist when he makes to push himself out of his chair, and his wide grin only sends your stomach into another set of somersaults. “Jesus, Har.”

“Horrible idea?”

You don’t respond right away, grabbing your glass of chocolate milk and wrapping your lips around the straw. It’s a few seconds to process the request in all its glory - marrying your best friend, even if it’s just for show, is a lot. Sure, all you’d really have to do is head down to a courthouse (you could do it today, even - if you wanted to, and you’re not sure you do.) It’d be easier than searching hopelessly for the love of your life and arrange a wedding in less than a year, and you’d be able to walk the halls of your aunt’s gorgeous estate, decorate it how you please, and - ideally - your relationship with Harry wouldn’t quiver in the slightest.

Well, maybe that’s why you’re hesitant to begin with. Because it would quiver - or because it wouldn’t - or because it’s plain weird to marry your best friend. Even if it’s for a good cause (your dream home) and even if he suggested it in the first place, because he cares about you and wants you to be happy.

That’s sweet.

Maybe it would be a glorious fuck you to Aunt Alice in death. It isn’t as though anyone would know about the inauthenticity of the union but you would, and that’s all the revenge you need for her adding such a silly stipulation to her will, anyway. A marriage born not out of love, but out of need - sure, it’s not exactly how you wanted your life to go, but it’s better than watching the estate go to someone you’d never met before. You could get married and get divorced in the time frame she’d given you to find love in the first place and it would hardly be a blip in your life plans, and certainly not in Harry’s. It isn’t as though he’d suggest it if the marriage would ruin anything for him. 

Sure, you’d prance around family parties with him on your arm to sell your faux romance to your family. Only one or two, though, his arm around your waist, and it wasn’t as if your parents hadn’t already begun to question whether your close friendship with Harry ventured into something further. And, when it’s all said and done, when the house is officially in your name and you can begin shopping for furniture to make it your own, it’ll be easy to sell the divorce - he’s touring, you’d tearfully proclaim, and the stress was just too much on our relationship. And then you’d both be happy, right? For the most part, anyway. Still best friends with no hassle at all, and you get your house and he gets the popstar life without the settling down part.

When you’ve swallowed your gulp of chocolate milk, it’s nearly worrying how much you’ve thought about the proposal.

“It’s not a horrible idea,” you begin, eyes diverting downward to where Harry’s fingers are fiddling with a straw wrapper. “I mean, it could be pretty easy.”

“Very easy.”

“We just elope -”

“Could do it today, even -”

“I haven’t agreed yet, Mr. Styles - but we would elope, and then I’d get the house, and maybe I’d bring you to a family reunion, just to sell it, and then we’re divorced.”

He raises his eyebrows, glasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose until their purpose has been completely obliterated, and his eyes are on display for the goddamn world to see. “Unless we fall in love an’ live happily ever after - no divorce necessary, m’love.”

Bastard. Your stomach flips again but you just roll your eyes, picking up your fork and lifting a shaky bite of eggs up to your mouth. “Shut up.”

You’re almost certain you’ve made up your mind but you still make a show of thinking about it, slowly chewing on your omelet and focusing your gaze on a paper napkin resting on the ground beside Harry’s chair. It’s almost too easy, the entire process, and maybe that should make you nervous, just a little bit, that the idea of marrying him feels so relaxing. But - well - if you had to choose anyone in the world to marry in order to fulfill a stipulation in your aunt’s will, it would have to be Harry.

He’s looking at you eagerly when you look back up at him, and you’re not sure why he’s so excited about it - not like there’s anything in it for him - but it’s something you’ll think about later.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” you tell him, watching the way his grin spreads across his face like wildfire, and you can’t help yourself from smiling, too, “but I am.”

In seconds, Harry’s reaching across the table, grabbing your hand in his larger one, and just the way your heart jumps at the feeling of your palms pressed together should certainly have you rethinking your enthusiastic yes. But then he’s picking up the straw wrapper he’d been fiddling with, and it’s twisted into a makeshift wedding ring, and he’s sliding it onto your ring finger with a wide smile like a fucking puppy -

God. You’re in too deep already, and you’ve only just agreed.

 --

 For the record, you’d rethought your decision many, many times since agreeing.

You’d drafted out the text for Harry for when you inevitably will change your mind - a block of words confessing to him that you’d reacted too quickly and you think it would be best if you simply forfeit your inheritance, but you can never quite gather the guts to do it. And every time you copy and paste the note from your notes to your text thread with your best friend, something always stops you -

The photos of the house from the real estate website you’d seen it on.

Harry’s wide grin as you accepted his offer.

FIngers delicately sliding on an engagement ring made of a paper straw wrapper, and the next day when he’d shown up at your door with an actual, real engagement ring.

Naturally, you hadn’t sent it. You’d deleted the note entirely, too, embarrassed with even looking at your words of defeat sprawled on your phone screen. Sometimes, though, you wish you had fucking sent it. Nearly two weeks after accepting the proposal that still hasn’t progressed from feeling like an absolute fever dream, you’re sitting with Harry at Aunt Alice’s funeral, his arm hooked around the back of your chair and the other clutching a glass of wine that he’s hardly taken two sips of.

You’re on your second glass already, and it’s barely been an hour. You’d signed the guestbook and hooked your arm with Harry’s and introduced him as your fiance to exactly one of your great-aunts, and you’d been so nervous that Aunt Shirley could see right through your faux-engagement that you’d practically downed your glass the second her back turned. 

“This is so weird,” you confess to Harry, shifting closer to him so no one else around you can hear. Not that there is, per se, anyone else around you - not many other people are sitting down, but you and Harry were one of the first people to arrive, so you’ve given yourselves a pass to sit down for a while. “Isn’t it weird, Har?”

“S’only weird if you make it weird,” he murmurs back, and you would roll your eyes at how maddeningly calm he is if you weren’t desperate to keep up your pretense as loving fiance to the funeral goers whose wandering eyes may turn to you two. “And, babe, you’re makin’ it weird.”

Your lips spread into a smile and you lift your glass of wine to your lips, taking a small sip before bringing it back down to your lap. No matter how many times you scream at yourself, internally, that nobody knows you’re not engaged and to calm the fuck down, you can’t stop your leg from bouncing up and down, showcasing your nerves in the most outward way you possibly could. “Wonder when my parents are getting here - should’ve texted them and told them separately. Did you tell your mum?”

“Told her the truth,” Harry tells you, tilting his head into yours in a way that feels so natural you swear you could stay this way forever. “You’re not tellin’ your parents the truth?”

“Bless my mum,” you sigh, “but she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Harry exhales a soft laugh, eyes darting around the room full of people before landing back on yours, and your gazes lock for just the briefest of seconds before he’s glancing down at your lap. “Y’don’t have t’do this if you’re uncomfortable, y’know. We can jus’ say - the pressure of m’job was too much.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you tell him, which is true. You’re nervous, for sure, but he could never make you uncomfortable. “And, ironically enough, that’s my excuse for when we divorce.”

Your voice drops to a near breath on the last word and Harry’s head drops back with a bark of laughter that’s entirely too loud for the setting you’re at but you can’t bring yourself to reprimand him. “Always talkin’ ‘bout our divorce,” Harry breathes, tilting his head closer to yours so his mouth is close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath, hot against your skin. “What if we fall in love, babe? No divorce then. Don’ y’want us t’live happily ever after?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you roll your eyes, even if you’re almost positive you will (or already have) and shake your head at Harry’s resulting chuckle. “Been best friends for nearly five years, haven’t we? If we were going to fall in love, I reckon it would’ve happened already, Har.” 

“You’re right,” he agrees, voice oddly soft and sounding just sentimental enough for you to narrow your eyes suspiciously at him - but before you can question him further, his eyes dart down to where your leg is still frantically bouncing up and down. “Bloody hell, love - bouncin’ your leg so much. Y’look like a nervous wreck.”

“Thanks,” you begin, and whatever else you’d been meaning to say dies in your throat as Harry’s arm shifts from around the back of your chair and his hand comes down firm on your leg. His fingertips brush your knee and his palm lays soft against your thigh, just high enough to gently brush the end of your black dress and you wish you could control the way your stomach flips again and again like a fucking gymnast.

It’s to keep up appearances, you tell yourself. So people don’t think I’m so nervous. But it feels so nice, so natural in a way you hadn’t expected, feeling his hand resting on your thigh like it belongs there, fingertips drumming against your knee which most certainly isn’t bouncing anymore.

Your eyes flit up to his, narrowing them ever so slightly as if to sniff out his intentions, and out of the corner of your eye you can see two familiar figures walking in the high arched doors of Aunt Alice’s service. Your parents break off from each other nearly the second they enter, your father skirting off to greet some of his cousins and your mother’s eyes scan the room filled with relatives before landing on you and Harry.

