#posts i make instead of getting up the courage to go wake my mother in the middle of the night because my eye randomly started hurting

[thechemiedemon]

hot take meet the robinsons is scifi addams fanily

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 21 Shade

(You can all blame @voidsentprinces and one of their posts for inspiring this one cuz I sure as heck am. Spoilers through Dawntrail.)

-

In the colorful forests of Kozama’uka, a strange movement of light green catches my eye. For a moment, I imagine.

“This one finds this forest so lively! Will these ones feast soon with the bright feathered ones again?”

It was a trick of the light on banana leaves. The shade of our little courageous one is gone again.

-

We’re still in Kozama’uka, but the roar of the waterfalls is below instead of above, and we’re trying to reach out to the bandits harassing the Potsworn.

I think of a boy with gold hair and an eager smile, no longer wearing blue. “You gave me a second chance, and I’ve never regretted it. We’ll find a way to help them, too!”

I blink, and realize the only resemblance in the bandit before me is that he’s young and blond. The shade of our foolishly brave boy is gone again.

-

I cross the bridge to Shaaloani, with its hot, dry plains rolling into the distance, eventually leading to grasslands in the northeast and craggy hills in the west, toward what was Yyasulani.

A Landsguard officer speaks an order, but in familiar tones, a comrade to his men. His voice stirs a memory, and my mind wanders again.

“We’re a long away from Quarrymill, but this reminds me in some ways of home. I bet you still hear thanks enough whenever you go back.”

I look at the soldiers laughing with each other before dispersing to their duties. The shade of our revolutionary captain is gone again.

-

The sky always seems so close in Worlar’s Echo. The Yok Huy see a few more traders these days. I’m watching the moon cross the sky when someone lights a pipe, the smoke wafting past my nose. Comfortable as I am, I’m halfway to dreaming already.

“Foolishness. We know what it is now, hardly deserving the veneration bestowed upon it for so long. And you surely have better things to do than mourn the likes of me.”

I turn to protest, but now I am fully awake and see the pelupelu merchants smoking and haggling. The shade of our spiteful witch is gone again.

-

There’s a sense of responsibility to the people afflicted with levin sickness, especially the children. I make sure that Oblivion is getting the families everything they need. I visit the first boy we met with this illness, and offer a treat of real fruit juice from the farms. It’s a good day, and he smiles as he sips, his mother smiling through her tears as he manages the straw.

“You learn to take what moments of happiness you can get. You figured out how to help the light afflicted and the tempered; this too will be defeated in time. But find the little victories where you can meanwhile.”

I look up from the boy’s bed. It’s just him, his mother, and me in the room. The shade of our fierce carer is gone again.

-

I’m still awake in the pre-dawn hours, so take a mug of mate with me to the end of the boardwalk to watch the dawn. The endless blue of the water, with the light piercing into my eyes, makes me remember a similar sight at the end and start of everything.

“There is no true challenge in this land. ‘Tis a wonder you are not bored. But you always have found meaning and pleasure in people and their small matters.”

The sun continues rising and the city wakes. The shade of my antagonistic mirror is gone again.

I finish my mate, return to my cabin, and go to bed.

-

They come and go, these ghostly memories. Some not as much as they used to, since that journey into the aetherial sea. Perhaps their aid and that last chance to say goodbye made a difference.

Maybe I am simply sentimental.

“The burden of heroes and leaders,�� one of my newer ones says. “We spend all our time fighting for their lives and happiness, and feel it keenly when we fail them. Yet they helped to shape us, and so stay with us. And we strive to do better by those who come after them.”

I look up, but the shade of that heroic father is gone, the echo of his boisterous laugh ringing through his city’s streets, in his daughter’s own laughter. She waves to me now, her brother, her nephew, and our comrades with her. They are all exuberant and bright and alive, with so much possibility ahead.

I laugh as I wave to my friends.