“Mum’s here,” you tell Harry, pushing yourself to stand, and the feeling of his hand dropping off your thigh is a sensation you absolutely despise. He stands soon after you, adjusting the cuffs of his black button down shirt, and for the first time since the funeral began, you can see the beginnings of nervousness creeping upon him. A light pink flush works its way up his neck to his cheeks and he brings his hand up to run through his hair, inhaling a shaky breath. “You look nervous, Har. You’ve met my mum before.”

“S’different. Now we’re engaged.”

“Not too different.” You hook your arm with Harry’s, patting his hand with yours, and he gives you one grateful fleeting grin before you begin walking over to your mother. She’s bent over the guestbook, scribbling her name with the feather pen resting beside the log. You stop walking when you’re just a couple paces behind her, waiting for her to turn around and see you two - and your voice drops to a hushed tone as you reassure Harry. “I think she already sort of thought we were dating anyway - so she won’t care too much.”

“Wait - she did?”

“Hey, mum!”

 --

 You’re getting married in a week.

And, sure, you’d known that the entire process would move quicker than you could imagine but it still feels surreal and you still reckon you haven’t thought it through enough. It’s worsened (or, in some way, bettered) by the absolute adoration your family had immediately adopted towards Harry after meeting him just a few days ago, your aunts pulling you aside at the funeral and the repast that occurred after and whispering in your ear about what a handsome man he is! 

Well, they’ll certainly be disappointed when, in a month or two, you pop in to the next family gathering and announce that you two had gotten divorced as quickly as you’d been wed. Harry will be your ex husband and, at that point, surely people would be suspicious at the speed of which everything had happened but - hey - you’ll have your house and your best friend and that’s all you really need, isn’t it.

Yeah.

Slowly but surely, you’re coming to peace with it, and Harry’s certainly making it easier by being so zen about it all. His nerves at the funeral had been just about eradicated because your mum loves him, which you knew, and your father had seemed positively overjoyed at the news of your engagement, but they’d both seemed rather disappointed at your decision to elope instead of spending the time planning a big white wedding. And you’d expected that, but you figure that, by the time your second marriage inevitably rolls around, it’ll be real (realer than whatever you’re feeling for Harry, because you’re still not sure) and your father will walk you down the aisle and you’ll be able to go shopping for a big gorgeous wedding dress like you’d always dreamt of wearing.

You haven't even bought a dress. The one you’re wearing now, staring at yourself in the floor length mirror propped against your bedroom wall, is one you’d purchased for your college graduation to wear beneath your gown - simple and flowy, falling to just about your mid-thigh, and the only redeeming quality for even being considered a wedding dress is its white color. Still - it isn’t as though it’s a real wedding, in the traditional sense, so it doesn’t make sense for you to spend too much on a gown you’ll don for a trip to the courthouse and then get sad whenever you look at it again, post-divorce.

No, you don’t think you like it. You’d liked it for your graduation but for a wedding (your wedding) you wish you had something just a bit nicer, and you want to strip out of it and change back into your jeans but Harry’s sitting in your living room, waiting for you to model the stupid thing for him, and you’d hate to disappoint him. So you inhale softly, run your hand down the fabric, soft beneath your fingers, and reach for the door.

Harry’s on his phone when you step out of your bedroom, slowly shutting the door behind you, his body looking strangely large where he’s perched on the small loveseat in your living room. Everything in your apartment seems too small for him - or just too small in general - and it’ll be a nice change to live in a house where you can hold gatherings of more than 5 people without feeling like sardines in a can.

“Har,” you call, reaching down to tug the ends of your dress just a bit further down your thighs as you step further into the living room, bare feet padding against the plush rug your parents had gotten you as a Christmas gift the year prior. “What do you think of the dress?” You can hear the click of his phone as he turns it off, dropping it on the cushion beside him, and heat creeps up your cheeks as his gaze turns to you - you should feel self conscious, the way his eyes roll up and down your body, drinking in every bit of your dress, but you fucking love it. Love the way his lips part into a small o and upturn into a grin, how he pushes himself to stand and close the distance between you two until he’s hardly two inches away from you, how he reaches down to pick up the end of your dress as though examining the fabric.

“Do you like it?” You question as Harry drops your dress, letting the fabric fall back down around your thighs. “Wasn’t sure if I did.”

“I love it,” he tells you, immediate and forceful and you can tell he means it with his whole chest - maybe you love it, too. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You don’t think it’s too simple, do you?” Maybe you’re fishing for more compliments but you allow yourself to do it shamelessly. “It was my graduation dress - remember?”

“I do remember,” Harry grins, tugging at the bottom of your dress, and keeping his hands busy is a nervous habit of his that you’ve grown to recognize from a hundred miles away, but you can’t think of why, exactly, he’d be nervous now. “Looked so pretty, walkin’ across tha’ stage. I was so proud.”

You smile, gaze dropping down to where his fingers are fiddling with the skirt of your dress, and you think you’ll wear this dress every single goddamn day if he reacts as positively to it as he is now. “You sound like my dad.”

His nose scrunches when you look back up at him, and your heart twists inside your chest. “Don’ make it gross.” You simply shrug, bringing your fingers up to drum against his shoulders through the fabric of his Fleetwood Mac shirt, his muscles flexing ever so slightly beneath your touch. “M’being serious, though. I love the dress. Y’make the prettiest bride on the planet - m’a lucky man, aren’t I.”

From the moment you walked out of your room you’ve been feeling heat burning your cheeks but it doesn’t stop you from gently smacking his shoulder. “Stop it - you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Looks like y’already are, Mrs. Styles.”

Should that name make your stomach as topsy-turvy as it does? 

You shake your head, smoothing your palms over the front of your dress to both eradicate the wrinkles that adorn the fabric and to wipe off the sweat cropping up on your hands. You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous around Harry before and you can’t quite place your finger on why, but it’s getting more difficult to look him in the eye with your heart pounding as fast as it is. “I’m not gonna be Mrs. Styles for another week.” 

Harry exhales softly, fingertips tapping against your hip and you hadn’t even realized how close his hands were to that spot of your body - but it feels comforting, his touch on an oddly intimate part of you. “I can’t wait,” he says, and you can’t, either. “Makin’ me a very lucky groom, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe could make you go crazy if you focus on it for too long, so you don’t - and it’s hard to focus on much other than Harry himself as his head drops down, forehead pressed to yours, and oh God you can smell his fucking gum, and if you tilt your head up ever so slightly -

Is he going to kiss you? You think your heart will explode but you’ve never wanted anything more so you tilt your head up, just a bit, grip tightening on his shoulder, and you can feel his breath growing warmer against your face -

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing in his pocket snaps you out of your haze.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands dropping off your hips, and your head drops downwards with a soft groan. It was so close. You could feel his breath against your face and how did that fucking opportunity pass you by? - “S’my mum. Fuck - m’sorry.” And you’re not sure if he’s apologizing for the call or what had (or, rather, had not) happened but it doesn’t matter.

One glance at the phone he’s tugged out of his pocket shows that he’s right - Anne’s contact photo smiles up at you and you give Harry a small nod, faking the smile you’re not feeling, before taking a step back against your plush carpet as he turns around, back to you, phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m gonna change,” you whisper to no one in particular. Harry’s head turns just a bit so you can catch the apologetic look on his face before he’s loudly greeting Anne, and you’ve never liked eavesdropping on their calls. So you turn and head to your bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you and turning to stare at yourself, wide-eyed, in your mirror.

He almost kissed you.

He didn’t - but would he have? If Anne hadn’t rung him - would he have leaned down, breathing shaky, like how it always is when he’s nervous, and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours? And you would’ve known exactly how it feels to be kissed by him, whether it would be as dream-like as all the times you’ve dreamt of it. His hands on your hips, yours on his shoulders, bodies slotted together until your hands are roaming and you’re pushing him on to the couch, sliding into his lap and his hands would roam to your thighs -

It doesn’t do well to think about it now. You don’t want to get yourself too worked up about it - that doesn’t do anyone much good - and you don’t want to take too long to change. So you inhale a soft breath, smooth your clammy palms back over the front of your wedding dress, and you allow yourself one final glance in the mirror at the attire you’ll be donning in a week’s time before reaching around to your back, fiddling with the zipper until you can begin to tug it down.

 --

 You and Harry haven’t talked too much since you showed him your dress, and it’s probably not very great etiquette for an engaged couple, but you two have never been normal anyway.