[chaoticallywriting]

A Merciful King ☼ Chapter Four

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen II x Reader, Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Warnings: Violence against women, choking, angst, vaginal fingering, female receiving oral, p n v sex, unprotected sex (i mean she’s already preggers guys)

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N:  I originally posted this series on TheGreensWhore. Unfortunately I got shadowbanned on there so I’m reposting all of amk onto here and will be posting further chapters on here instead of there.

Synopsis: The war is over, the blacks have lost, and as Rhaenrya’s daughter it is your duty to marry a green to secure your younger brothers safety. If only Aemond paid attention to you like his brother does.

Previously || Next

It’s a month and a half later when everyone finds out. By now you're three and a half months along and all you want is to devour sweets (and any fruit) you can get your hands on. You wake up without blood on the sheets for another month, your handmaidens eye each other suspiciously before one finds the courage to speak up.

Marial fiddles with her hands before meekly asking, “have you gone to a maester, your grace?”

“What for?” You know you aren’t the best liar in the family, but you're decent. Furrowing your brows, you tilt your head and eye Marial. You play dumb brilliantly apparently because Myra speaks up next.

“You haven’t bled in months, your grace.”

Your eyes widen as you pick up a small honey cake. Your other hand comes to your stomach as you feign shock.

“Really? Oh my, we should definitely call for one then.” Lila turns her back to the others as she fills your cup with grapefruit juice. It’s another thing you’ve been craving. There’s a knowing look on her face that she hides from the rest.

Marial leaves soon after to fetch one while Lila and Myra do your hair. You softly hum to yourself as they do, thinking about the night before. Almost every night, Aegon has come to you through a secret passage in your wall. You didn’t know about it and find it slightly frightening, but Aegon assured you no one used it. Sometimes he would fuck you, which you’ve grown to like and even sometimes seem to crave. While other times he just holds you. Almost always he falls asleep with his head on your chest and leaves before you wake.

You’ve come to like his presence and find yourself unable to sleep when he doesn’t come. There’s only been two other times besides last night that he did not grace you with his presence. You never asked where he went because you had an idea of what his answer may be.

You're yawning into your hand when Maester Grant and Alicent come waltzing in. The queen mother is grinning from ear to ear when she enters and stands beside the maester throughout his questioning. His questions are simple and you answer them quickly. After only a few minutes, he announces you must be pregnant. Alicent slaps her hands together to look like a prayer and brings them to her mouth as she smiles.

Her reaction makes you sad. At this moment, you wish for your mother and are reminded of how she’ll never meet your child. Suddenly this pregnancy, the one you've been hiding and pretending doesn’t exist, finally becomes real. Alicent distracts your melancholic thoughts by telling the maester he may go before turning back to you.

She walks over and takes your hands in hers, a bright smile on her face. “Motherhood will suit you well, my dear. I already see how well you take to it with your brothers.”

You smile, hands gripping hers. “Thank you, your grace. I am extremely nervous, though.”

Alicent brings her hands up to cup your cheeks, you rest your own against your stomach. She’s never been mean to you since you married Aemond. At first, she tried to have tea with you every day, but as your depression grew you tended to seclude yourself. One day during tea she had said something that stuck with you, something you think of every time you look in the mirror.

“You look just like her. Your face is the exact same.”

You knew she meant your mother. You also know they used to be childhood friends. You can only assume that she finds comfort with your presence, maybe she can pretend your mother is still alive. That everything is fine and everyone survived.

“Do not fret. I believe once you give him a babe, he’ll start to see you in a new light. If he’s so obsessed with his other child, then imagine how he’ll be with yours.”

You imagine he’ll be indifferent, but you don’t tell her that. You only nod and let her have her useless hope. Alicent requests you spend the afternoon with her and shows you fabrics for gowns that must (according to her) be made for when your belly grows.

There’s tea and many sweets are scattered across the table as she fingers a deep green fabric with lace detailing. Everything is green, that much you expected, but still find yourself disappointed.

After a long discussion on which fabrics to choose, you find yourself walking to the library. You have two missions that require heading there. One, you wish to find any Targaryen names that you may like for the babe. You have a vague idea of ones you already like, but want to skim some old history books to see if there are any others.