He sent you a picture of the suit he’s wearing and it’s as every bit unconventional as your excuse of a wedding dress, and you told him that - how you would be a pair for the books, the opposite of what a regular married couple looks like. And you texted him just yesterday and asked if he would make you two a reservation at your favourite restaurant for dinner after the elopement (he always tended to get the nicer tables, and you don’t pretend not to know why) and he sent you back two thumbs-up emojis in response.

You’re getting married in three days, though. It would probably be best to talk about it with him before you cross that bridge but it’s never been one of your stronger areas, so you leave it be for now.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questions, tilting her head in so you can hear her against the thumping music of the club. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out for a bachelorette party the second they hard of your engagement and it would be out of character for you to refuse a night of drinks on them - even if you’d rather stay home and think about Harry and all the things you should’ve done when he was at your apartment. Getting drunk out of your mind does seem preferable to wallowing, though, now that you’re out and about and well on your way to getting smashed - so you turn to Olivia and nod once, a simple jerk of your head.

“I’m fine,” you tell her, reaching over to grab the cocktail Amy had gotten for you and bringing the straw to your lips. “Just thinking about Harry.”

Amy snorts from her spot across the booth, dipping her finger into her empty shot glass and licking up the droplet she collected. “Can’t believe it took you two so long to get together.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” interjects Olivia, reaching over to grab your glass out of your hand and taking a sip of your drink. “How long have you two been together again?”

Fuck. You’re in the grey area between being tipsy and being drunk and you can’t remember how long you and Harry had claimed to be together. Was it a year or two years? You think it’s a year - you’d wanted to go as low as possible with your answer. Did we say six months? That seems too low. “I’ve liked him since I’ve known him,” you answer instead, which is absolutely the truth, and Amy and Olivia are both too drunk to ponder about your evasion of the question. “Loved him, even.”

Your fingers brush against your phone, sitting on the table face down, as your friends playfully swoon - the last time you’d texted Harry was to tell him you were going to the club, and you hadn’t checked to see if he responded. It’s always been a habit between the two of you to text where you’re going, in case something happens, which seems oddly barbaric at times but you’ve always appreciated it.

“You’re so lucky,” Amy informs you, reaching across the booth to intertwine your fingers. She gets sappy when she’s drunk and you can tell from the distinct crack in her voice that she’s mere seconds away from bursting into tears and professing how much she loves you and Olivia - you don’t ever quite enjoy being around to see that. “I mean, really. You and Harry - we always knew it would happen -”

“I should call him real quick,” you mumble, watching as her eyes water over, and Olivia rolls her eyes with a grin as she scoots around the other side of the booth so Amy can throw her arms around her. You grab your phone and push yourself out of the booth, maneuvering through the crowd of people until you’ve reached the bathroom.

It's a single stall and the club is small enough that you only have to wait a minute or two before a thoroughly shitfaced woman stumbles out of the bathroom, a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoes, but she’s gone before you can point it out to her. You brush it off with a shrug and shut the door behind you once you’re inside the bathroom - it smells like Febreze and mint soap, and the scent of the mint reminds you of Harry’s breath and you really need to call him, don’t you.

You’re scrolling through your call log before you can wonder if calling your best friend who you’re in love with while you may be quite drunk is a bad idea - the phone is ringing just as you begin to - and he’s picked it up just when you realize you’ve made a mistake.

“Hey, babe,” Harry says from the other end, voice crackling with the poor reception in the club. He sounds groggy and raspy and you can tell you’ve either woken him up or he’s trying to go to sleep, and you don’t actually know what time it is, you realize. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m at a club,” you tell him, and you can hear his soft exhale of air and you can practically picture the slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’m out with Amy and Olivia - they wanted to take me out for a bachelorette party or something - s’kinda dumb, I dunno -”

“Are y’drunk? S’just, you’re slurrin’ a lot -”

“I’m tipsy,” as you sit back on the closed toilet seat, fingernails digging into your thigh. You don’t actually know what you’d called him to say but four days without talking to Harry seems like it’s setting some sort of record and you hate it. “Just wanted to call because - um - well, I miss you.”

For a second you think the call may have broken up - you can’t hear much beside his soft breathing, and you pull the phone away to check if it’s still connected. But then he sighs softly, and you’re quick to press your phone back to your ear. “I miss y’too, m’love - ‘course I do.”

“That’s sweet.” You hum softly, kicking your toes against the tiled bathroom floor. “I thought you might be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “That’s why I was confused. But you haven’t texted me much.”

You can fucking sense him rolling his eyes. “Well, y’didn’t text me either. I thought you were mad at me -”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what happened the other day,” you interject, and you know you wouldn’t be telling him this if you weren’t teetering more towards being drunk instead of tipsy, “and I really wanted to kiss you, you know. I mean, I thought you were going to - and then it didn’t happen.”

“Well, m’mum called.”

“Would you have done it if she didn’t?”

There’s a pause for only the briefest of seconds before Harry says, “‘Course I would have.”

Your heart flutters inside your chest and you lean your head back against the wall, nails digging further into your thigh and it’s difficult to hold back the grin that threatens to split your goddamn face in two. God, he would have. He would have kissed you - does he love you like how you love him? It seems fucking unreal, like something you’d dream up in your deepest sleep. You’d never thought Harry would ever feel the same way, even as you got a fucking marriage license together and planned out the dinner you’d eat after your elopement and -

You can’t think of a single other one of your friends who would fucking marry you for any reason, house or no house, life or death. And who would you do it for? Not Amy, not Olivia, even if they asked you nicely. It’s a commitment - a huge one - one that you wouldn’t be willing to do for anyone.

But you’d do it for Harry, in a heartbeat. You know you would. You’d have the fucking dress on before he could finish asking, and isn’t that what you had done, really? He hadn’t had to convince you much at all. You’d been willing from the get-go.

“Really?” Your voice is barely a breath, a soft exhale of air, reeking of the giddy joy you’re feeling at his proclamation. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Y’know I never lie to you.” Harry sounds nearly offended at the mere idea. “You are m’fiance. Comes with a code of conduct.”

You roll your eyes, and just then there’s a loud knock against the door - you jump violently, phone nearly slipping from your grasp. For a minute you’d forgotten you’re in a club bathroom and you know you’ve been here far too long to be appropriate - you’ll give yourself just one more minute to talk to Harry. “What about when we get divorced? Gonna lie to me then?”

“Always talkin’ about the divorce,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds so full of adoration that you’re nearly overwhelmed by it. “D’you have such little confidence about the strength of our relationship?”

If it were up to you, you’d be with Harry forever - but you can’t tell him that, not yet. “It’s not as though it’s a traditional relationship, you know. I don’t think most marriages that began for the sake of a house inheritance last too long,” you smile, feeling heat burning up your face even if he can’t see you. “Just generally speaking.”

“Hope y’got the statistics t’back that one up -”

Another louder knock shakes you again, and you jump up as though someone had set you aflame. Your phone nearly slips out of your clammy grasp once more and you clear your throat, lowering the device to your shoulder and calling, “Just a second!” to whoever’s waiting impatiently outside. You raise your phone back to your ear and clear your throat again. “I’ve gotta go, Har. I’m in the bathroom at the club - been in here a bit too long.”

“Aright,” Harry says, and you can hear soft shuffling from the other end, audio still crackled by the reception. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, scrunching your nose up before remembering he can’t see you. “I think it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re a stickler for tradition?”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse, Har,” you tell him, before pulling the phone from your ear and hanging up. For a second you can’t move, staring down at Harry’s contact in your phone with a giddy grin that surely makes you look like some child in a candy store - and, in a way, you are - and it’s only a third knock at the bathroom door that has you scrambling out the door, giving an apologetic grin to the girl waiting impatiently.

 --

 Being married - for the record - doesn’t feel too much different than before.

There’s a shiny ring on your finger that Harry had bought, and when you glance across the table where he’s sitting, clutching his menu, you can see the similar wedding ring on his left hand - it’s simplistic and small and contrasts with the rest of his clunky rings and it makes you feel strangely warm inside when you spend too long looking at it. And, even after you and Harry had talked at the club, your ‘post-elopement’ dinner doesn’t feel entirely different than all of the other dinner dates you’d shared before the entire situation began. It’s familiar and sweet and his ankle is hooked around yours under the table, forcing a permanent heat onto your cheeks.

Harry rests his menu on the table, fingertips drumming against the laminated paper, and you similarly drop yours to look at him. “Think m’gonna get the spaghetti.”

It’s a testament to the slight air of awkwardness surrounding you both that the only thing he can think to talk about is the food he’s getting - but you’ll play along. “I like the raviolis,” you tell him. “Think I’ll get those.”

He hums softly, pushing his menu further into the table. “Can y’believe tha’ we’re married? I can’t. Seems so weird.”

“Doesn’t feel that different,” you disagree, toes tapping against his ankle beneath the table. “It’s not like we didn’t go out for dinner together before we got hitched.”