You’ve read almost every book about your family's history and old homeland. Your childhood consisted of you obsessed over texts and becoming entranced by such grandiose stories.

Number Two is a bit tricky. You know, Aemond spends most of his time there when he’s not training. Since Ser Cole is with Alicent you can only assume he’s in there. As you weave around the shelves, books in your arms, you keep your eyes open for the one eyed prince. It doesn’t take long to find him lounging by the fireplace, long legs elegantly crossed as he leans against the arm rest, book in hand.

You place your books on a desk not far from him and grab the first one before taking the seat across from him. He eyes the spine as you open it, brow raised.

“Any particular reason for the history lesson?”

“A maester visited me this morning.”

There’s a beat of silence. His cool expression doesn’t change, but he clenches his book between his hands.

“Okay.”

“Are you going to keep avoiding me?”

“Mhmm.”

“Do you really want this baby to grow up with two parents who can’t stand to be in the same room as one another?”

He sighs, closing his book and staring at you. He doesn’t look like he used to. Aemond seems defeated, you can tell by his stature and the look within his eye. He’s slowly becoming a shell of himself, which scares you. It seems everyone has lost themselves due to that useless war. You only wish it never happened.

“ I do not, but I can’t help feeling like I’m betraying her when I’m near you.”

“Look I… I was raised with an interesting family situation regarding my father or fathers. I also know that when we were little, you told me Viserys didn’t care about you.”

Aemond scoffs. The one eyed prince stands, tossing his book onto the table beside him before walking over to the window. His hands are clasped behind him as he peers out of the glass. He can never stand to be near you for long, something that stabs your heart.

“I don’t want that for this babe. I don’t want confusion on who to love or look up to. I don’t want them to feel like they have to fight for your love, either.”

Tossing the book aside, you stand as well, walking over to him and peering up at Aemond. He’s much taller than you, if he looked away from the window he’d have to look down to meet your eyes. But he doesn’t move, you only know he knows you're beside him by the tick in his jaw.

“Do you want to subject a child to the way you felt as one? Is your son going to be your Rheanrya? For someone so smart, I find it unbelievable you’ll willingly repeat the mistakes of your own fath-”

Aemond’s hand wraps around your throat before he can stop himself, his cool expression transforming to one of unbridled rage. Your body smacks into the wall behind you and your vision swims with small black dots.

You wheeze as you fight to keep your hands by your sides and not grip at his own. You won’t look weak to him anymore. Not only that, but you now have the upper hand. You’re done being ignored.

“Say another word about me and I’ll squeeze harder” he threatens. It’s empty though because if you die his son won’t be safe. The realm won’t be safe. Your life is the only thing keeping the ever weakening thread of peace from snapping. He knows this. Aemond is a smart man, one you sometimes admire. Killing you would be a massive mistake. One that might cost him both his families.

“You’re a coward and a kinslayer. You owe me this after you murdered my little brother in cold blood.” He squeezes harder, your words come out in gasps. “Perhaps I’ll name my son Lucerys and teach him how to wield a knife, just as my brother did!”

Aemond’s eye widens in a mixture of shock and rage. He squeezes you hard enough to have you finally begin to panic before he finally lets go and tosses you to the floor. You fall to the floor in a gasping heap, hands smacking against the stone upon impact. One of your wrists stings while your other hand comes up to softly clutch your bruising neck.

You glance up at your husband, eyes filled with the hate you slowly find seeping into your bones. You’ve tried so hard to be agreeable, to be pretty and nice. To be the perfect wife or friend, and yet he still hates you.

Still clings to some fucked up honor code like he’s the epitome of the perfect man. He almost killed you and your babe. The war has changed the smart man you once knew. But also what did you expect? Killing your brother was just as stupid, and yet he still did that.

Aemond glances at you with an unreadable expression before quickly striding away. Leaving the library and never looking back.

“I could have him hanged!” Aegon is the picture of rage as you sip on the tea the maester gave you. Your throat is bruised, and you find it hurts to speak or swallow.