“We’re playin’ footsies under the table, babe.”

You grin down at your napkin, resting on your lap on top of your wedding dress. “Be careful or I’ll kick you, Har.”

His ankle tightens just a bit around yours beneath the table and you could watch that small smile spreading across his face for the rest of your life. “Y’wouldn’t dare - don’t y’love me?”

Yes, you do, so you resist the urge to unhook your ankle from around his and deliver a swift kick to his calf - just rest your palms on the table, scratching lightly at the rustic wood of the table. It’s hard for you to even pretend to be mad at him when all you can think about is how much you want to climb over the table and straddle him - as his wife you suppose it isn’t an insane thought, and you’re nearly certain he’s feeling the same way. Hadn’t he told you he would have kissed you if he hadn’t been called by Anne? Maybe you’ll get a chance to do it again - later. You’ll never give up the opportunity again.

“When d’you get t’move into the house?” Harry questions, leaning in just a bit in his seat. 

“A few months, I think.” You shrug. “Reckon I’ll start redecorating before then, though. I’m already looking at furniture - I’ve gotta save up for most of it, though. Might sell my apartment before then.” There’s a pause, and then you shrug once more, picking at a crack in the table. “I’ll probably move back in with my parents.”

Harry’s eyebrows are raised when you glance up at him, fingers paused in their drumming on the menu. “Are y’kidding? We’re married. You can move in wit’ me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that -”

“Not asking, are you? Even if we didn’t just elope at a courthouse, you’re still m’best friend. Can’t have you moving in t’your mum’s basement.”

You smile softly, flattening your palms against the table and craning your neck to examine the ring - proof that it had really happened, that you’re really married. It still doesn’t feel quite real, no matter how many times you and Harry casually talk about it. “Was gonna live in her attic, actually.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay f’the furniture, too. Don’t look at me like tha’ - s’our house. Needs t’be ready f’when we move in.”

You hesitate, trying poorly to conceal the way your grin is arching further upwards at the mere prospect of what he’s hinting at. Living with Harry? Jesus, even if you weren’t in love with him, living with him sounds like an absolute dream, only made better by your feelings for him. And picturing walking through an Ikea, searching for furniture, feeling his arm around your shoulders as you two look online for decorations - if heaven were a place on Earth, it would be your Aunt Alice’s estate, soon inhabited by you and your husband. “Well, we’ll talk about it, alright?” you land on as your response. 

For a moment, neither of you say anything, and the silence isn’t as stifling with awkwardness as it had been before. Then Harry reaches over, resting his hand overtop of yours, fingers instinctively intertwining, and your heart nearly splits itself in two - he initiated it, holding your hand, and maybe you shouldn’t feel so surprised but you can’t fucking help it. Your scalp is tingling and you swear your eyes are going to bubble over and his hand feels just as soft and beautiful as you’d expected - as you’d always dreamed of.

You’re not sure when, exactly, there would ever be a better time to tell him than now, so you clear your throat and squeeze his hand and confess, “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Har.”

Sharing your feelings isn’t necessarily your strongest spot but you’re feeling egged on by absolutely everything, and the way Harry brushes his thumb against your palm encourages you to continue. “I mean - since we met, basically - but I never told you. Never thought you would like me back.”

“I did,” he interjects, and you look up at him with furrowed brows. “Liked you back, I mean. Clearly - hope y’didn’t think I’d run off an’ marry anybody this fast.”

“I just thought you were being nice.”

“You’re silly, then.”

“A real idiot,” you proclaim, rubbing soft circles into the back of Harry’s hand, and you swear you’ll never let go unless someone fucking rips you away. “Guess I should’ve figured it out, then - seems like we did everything in the wrong order, right?”

Harry snorts, a noise that draws the slightest attention from an older couple sitting at a table beside you, but neither of you pay them any attention. “Get married first, fall in love second.”

“I was already in love,” and you’re not sure why, exactly, you had said that but it feels right and true falling off your tongue so you decide, pointedly, not to regret it.

There’s no hesitation when Harry responds, voice laced with the authenticity you’re so desperately craving - “Reckon I was, too.” You barely get a minute to process that and how it’s making your stomach do flips and turns like an Olympic medalist before he’s standing up, fingers still interlocked with yours to pull you up with him. “How d’you feel ‘bout a sleepover tonight?”

“A sleepover?”

He barely looks at you as he fishes through the pocket of his dress pants to pull out his wallet. “Not like we haven’t had them before.”

That’s true - you’ve slept over at Harry’s house so many times, it’s like a second home to you - but you have a distinct idea that, based off of your previous conversation and the wedding rings shining on both of your fingers, this sleepover will be just a bit different. 

“Skipping out on the reservation, then?” you question, squeezing Harry’s hand as he tosses a $50 onto the table - a significant overkill for your lemonade and his Coke but you suppose he’s feeling rather generous today. “I am rather hungry.”

“We’ll eat at my house,” he insists, leading you through the maze of tables with a grip that’s so tight, you wonder if he’s having the same qualms as you are about never letting go. “Y’like pizza, don’t you?”

 --

 You’ve been in Harry’s house more times than you can count, but it’s never been like this.

His hand is still firm in yours and it’s a feeling you adore - even if his palm has gotten clammier with every second, every step you took closer to his front door, and you can practically smell the nervousness rolling off of him. It’s not unlike the worry that’s overtaken you because you’re not quite sure what he’s expecting - only know what you want to happen and you pray to any god above that your desires align with his.

The sound of Harry shutting the door is the only crack of noise burning through the otherwise thick silence surrounding you. Neither of you had known what to say and the car ride was taken in comfortable silence, hands clasped and heads bobbing to soft music playing on the radio, but being in his house is different - there’s no music, no excuse for Harry to keep his eyes off of you, nowhere to lean your head and pretend to be resting your eyes while your heart uncontrollably thumps against your chest.

In ways, it’s better. Most ways, in fact.

Slowly, you turn to face Harry, fingers drumming against the back of his hand. His breathing is heavy and his eyes never leave yours, and you’re reminded remarkably of trying on your dress for the first time in front of him and your position hadn’t been too unlike this one - maybe now you can do it right.

It feels entirely natural, tilting your head up until you can easily slot your lips to Harry’s. They’re soft and plump and he kisses you back with a vigor you hadn’t quite expected - deepening it before you have the chance to react, his free hand that’s not clutching yours roaming to your neck and you can’t ignore the way your stomach flips at the feeling of his hand on your throat. But then his hand keeps moving up, palm pressing to your cheek in such a sweet gesture that doesn’t at all match the intensity with which he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth - your hand lands on his waist, gripping the flowy material of his dress shirt, pulling his body as close to yours as you can get.

You only pull away to catch your breath, grip tightening on his shirt to ensure he won’t move away - you need him close to you, need to feel his body against yours - the bulge near his thigh that you can feel against your pelvis, hardening with every second that passes.

“Why’d you move?” Harry questions, voice soft and vulnerable and you can’t help but lean up and land another kiss to his mouth. 

“Had to breathe, Har,” you murmur, smoothing your hands against his waist and the wrinkles you’ve surely created in the fabric. His fingers brush the edge of your jawline and you can feel your skin growing goosebumps beneath his touch.

He simply hums in response, ducking his head down to kiss you again. It’s sweeter this time, soft and fluffy but you don’t want that now - God, you want his hand around your neck and his knee between your thighs but perhaps that’ll have to wait for another time. You’re needy for just about anything you can get and if that’s sugary sweet kisses, a touch so gentle you could trick yourself into believing it isn’t there, then you’re more than grateful.

Harry’s teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to have you moaning into his mouth and your nails dig into his through his shirt - the resulting whine into your mouth has you smirking against his lips, pushing your hips further into his. It’s the clearest way you can think of to tell him that you need him beyond kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” he breathes and you can feel his cock, twitching against your thigh and it’s a sensation you never thought you’d be able to experience outside of your deepest dreams - it feels twice as good as you’d imagined. “Gonna make me go crazy, babe.”

That’s exactly what you want.

“Hey,” and you pull away from him, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath still hot on your face, “don’t we have to fulfill the tradition of consummating the marriage?”

He laughs, a loud exhalation of air rather than his true barking laugh, but you smile anyway at the sound. “S’not the middle ages - no one’s expecting us to, if y’don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Harry’s hand slides backwards into your hair, pulling the strands into a ponytail and tugging and your resulting moan has him smirking like a smug bastard against your lips. “God, Har. I really want to.”

It seems that that was the exact response he’d wanted - you get one last lingering kiss to your lips before Harry’s pulling away, hand falling away from your hair and other still interlocked with your own. You don’t have a second to question where, exactly, he’s leading you but then he’s tugging you through the foyer and down the halls and up the staircase you’ve grown to know so well - the trek to his bedroom has never seemed so viciously long until now, but by the time Harry swings open the door, you feel as though you’ve been walking for hours instead of barely a minute.

“On the bed, babe,” he directs you, all raspy tone and dominance lacing every last syllable and you can’t ignore the gush of arousal you can feel rushing straight to your core. It’s the stuff that makes up dreams, really, his fucking voice, and you know just the four simple words would be enough to get you off for years from now. “C’mon.”

You wouldn’t dream of disobeying - your footsteps are nearly completely silent on the carpet as you walk over to the end of Harry’s bed, pushing yourself up to sit on the plush duvet, sinking into the mattress that feels like an absolute cloud compared to the rock you’re used to sleeping on. For a brief second, he doesn’t move - just stands and stares at you, chest heaving through the baby blue dress shirt that your needy grasp had wrinkled. Then he moves, shutting the door with a barely perceptible click before making his way over to you, gazing up at him with heat blazing in your eyes.

Perhaps you’re expecting him to push you onto the bed, to fulfill the dominant tone he’d held before, so it is a bit of a surprise to see your best friend (your husband) dropping to his knees before you, fingertips ever so gently trailing up and down your calves.

The bedroom is so silent, save for your panting breaths and Harry’s shaky ones and you reckon he may be more nervous than you are - you’d expected him to handle all of the confidence between you two but his fingers are shaking as he pulls off your heels, resting them side by side on the carpet at the end of the bed. Chills crop up over your skin as his gentle touch roams up your legs, landing on your knee, and your breath hitches in your throat as the man you’ve loved for nearly 5 years leans in, lips landing a soft kiss to the top of your calf.

This isn’t what you had expected - him fucking worshipping you, on his knees - you’d never pictured it in a million years. And maybe it’s proof of the difference between him and the other guys you’d been with - your ex-boyfriends and flings had always been worried about their pleasure, never paying you any attention, and Harry couldn’t be closer to the end of the spectrum. Your entire body feels warm beneath his watchful gaze and touch, how he brings one hand up to snap firmly when your eyes flutter shut. 

“Look at me,” Harry directs, and despite the slight strain in his actions, his words still hold a never-faltering dominance that he’d had before. “C’mon, babe. I don’ want you to look away from me - can y’do that?”

It’s a task that’s easier said than done, but you nod anyway, swallowing thickly as Harry redirects his attention back to your legs. His hand, resting delicately on your left knee as though you’d break if he put too much pressure, slides down the length of your leg until he’s grasping your ankle, kneading the soft skin in his grasp while his lips linger at the top of your knee.

Using his grip on your ankle, Harry hoists your leg up onto the bed without warning, your toes digging into the end of the bed - uses his other hand to push your thigh outward so you’re on display for him like a goddamn feast and his smug grin proves that he can see just how wet you are, soaking through the white lace panties you’d chosen for the occasion. Heat blooms up your cheeks as he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing your soft skin, and then he gives a dramatic inhale and - that’s -

You reach down, bracing both palms on the side of his face and forcing your husband (husband!) to look at you in the eye. He looks confused by your interjection and apologetic and that isn’t what you were going for but you hadn’t expected him to want to eat you out - most guys didn’t.

“You don’t have to do that, Har,” you murmur, giving a pointed glance to your lap that he’s been eyeing like it’s his dessert. “I won’t be mad.”

And Harry looks almost offended by the prospect of not wanting to, like you’d insulted him - “I want to. D’you not want me to?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice hardly above a breath, and when he begins to pull away you continue. “No! I mean - yes, I want you to.”

He grins, wide and toothy and reminding you of exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place, and you settle back into your spot on the bed with your nerves almost completely eradicated. He wants to - he’s not doing it because he feels obligated - it’s already a step up from any other guy you’d ever been with.

Fingers trail up your thighs as Harry’s lips close around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, cheeks hollowing as he sucks a deep purple hickey, and you lift your hips just a bit so he can hook his fingers in the waistband of your panties and begin to tug them down. The crotch area is practically dripping with your arousal and it takes a bit more force to tug it away from your cunt but once they’re gone, Harry grabs your ankle again and straightens out your leg, making it easier for him to tug the offending material down your body and toss them away from the bed before resting your foot back on the edge.

You can hear his shaky breathing as he pulls his lips away from your thigh, thumb smoothing over the mark he’d left as if to prove it exists. You’d get it fucking tattooed if you could - to forever commemorate this experience - his mark in such a secretive place, just a breath away from where you need him most.

“Jus’ - jus’ tell me if y’want me t’stop,” Harry tells you, eyes interlocking with yours once more, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Lean back f’me, then - not too far, jus’ a bit - still need t’see you.”

So you lean back, propping yourself up on your arms, a barely reclined position from how you’d been sitting before. It’s easier to see him as he grabs the hem of your dress, tugs it up just a bit, but when you lift your hips so he can pull it out from under your ass he doesn’t comply - well, perhaps he has other plans with it, doesn’t want the dress to come off just yet, and you can respect that.

The time it takes for Harry to duck his head beneath your dress, tongue flicking against your overly sensitive folds, seems like fucking years even if it’s hardly a second, but when he does your hips instinctively jerk forward into his mouth. His eyes are flashing when he looks up at you and you breathe out a stream of apologies, heart thumping in your chest, fingernails digging into the comforter beneath you. “Don’ move,” he directs, and you nod again and again and you don’t stop until his lips close in around your clit.

Your head drops back with a low moan as Harry’s teeth graze your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the sensitive nub like it’s what he was born to do. The bottom of your dress covers the top of his head so you can’t see what he’s doing - you have no idea what his next move is and it makes the pleasure rolling through your body that much better.

“Fuck - fuck, Har -” the only two words you can think to moan roll off your tongue like a mantra, your back arching upwards despite his warning not to move but he doesn’t mention it - just drags one hand up, fingertips light and dancing on your thighs until he can splay his forearm across your lower stomach, effectively pinning you to the bed. Your hand moves from digging into the sheets to digging into his scalp, tugging at the loose strands of hair that smell ever so slightly of gel and it makes your heart swell to imagine him putting product in his hair for the elopement - but before you have time to dwell on the sweetness of the sentiment, that talented tongue is licking a thin stripe up your folds before flicking your clit and you’re brought back to reality. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Harry mumbles, muffled where his face is pressed firm to your pussy and the vibrations of his words reverberate against your clit, sending a chill up your spine, and you let out a low whine at the sensation. 

“Yes,” you breathe in return, tugging at his hair just a bit, the strands forming a makeshift ponytail like he’d done to you before. “Feels so good, Harry, god -”

His head pulls back just a bit, hem of your dress dropping to just the tip of his nose so you can see his eyes - smug and glinting and you’re sure that, if you could see his mouth, those lips would be upturned into a smirk and practically dripping with your arousal - but he goes back in just as soon as he’d pulled out, burying his face in the apex of your thighs and you collapse back against the bed with a shout.

Whatever order he’d given you to maintain eye contact disappears. It isn’t as though you can see his eyes anyway, and you couldn’t stop yours from rolling back into your head if you tried. Ecstasy rolls through your body and, God, you know you’re close already, thighs tensing under where Harry’s palm kneads the soft skin, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll see bruises tomorrow. Your cunt clenches and flutters around the emptiness you’re yearning to get rid of and your back arches up again, Harry’s restraint on your torso not enough to stop it now, and you’re so fucking close.

“Harry -” you moan, digging your fingernails into Harry’s scalp and relishing in his responding moan to your clit - “gonna cum, Har -”

He doesn’t say anything - but you can feel his tongue continuing its work, up and down your folds and circling your clit and that’s response enough. Your hips jerk into his face, back arching as you grasp his hair tight enough that it has to fucking hurt but then you’re cumming and -

“Oh, fuck!”

Your voice is high pitched, cracked with a desperate sob right in the middle of your words before you’re holding Harry’s head to your pussy, his tongue working your clit like he was born for it, his low moans muffled against you. The hand previously holding down your torso slides up your body until he can shove his hand into the top of your dress, tugging it down so your chest is. He plucks at your nipple before grasping your tit, full in his palm, and the added stimulation prolongs your orgasm, hips rolling against Harry’s working mouth.

You can’t see straight when Harry pulls his head out from the bottom of your chest but when your vision focuses you’re beyond thankful. His chin is glistening with your arousal, tongue poking out to lap at the moisture on his lips and he dons that shit-eating grin you’ve grown to know so well. You usually see it when he wins a board game or when you’re celebrating something - seeing it on his face after he’s finished giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever gotten is certainly different but not unwelcome by anyone’s standards.