Maester Orlo said to drink this horrid concoction morning, noon, and night and your throat would be better in a few days. Nothing could be done with the bruise on your neck or your sore wrist, but at least you’d be able to talk again without being in pain.

“Nothing good would come of that,” you rasp out. “You’ve bruised me before, too.”

Aegon stops his pacing and walks over to where you sit, placing his goblet on the table and kneeling before you, one hand softly grazing your bruise. You flinch when his fingers touch the sensitive skin and eye him curiously.

“You liked it when I bruised you, I saw it in your eyes. Are you telling me you liked this?” You’ve seen this look before, at the consummation. He looks angry, but also something else. Lips pursed and brows furrowed with that look in his eyes you can’t place. “Do you want him touching you like I have?”

Jealousy, that’s the only thing you can think of. There was a hint of it that first night when he ranted about Aemond getting everything. He breathes heavily as he watches you, hands holding your hips.

“I never said that, Aegon.” You place the teacup onto the table beside you before cupping his cheeks. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes, letting out a content sigh. When he’s not fucking you, all Aegon seems to want is your affection, constantly. It’s a lovely change from being ignored. “You saw how I was that night with him.”

He kisses the palm of your hand before resting his head on your lap, lashes fluttering against his pale cheeks as he contently sighs.

“Mother will set him right tomorrow. She’s the only one he listens to” he murmurs before wrapping his arms around and pulling you closer, nuzzling your stomach. “Aemond better not have hurt my child though, or all will know he’s mine by the way I’ll publicly punish him.”

You warm at his words, a small smile spreading across your face as you card your fingers through his hair. This is all so wrong, but you’re tired of being lonely and Aegon is actually rather sweet to you.

“The babe is fine, my darling.” He practically preens at your words, squeezing you tighter and humming. “I’ve never seen you like this about Jaehaera and Maelor.”

Or Jaehaerys, but you don’t say that. No one mentions him, and you understand why. It’s easier to forget the dead than to constantly remember them, to think of them every day. It eats you up until your only bone and sorrow, no happiness, joy, or even a soul left. Grief can destroy you. It’s easier for you to pretend your mom and brothers are alive. That Baela and Rhaena are back on Dragonstone or Driftmark. It’s just easier to pretend.

“They don’t like me. They won’t talk when I’m around or even look at me, it’s better if I leave them be.”

You pull his face away from your stomach, so he can look into your eyes. Your hands cup his cheeks and your thumb strokes his cheek bone. He smiles and closes his eyes, eating up your affection like a child with cake.

“You are their father, Aegon. Please try with them, if not for me, than for the babe. They deserve your love and attention as much as this baby does. I would like him to have siblings who have a loving relationship with their father.”

He merely nods at your words, his smile turning into a frown as he thinks of all the ways bonding with them may go wrong. He’d try for you though, tomorrow morning he’ll march into the nursery and give it his best shot.

“Okay,” he murmurs, leaning up on his knees and kissing you. It’s delicate and sweet, you find yourself sliding your fingers into his hair and sighing into the kiss. He smiles against your lips and deepens it.

Ever since you’ve started reciprocating his affections, he’s become giddy to see you every day. All thoughts revolve around his nights with you, he finds himself distracted during small council meetings or interactions with anyone. Thoughts plagued with you and only you.

“I love you,” his words slip out without a second to think them over, his lips grazing yours. You feel him tense underneath your hands as you stop raking them through his hair. You're frozen at his confession, having no clue how to feel.

He pulls away from you upon hearing your silence, eyes burning with betrayal and hurt. Aegon looks like a wounded puppy as he stands and walks over to the door. He stops as his hand grazes the knob and storms back over to you without a second thought.

“Do you not love me?!”

You jump at the volume of his voice and quickly stand, trying to shush him as you panic. You both are usually so quiet in case anyone passes by your doors. If they hear him, everything will be over. Unfortunately, your panic only serves to fuel his anger and scowls, tears swelling in his eyes.

“Don’t try to quiet me! Let's tell the whole castle of your trickster ways, letting me into your bed just to use me… What even for?”