There’s a second where all you do is lie back and catch your breath - staring up at the ceiling above you, chest heaving as the aftershocks race through your body. Harry, meanwhile, pushes himself to his feet, muttering a small groan about God, m’fuckin knees and gettin’ too old for this, aren’t I?

Lazily you hold your hand out towards him, wiggling your fingers, and he reaches out to interlock your fingers again. “How was that?” he questions, voice soft and almost insecure and it’s a sharp contrast from the dominance he held before, but you know it’ll come back.

“I think you’re a natural at that, Mr. Styles,” you tell him, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you pull him closer to you until his knees hit the bed and he’s forced to collapse on top of you, grin cracking onto his face. “Gonna undress me?”

“‘Course,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to place a brief kiss to your lips, but before you can lift your head to deepen it he’s rolling off of you, shifting onto his side and shuffling upwards so his head rests on the stack of pillows. You raise your eyebrows at him - it isn’t as though he can take your dress off from that position - but, as though he can read your mind, he raises his hand and pats his lower stomach pointedly. “Climb up, babe.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, you can feel heat pulsing in your cheeks but you hope it doesn’t show - just sit up, swing your legs around so you’re straddling Harry, hands on his chest and gazing down at him like the God he seems to be. His hair is splayed out on the pillows beneath him, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and you can’t help yourself - lean down to land your lips to his again, and this time both of you allow it to deepen. His hand starts at your cheek like it had before but you reach for it, fingers wrapping around his wrist and maneuvering it downwards until his palm is wrapped around the column of your throat, and he squeezes once experimentally.

You moan softly, hips rolling against the pointed bulge in his dress pants, and Harry’s eyebrows raise. “No fuckin’ way,” he breathes, squeezing again just to hear the way your breath catches. “Gonna be th’fuckin’ death f’me.”

You’re fine with that, and you reckon he is too.

You reach behind you, tapping along your back until you can reach the zipper. You’ve only tugged it down an inch or two before Harry’s free hand replaces yours, dragging the zipper down as far as it can go before reaching for the bottom of the dress. It’s gone in an instant - tossed off the edge of the bed, to be worried about later - and you can feel his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra before it comes undone, and then you’re naked.

You’d expected yourself to feel more embarrassed, or perhaps just nervous, and maybe it’s the effects of your previous orgasm but you’re feeling surprisingly calm - or maybe it’s how Harry looks up at you like you’re some sort of goddess sent from above, as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

It does wonders for your self esteem, truthfully.

“Gonna undress me, then?” Harry questions, hands smoothing up and down your thighs, eyes drinking in every bit of your exposed body on top of him.

You hum softly, pinching at the soft material of his shirt. “I don’t think so - want you to fuck me in your fancy clothes.”

“Well, if I’d known tha’ was an option -”

“Do you want me to put the dress back on?”

“No!”

You grin down at him before rolling your hips over his again, and it’s the last thing you manage to do before his grip lands on your hips and he’s flipping you over - your head lands dangerously close to hitting the headboard but it’s worth it, seeing him above you, fully clothed, pupils lust-blown and wide.

It hardly takes a second for Harry to undo the button to his pants and the sound of the zipper being undone is like music to your fucking ears - you spread your legs, letting him slot his body between them and oh, you can feel the tip of his fucking cock it’s right there and -

The first movement, Harry pushing himself inside of you, has you throwing your head back against the pillow, the moan coming from your throat mixing with a cry. He’s big - certainly bigger than you’d ever expected and bigger than any guy you’d been with - feels like he could split you in half if he wanted to but he stops, hands smoothing up and down your body, and you make a point of reaching for his hand and interlocking your fingers.

You’ll never grow tired of holding his hand, you think. Not for a while, anyway.

“How’re you doin’?” he questions, voice strained, and when your eyes shift back to him you can see the droplets of sweat beaded on his face. “Jus’ - jus’ tell me when, alright?”

“When,” you breathe almost immediately. You hadn’t needed too much time to adjust but you need him to move - you’re so pent up and you know it won’t take long to take you to your second orgasm but, God, he needs to fucking move. “Please, Har - please, fuck me.”

It doesn’t seem he needed much more encouragement than that. With one final move of wrapping his free hand firm around your neck and giving another small squeeze, Harry pulls out agonizingly slowly until just the tip of his cock remains in your heat. Just as you open your mouth to beg him to move again he slams back in with a force you hadn’t anticipated, your body rocking backwards of its own accord with the weight behind the thrust.

It’s exactly what you’d needed, though - fast and rough and his hand, cutting off your airflow just a bit, just enough to have you quivering beneath him. The low groan that rips out of his throat, reverberating through the humid bedroom has you pushing your hips up to his, trying to deepen where he’s buried inside of you to the hilt but you’re not sure how much deeper he could get. Feels like he could split you in half with every desperate thrust, every rut of his hips into yours and yours back into his.

“Oh - god - m’fuckin’ good girl, so tight around m’cock -”

Another rush of arousal gushes straight to your core with his filthy words and your head falls back into the pillow with a high whine, nails digging into the back of his hand as his other one tightens grip around your neck. It makes every desperate moan and cry that much airier and you can tell Harry likes it, staring down at you as his hips pound yours with absolutely no mercy and you don’t want any, anyway. It’s the subject of every single fantasy you’ve ever had about him, rough and hard and the sound of skin slapping skin overpowering your needy noises.

You’d never dreamt it would feel so good.

“Oh god, Harry!” Your eyes are rolling back into your head as your free hand trails down your stomach, shaking fingers focusing on your ignored clit and beginning tight circles around the nub. The jolts of pleasure that run through your body are - god, fucking amazing and you know you’re close, hardly need anything else to tip you over the edge. “Gonna - gonna cum, Har -”

It’s a testament to, perhaps, the long-growing tension between the two of you that his head drops backwards with a cry of me, too in a tone that’s so desperately vulnerable and it’s exactly what you’d needed - the reminder, in the midst of the rough thrusts and desperate moans, that this isn’t a one time thing. If you both allow it, it’s the rest of your life, just like this - and, God, you’ll allow it.

Your cunt clenches around your cock as you cum, eyes rolling back into your head and body spasming beneath him. In the midst of it Harry pulls out and you don’t get a second to question the sudden emptiness before you feel a familiar warmth hitting your lower stomach, and you open your eyes in time to see your husband, hand working at his cock as ribbons of cum spurt onto your stomach.

(You think you could cum again just from the sight but - well, you’ll hold back.)

His breathing is choppy and desperate, broken occasionally by a needy moan until he’s finished and he collapses on his back beside you, hands still intertwined with no intention of letting go. Nothing needs to be said - not yet - not for a little while, where you’ll talk about it more. 

A little while ends up merely being a minute or two before Harry swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hand still clasped in yours, and makes to stand up - it’s only your tightening grasp on his hand that forces him to stop, glancing behind him to look at you.

“Don’t,” you plead, throat already feeling sore and voice raspy. “Just - another minute, alright? Then clean up.”

He hums softly but you know he won’t resist the prospect of just a brief cuddle - one of the few things you hadn’t done often when you were just friends, because you knew that, if Harry held you as close to him as he is now, lips pressed to your forehead, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling him how you felt about him.

Doesn’t matter now, though. And his arms feel so warm around you, clammy palm still pressed to yours like a fucking couple in middle school but you wouldn’t dream of letting go. It’s all so - so peaceful, lying with him and listening to his heartbeat as you rest your head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat thumping as fast and hard as yours is.

And - well. Barely a month ago you were convinced your Aunt Alice was the worst woman in the world - a hypocrite and an asshole, set out to taunt you by lording your dream home over you and snatching it away when you couldn’t find a husband in time. But now? Feeling Harry, landing soft kisses again and again to your forehead, you figure she’s not so bad, after all.

[mediocre-writerr]

better half of me [lexie grey]

lexie grey x fem reader

requested: hi there can I request a Lexie grey x fem reader imagine where reader is marks sister and moves from Houston where she was working previously and gets a job in Seattle so when she arrives she flirts and sleeps around with all the nurses, but then she meets Lexie and falls deeply in love with her and stops sleeping around and tries to pursue Lexie but one day sees her and mark in bed together so she starts sleeping around again, and when the plain crashes Lexie makes it out alive, because reader saved her and when they get back reader confesses to Lexie, and if it’s possible could u write a time skip where they have a bunch of kids and are happily married?

trigger warning: slight mention of alcohol addiction

*not my gif*

You don’t remember what happened on that plane. How you guys got in the middle of the woods with your plane split in half. Everything was blurry, but you saw mostly everyone: Meredith, Cristina, Arizona, your brother Mark, and Lexie? 

Wait...where’s Lexie? 