“Aegon…” You shake your head as your voice finally finds you. Hesitantly, you take a few small steps in his direction, stopping in front of the broken man. You raise your hands to cup his cheeks, but he flinches away from your touch. Your heart burns at his rejection, your own eyes beginning to tear up.

“We are playing a dangerous game, why can you not see that? You always assure me everything will be fine, and yet we’re both married! With everyone thinking this babe is his, there will be no way to annul our marriage. How can I say those words out loud when I know tragedy lurks around the corner, it edges closer every time we meet.”

“I could kill him.”

You shake your head, the tears now racing down your cheeks. His cheeks are streaked with his own, eyes turning red as he continues to cry.

“You would never, and I would never ask that of you.” Once more you try to touch him and this time he relents. Your fingers delicately wipe away his tears before cupping his cheeks. Aegon leans into your touch as he always does, always starved for any affection. “How can this end with us happy?”

“I have never loved someone as I love you. I love you more than my own family, you’ve shown me a kindness and patience none of them ever have. I…” He presses his forehead against your own, taking a deep breath in as if it's his last one. “I have loved you since we were children, I was denied your hand and forced to marry my sister. I’ll burn everything to the ground to keep this happiness. After all this suffering, I will not lose the sweet taste of your lips against my own.”

His words chill you to the bone. This declaration is enough to start a war, and you can’t figure out if you're terrified or overjoyed. You’ve felt for so long that you are unlovable. That your existence will be one of misery and loneliness, and yet the most unlikely person has stepped up to show you otherwise.

“Just say it… please.” Your heart breaks at the crack in his voice, at the desperation he’s displaying. You can’t help but cry harder as you feel for this man in front of you. Both so desperate for love that it eats you alive.

He must mistake your tears for rejection, and you feel him begin to pull away, physically and mentally. Shaking your head rapidly, you crash your lips onto his to keep him near you, it’s nothing romantic. Teeth clash against teeth and tongues slide against one another.

You pour your nearly broken heart into this kiss, trying to show him how much you need him to stay. How you’ll finally break if he leaves. All the cracks within your beating heart have been glued by him, you find if you're alone again everything will fall apart. It’s only when you feel yourself grow lightheaded do you pull away to try to breathe. You're both gasping for air as you press your foreheads together, noses bumping one another and lips nearly touching.

“I love you too,” you whisper. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Aegon pulls you back into a kiss, gripping your waist to try to pull you closer. Your bodies practically meld into one as his arms wrap around you to keep you close. Your arms wrap around his neck as you kiss him back, moaning into the kiss. It’s desperate and hungry, begging for everything you have. You give it to him without second thought, your mouth opening as you moan. His tongue slips inside without a second to spare.

Your knees hit the back of your bed, and he pushes you against it, falling onto the cushiony mattress with you, lips never leaving yours. Your hands pull at the ends of his curly hair, invoking a moan from deep within his chest as he pulls away from your lips. His hands slide to the bottom of your nightgown which has bunched around your waist and pulls it off of you. Your hands find his shirt and help him pull it off before he’s momentarily pulling away to take his pants off.

You find those few seconds without his touch unbearable and reach towards him while whining. He smirks at you, eyes lidded before climbing back between your legs, leaning down to press kisses up your thighs. You impatiently groan and try to tug him back up your body, thighs trying to rub together for any chance of friction. By now he’s fucked you enough to have you used to the feel of his cock within you, and you want it now.

“I can’t possibly fuck you yet, I haven’t even tasted you.”

You keen at his words and watch as he teasingly licks a slow strip through your folds, making you groan as you both maintain eye contact. He continues doing that for a few moments before kitten licking your bud. You feel one of his fingers pressing at your entrance before slowly sliding inside of you, he quickly adds a second one after a few slow thrusts and watches you impatiently grind your hips against his tongue and fingers.

The feel of him chuckling against you only makes you more aroused. Aegon stops his teasing and latches onto your bud, sucking the sensitive bundle before adding a third finger and making a come hither motion inside of you. Your head rolls back at his motions, and soon your moans fill the bedchambers, overtaking the crackling of fire and the sound of your wetness. Your hands delve back into his hair, and you tug on the stands as you continue to grind against him while whining.

“C-Close… So close.” Your words only spur him on, his other hand goes to press against your hips to keep you still as he speeds up, rapidly hitting your sensitive spot inside. You find yourself at a loss for words as you arch your back and squeeze your eyes shut, coming against his fingers and tongue. He continues through your orgasm and only stops after you’ve calmed down.

Aegon pulls his fingers out of you and moves up to your face, pressing his fingers against your lips. You greedily accept his offer and moan around his long digits as you taste yourself. He groans at the sight and quickly pulls them away from you, so he lined himself up with your entrance.

Your mouth falls open in a breathy moan as he slowly thrusts inside you, his eyes briefly closing as he moans at the feeling of you squeezing around him. You always take him so well, and he can’t help but feel that you were made for him.

“Say it again” his voice is raspy as he makes his demands, keeping still inside you as his eyes meet your own. You look so pretty beneath him, eyes half lidded and pupils blown. Lips bruised from his kisses and cheeks flushed. He decides he wants a commission of you like this, but also doesn’t want anyone else to see you the way he does.

“I-I love you,” you moan. Your hands cup his cheeks and pull him down for a bruising kissing. Aegon begins to fuck you at a brutal pace that you're loudly moaning within his mouth. His thrusts are hard and fast, and he’s hitting that sensitive spot inside you that makes your toes curl. Your tongues messily slide against one another as you wrap your legs around him, pulling him even closer.

If someone were to talk in right now, they wouldn’t have a clue as to where you begin, and he ends. You're consumed by him, completely and irrevocably. His scent fills you and his kisses leave you thoughtless. His own thrusts make you obsessed with him, and you find that you never want this to end.

One of his hands slides down and begins to circle your nub. He barely pulls away from your lips to watch as you groan. He can feel how close you are by the way your walls convulse around him, and he finds himself close as well. You move your hips in time with his thrusts as your nails claw his back, turning him on further.

“Fuck!” You cry out as you come around his cock, back arching and legs shaking, eyes squeezed shut. Aegon thrusts a few times as he tries to fuck you through your orgasm once before his hips stutter, and he spills inside you. His head nestles into the crook of your neck as he moans, cock twitching inside of you.

You both stay like that, wrapped around one another, while you catch your breath. He begins to pepper kisses down your neck, making sure to avoid the hand shaped bruise around your neck. You blissfully sigh as you feel sleepiness begin to overcome you.

“I will find a way to make us have a happy ending.” His words do little to calm the anxiety that's always lurking in the pit of your stomach. But you nod anyway and pull him away from your neck to peck his lips. He smiles into it and wraps his arms around you. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And you really do, which you find terrifies you. Love has no place in the dangerous game you both play, and yet it’s blossomed between the cracks and made itself at home inside the both of you. It’s shocking to know that this is the man who makes you feel safe and happy. Who brings a smile to your face and makes you think the future doesn’t look so bad.

But you also don’t believe in fairy tales, and you find yourself far too jaded to believe his words. You only hope this ends with you all alive and not another mindless war. You’d rather end yourself then deal with another one. But you won’t tell him any of that, it’ll only hurt him, and you don’t wish to do that. So instead, you brush your fingers through his hair and listen to his soft breathing. You stay like that until eventually sleep takes you too.

[lemonjoonah]

Wrapped Together (M)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Word Count: 18K Rating: M Genre: Christmas AU, Romance, Drama  Warnings: Protected sex, oral (m. rec.), referenced illness/death of parent, swearing, classism. Summary: Despite your best efforts to keep your head down, to self-preserve and endure what will no doubt be the worst Christmas of your life, you are still roped into volunteering for the hospital's annual gift wrap fundraiser. The enticing factor that lured you out? The promise of a new shift partner, Kim Namjoon. Though your first day together starts off with a slight miscalculation of his skills for wrapping, he soon becomes your essential ally in the fight to get through this lonely holiday season.

| Secret Santa Collab | My Masterlist |

A/N: A big thank you to @kimtaehyunq​ for asking me to join her Secret Santa Christmas Collab, this was my first collab ever and I absolutely loved it. And of course to my beta readers @m00nchild-shi​ and @ladyartemesia​ thank you for helping me gain the courage to post this. I hope that this fic is able to bring a bit of comfort to those celebrating the holidays a little differently this year, so please enjoy!