You immediately shot up, ignoring the pain that you felt in the right side of your body. You tried walking normally when you started to limp. 

“Woah, woah, Y/N!” Mark comes over and you finally look at your foot and hand.

Your hand was impaled by the pieces of the plane metal. It was numb. Your whole hand was numb, but you didn’t care about that. So was your foot, you couldn’t feel it. But you didn’t care, all you cared about was trying to find Lexie. 

“Y/N, we need to get that out of your hand. It’ll cause serious damage,” he tried to stop you from whatever you were doing.

“No, I can’t. I got to-I got to find,” you start to say, but trail off.

He sits you down on the mulch ground before you can protest, “This is going to hurt,” he whispers. 

He pulled the metal plane out before you could even realize what was happening. You let out a piercing scream, he immediately ripped a piece of fabric from his scrubs and wrapped it around your hand. 

Before you knew it he did the same thing with your foot, “You need to rest Y/N,” he told you, but you shook your head, pushing him away.

“No! Where’s, where’s-” you start to say again.

“Lexie!” Meredith scream and your head shot towards the sound of her name like a deer hearing the softest of footsteps.

You ran towards her to see her trapped over a piece of hunky plane metal. Her breathing was heavy as she couldn’t move. 

“Y/N, is that you?” she whispered.

You nodded, immediately lying down on the floor next to her, “Yeah, yeah. It’s me. I’m right here,” 

“I’m gonna die,” she whispered.

You shook your head quickly, “No, no! You are not dying. I am going to save you, do you understand?” 

You started to get up from the ground when she grabbed your hand, squeezing it ever so softly. You were met with those beautiful brown eyes that you completely fell in love with. Then all the memories from when you first moved to Seattle and meeting Lexie flooded back. 

“So I was thinking you and I go on a date tonight. Something casual, wine and pizza at my new place,” you asked, suggesting more to come out of the date. 

The nurse had her head propped up onto her chin, “I’d really like that, but what’s for dessert?” she whispered back.

You were about to answer when someone shoved a chart in the nurse’s face. You looked to see a dirty blonde haired woman. She gave you a fake smile, “Hey, Dr. Grey?” you looked at her coat, “Have you seen uh Dr. Sloan?” you asked a dirty blonde hair girl.

She looks at you, slightly annoyed, “Another one of Mark’s suitors?” she asked and you shook your head.

“That is probably the grossest thing I’ve ever heard, I’m Y/N Sloan, Mark’s sister,” you told her, “I heard a lot about you,” 

“That explains the flirting with the nurses, wait- Mark talks about me?” she asked and you nodded, “What does he say?” 

“Well that depends are you the ‘dirty mistress’ Grey or ‘little’ Grey?” you return the question and she just internally rolls her eyes.

“Of course he says I’m the dirty mistress,” she whispered.

You were about to respond when someone called Meredith’s name. You followed the sound of the voice to see a beautiful brunette girl approaching the two of you. Your eyes widened slightly at the beauty of this one girl.

Her brown doe eyes caught your attention and you smiled ever so slightly, “Cristina needs you to help her with a CT scan. It’s for a patient,” 

“Thank you Lexie,” she said, but before walking away she turns to you, “I’ll page Mark. Try not to flirt with any more nurses while you wait. We already had a case of syphilis, we don’t need another,” 

You let out a heart laugh, “It was nice to finally meet the dirty mistress,” you teased and you knew it was going to be the start of a beautiful friendship. 

“You know Mark?” the beautiful girl named Lexie asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, he’s my brother. I just moved here from Houston, got a call from Dr. Webber himself and was offered a job,” 

“That explains the comment,” she mumbled and you just raised your eyebrows, “Mark’s known to be a player around here and by the looks of it, it runs in the family,” 

“Well, you know what they say, the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree,” you said with a shrug. 

She scoffed softly, “Is that my favorite Sloan?” you heard a familiar voice ask. You see Derek walking towards the two of you. You wrap your arms around them and pat his back in the process.

“I hope I’m your favorite Sloan,” you teased, “Where is my brother anyway?”

“I have no idea, but I heard you got a job here. You’re here to give me a run for my money huh?” 

 “Wait, your specialty is neuro?” Lexie asked.

“Yep and to answer your question Derek I am definitely going to give you a run for your money. Head of neuro will be mine,” you joked as he rolled his eyes.

“Did someone forget to tell me that my baby sister got a job at my hospital?” you heard his voice boom through the lobby. You rolled your eyes playfully as he hugged you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you got a job here or better question how many nurses numbers have you gotten?” he asked and the two of you laughed. 

You reached into your pocket, pulling out pieces of paper, “I taught you well!” 

Lexie who was still standing there scoffed as Derek just let out a sigh, “The two of you are insufferable,” she stated annoyed before walking away.

You looked at her as she walked away, “Is she single?”

“Nope, that’s off limits for the both of you. You’re not going to put her through that,” Derek stated and you let out a sigh.

You were snapped back into the harsh reality as Lexie tried her best to squeeze your hand, “Y/N, I still remember being on your service. You came to talk to me about our patient...” she was lost in thought before she started speaking again, “It was a Jane Doe after a tragic car crash and I was having a rough day because of my dad. Then you, you heard me snap at Meredith...” 

She started to trail off and you nodded, “I remember,” 

You were walking up to where Meredith and Lexie were talking. Meredith started to walk away as Lexie followed behind her. You posted at the nurse’s counter next to where they were standing to right down a quick note, when you heard them argue.

“My mother was born in March. He lied, he’s a liar. And I’m glad. Really, I’m glad that you found him charming. I’m sure he was delightful. He’s a blast after five drinks not so much after nine though, he gets a little weepy and mean,” you overheard her say. 

You were about to walk away and find her later when she yelled, “He’s a drunk, Meredith. He probably came in and told you how wonderful you are. How sad he is that he doesn’t get to spend more time with you. You know, yesterday he told me I was his favorite daughter. The day before I was an ungrateful bitch. The week before he wrote me a check for 20,000 dollars because he said I deserved everything life had to offer because he was so proud of me. A lifetime’s worth of proud. So you can’t listen to anything he says,” her voice started cracking and your face softened, “Because it’s not about you. It’s about a pint and a half of Dewar’s. So thank you for letting me know I needed to keep a better eye on him. Thanks.” 

She started to walk away and you stood in front of her trying to get her to calm down. You noticed the tears forming in her eyes, “No please don’t,” she pushed you away gently before walking away.

You immediately followed after her to the attendants break room. You looked the door behind you as she sat on the couch, placing her head in her hands. You walked over and sat right next to her, sitting there in silence.

There were a few moments of silence before you spoke up again, “I know what it’s like to have a drunk dad. You’re not alone. You don’t have to take this on all on your own,” you whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder, “If you want you can rest up in here. I can handle Jane Doe until you’re ready. If any of the attendants give you shit about being here, let them know I gave you permission. If you need anyone to talk to, I’m here,” 

Lexie squeezed your hand, bringing you back from the memory, yet again, “That was the first time I saw you as an actual person. Not someone who just wanted to mess around with people’s feelings, an actual person,” she smiled softly through the pain, “But I didn’t fall in love with you until the night at my dad’s house. You came to pick me up to take me to Meredith’s party and my dad was drunk and he was mean and he-” 

“I know, I remember,” 

You pulled up to Lexie’s house. You were supposed to meet up with one of the many nurse’s you’ve been hooking up with it. But you cut it off, you cut them all off. 

After you comforted her, all you could think about was her. How intelligent she was. How sweet and kind she tries to be with everyone around her. Yeah, she was beautiful, but she was so much more than that.

That’s the only time you’ve ever felt that towards anyone.

You knocked on the door, you waited patiently. One minute would pass and you decided to knock again. But no one answered.

You turned the door handle and surprisingly it opened. You looked around the room to see shattered glass all over the floor and Thatcher passed out on the couch.

Lexie was sitting on the kitchen floor. A deep cut on her forehead. Her eyes red and puffy as she swept the shattered glass with a small broom.

“Lexie! What happened?” she jumped at the sound of her voice.

She sniffled, “He-he got mean and he didn’t like that I was going out. He through his beer bottle at me, not just one either,”

You looked at the empty beer case next to the couch and you pulled her up from the floor. Immediately, pulling her out of that horrid house.

The car ride was silent as you felt your blood boil. You forgot all about Meredith’s party and went straight to your apartment. The two of you entered and you immediately grabbed your first aid kit.

Lexie sat on the kitchen counter as you stitched up her forehead. The two of you in a comfortable silence. Once you finished bandaging her, you helped her off the counter.

“Are you okay?” you whispered and she nodded with a tight lipped smile.

“I-I’m fine,” her voice cracked as tears poured out her eyes.

She let out loud sobs as she broke down onto the floor. You scooped her up in your arms to keep her from falling onto the floor.

You held her tight as she buried her face into your chest, “Shhh I got you. You’re safe now. You’re okay.”

That night she fell asleep in your arms. You picked her up and laid her gently onto your bed. You tucked her in, placing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I promise I’m always going to protect you,”

You started to get up when she squeezed your hand, “Please just stay with me,”

From that night on, you decided to be better. To do better. To be someone she deserved.

But once you got there, it was too late.

You were going over to Mark’s house to surprise him with takeout, when you walked into something you didn’t ever want to walk in on.

Mark and Lexie were cuddled up on the couch. Their clothes on the floor as a blanket hanged loosely over it.

It was too late. You were too late.

“I thought you hated me for a while. Your whole demeanor changed around me,” Lexie said, her breathing still heavy.

You heard shouts from Meredith from behind you as Cristina kept on yelling for her shoe, “I could never hate you,”

You walked into the attendant’s break room to see Mark and Lexie being all couple-like, “Hey Y/N,”

You have them a tight lipped smile before going to pour your coffee, “You’re not supposed to be here,” you stated simply.

“What?” Lexie asked.

You didn’t look up from the coffee pot, “It’s the attendants’ break room. Residents aren’t allowed. You need to leave,”

“Y/N, seriously?” Mark asked.

“I don’t make the rules,” you whispered.

You could feel Lexie’s stare piercing at you, “It’s fine Mark, I’ll leave,”

“What’s going on with you, Y/N?” Mark asked.

“Nothing I’m fine,”

You don’t know what came over. You gave up on trying to be better. Do better. So there you were with a nurse sleeping on top of you and the only person you could think of was Lexie.

Then of course like it always does the worst happened. Lexie came bursting through the room, “I uh I’m sorry. But Hunt wants to meet with us, Mark, Derek, Meredith, Cristina, and Arizona,”

“I’ll be right there,” you threw on your clothes and walked right past her.

“What’s your problem with me?” she asked as you guys were walking to Hunt’s office.

“Nothing,”

“Obviously there’s something, you won’t even look at me,” she stated a hint of sadness in her voice.

“There’s nothing. We’re fine,”

“Just stop and talk to me!” she yelled.

“There’s nothing to talk about Lexie. You already have one Sloan in your life. You don’t need two. Remember the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree,” you snapped.

“Y/N, I’m dying,” she whispered and you shook your head. The adrenaline coursing through your body.

“No, you’re not dying today, okay?” you whispered.

You started to get up again when she grabbed her hand, “Please just stay with me. I have one more thing I want to say,”

“I always thought you were-you were a player. You didn’t want to settle down, you just wanted fun. But that didn’t stop me from loving you. If things were different, if we were different,” she whispered and your eyes started to tear up, “I never loved Mark the way I loved you. And he knew that, we both knew that.”

“Stop, okay? No goodbyes. You’re going to become and amazing neurosurgeon, Lexie. You have so much more to learn. A whole life ahead of you,” you told her, “You’ll settle down with kids and a husband or wife. Someone who makes you happy,”

It was her turn to shake her head, “I don’t get that. We will never get that together. I know you hate me, but Y/N, you’ll always be my favorite what if,”

That was all it took for you to get up. You don’t know what came over you, but you stood up and you tried lifting the stupid plane metal off of her. You let out a groan as you started pushing it off.

Hysterical strength is what they called it. When your adrenaline and your hormones and body chemistry kicks in during a dangerous situation. You pushed the plane right off of her.

Then started to immediately patching her up. Not too long later a rescue plane arrived. Lexie started falling in and out of consciousness.

You sat in the emergency room as your hand was getting checked out. They rushed Lexie back to the OR, you didn’t care if your hand lost all its function. All you cared about was her.

“I always knew,” Mark whispered to you as the two of you sat next to each other in the emergency room, “That she loves you and that you love her. I don’t know why I thought that I could get into the middle of it,”

He places his hand in your numb one, “She’s going to be okay,”

“The last thing she’s going to think about me is that I hated her. I never hated her,” I whispered.

You don’t know how long it was before the doctor came out, looking straight at me, “She’s okay and she’s asking for you.”

You shot out from your bed and rushed to her room. She sat there, her hair slightly messy as she gave you a small smile, “Hi,”

You immediately ran towards her, cupping her face as gently as possible, before pulling her closer. The two of your lips finally touching. It was magic. Sparks flying as the two of you kissed.

“I never hated you. I could never hate you. I’m sorry I was just so jealous and upset about you and-“ you started to ramble as you pulled away.

“I know,”

“I’ve loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you,” you whispered, “Please don’t ever leave me. You’re too special to be a what if,”

Fifteen years later

“So mommy used to have super strength?” your youngest daughter turned to Lexie and you chuckled softly.

Lexie nodded, “She still does. Whenever you’re in danger, mommy will help activate her super strength and help you,” Lexie bopped her nose as the two of you told her, her favorite bedtime story.

“She’s like the Hulk!” your son added and you laughed before ruffling his hair.

“You guys really set the bar for love stories didn’t you?” your teenage daughter asked, rolling her eyes playfully after hearing the semi true fairytale story for a thousandth time.

“Oh definitely. You can try to beat us, but you’ll fail,” you teased her and Lexie pushed you playfully.

You guys laugh, “Bedtime everyone!” Lexie announced.

“Goodnight,” the two of you said to your youngest daughter, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. Before hugging your son and daughter.

The two of you settled into bed as Lexie curled up into your arms. She placed her hand in yours, squeezing it ever so softly. The feeling of her hand in your once injured one was comforting.

“You’re my better half, did you know that?” you whispered, “You bring out the better half of me,”

“And you bring out mine,”

[salsakiyoomi]

out in the january cold, at a park waiting for suna to arrive wasn't the way you imagined you'd start your day off with.

shivering at the cold breeze that blew, you scowled at the figure that approached you.

“you're late,” you hissed at the middle blocker.

“I know,” suna replied smugly.

before you could throw your insults at him, he held a hand up, “I have an explanation,”

“it better be a good one, I stood freezing in the cold for ten minutes because you were late!”

suna held out a bag to you, “I got this,”

you reached out to grab the back, your hands slightly shaking from the lack of warmth as you peaked inside.

“these are...chocolates,” you stared at suna questionably.

“happy valentine's,”

you frowned, blinking confusingly, “it's january, and we are not a couple,”

suna rolled his eyes at you, “I know that, idiot.” reaching into his jacket's inside pocket, a small smile tugged at his lips as his eyes met yours, “that's just something I stopped to get along the way,”

you watched as he pulled out two bracelets, one with your initials engraved, and another with his initials engraved.

“are those,” you held back a laugh, “friendship bracelets?”

“we've been best friends for five years now, one of us had to get them,” suna huffed, handing you the bracelet with his initials engraved.

you didn't bother enough to hold back the laughter that escaped your lips.

“hey,” suna scowled at you, “what's so funny?”

“nothing,” you grinned at him as you put the bracelet on, “I just didn't think you were the type to get friendship bracelets.”

and it's true, suna wasn't the type to get friendship bracelets, he only bought those for the both of you to show you that you were someone special to him.

he also bought them in hopes that they would be a silent confession.

“do you like them?” he asked, watching you while you examined the bracelet.

you smiled at him, “are you kidding? friendship bracelets from suna rintaro? with the bonus of chocolates? I could almost forgive you for being late. I love them,”

suna nodded, “good.”

he wanted to tell you, he wanted to tell you how he feels, he wanted to tell you he loved you under the cold grey sky, he wanted to embrace you under the branches of the trees, he wanted to wrap his arms around you and shield you from the cold, he wanted to say so so many things to you.

“I'll go now,” was all that came out.

“wait,” you said, tugging on his sleeve, “let's hang out for a bit, grab a cup of coffee and maybe share these chocolates,”

suna raised his eyebrows at you, “I thought you said you were cold?”

“a good cup of hot coffee will do,”

he wanted to tell you so so many things, but no — not now, as much as this seemed to be the right time, he wasn't going to tell you how he feels, he wasn't going to tell you that he loved you under the cold grey sky, he wasn't going to embrace you under the branches of the trees, he wasn't going to wrap his arms around you and shield you from the cold, he wasn't going to tell you the many, many things he wanted to say — not yet, maybe later, or sooner, but not now.

because suna didn't want to risk your friendship, and even though you may feel the same way towards him, then suna didn't have enough guts to tell you he loved you, his best friend, not now, not yet.

he'll save telling you he loved you for another day.

so under the cold grey sky, under the branches of the trees, standing, freezing as the cold air blew, suna smiled at you, “sure, let's hang out for a bit.”