...

-5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Amidst the chatter of the office, a dull rumble reaches your ears and vibrates the desk beneath your fingers, waking you from the repetitive haze of your hundredth call report. The moment of confusion switches to frantic action when your brain finally catches on and recognizes it as your own personal phone. Scurrying through your purse, you nab it just in time, but after checking the caller ID you desperately wish you hadn’t. 

You knew this call was coming, you’ve dreaded it since you felt the first freezing snowflake on the tip of your nose, when you heard the first carol blaring over the radio, and saw the first tacky inflatable gracing a lawn on your street. It happens every year, like clockwork, though this will be the first time she’ll be enlisting one and not two. Unable to put off the dreaded moment any longer, you answer, accepting that if you rip the band-aid off now and decline her invitation to join the wrapping fundraiser, it’ll be one less uncomfortable moment later. 

“Aunt Emma, hey it’s been awhile.” She’s not exactly your aunt, but you’ve known her ever since you and your mother settled down here ten years ago. With little other family nearby she was one of the few you and your mom could always count on. Making your task to turn her down all the more difficult now.

“My dear, how are you holding up? I’m so sorry to do this but I'm calling with some rather unfortunate news.”

“Oh?” You exclaim, careful not to sound too hopeful that you might be free of your heavy burden.

“Yes, well it’s regarding the wrapping fundraiser. I wanted to put you on the same shifts as myself or Maria. I didn’t want to have you alone, since, well, you know... but there are so many rookie volunteers this year. And with you being part of the organization for so long, I was hoping you work with one of them instead for the evening shifts? It’ll just be you and him, do you think you could manage it?”

“I-I uh...” Now this is something you had not expected. You spent the past few weeks worrying about how you might have to work side by side with pitying glances, condolences, and referenced scripture from the usual staff. Any thoughts and prayers for your loss would likely turn you into a pool of tears. Not something you want to happen in public, or private for that matter, but if you are partnered with a newcomer, one who knows nothing of your past, maybe... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. “I can do that.”

“I knew you could! I’ll put you down for the weekday evenings from the seventh up to Christmas. You’re off work at four, right? I’ll send you more details later, but do you want me to be there to introduce you to the other volunteer?”

“No!” You blurt out, insisting in a volume far louder than necessary, but you can’t risk her acting on the offer. Introductions when done by Emma are dicey at best, with one solid breath she has the capacity to share every bit of your sad history, leaving you exactly where you’d rather not be. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. No need to put yourself out like that, you can just tell me their name now and save yourself the trip.” 

“Thank you dear, always so considerate. One second let me just grab that for you...” She pauses on the phone line, as you look around your office in worry, not wanting to get in trouble for taking a personal call on the clock. “Ah here it is. You’ll be working with Kim Namjoon...” 

...

-Less than 3 Weeks Until Christmas-

After finishing work you head off to the mall for your first day on wrapping duty. It should be a relatively quiet night, since the majority of the crowd typically disperses at this time, heading home to be with families for dinner. Your own sits in a paper bag on the passenger seat of your car. A solitary meal as you battle the rush hour traffic. Finishing off the last of the salted fries with a lick of your fingers while you secure a parking spot. 

Flipping down your visor you scoff when confronted with your appearance, your makeup melted off thanks to the struggles of your earlier shift. You dab and blend a fresh blot of concealer on the dark bags beneath your eyes, determined to erase any evidence of your doleful days and sleepless nights. 

The rented store space is already set up, with a long table propped up right at the entrance. Dressed with a variety of paper and ribbon and looking particularly festive. The other volunteers give you a brief greeting and run down before they leave and pass the duties off to you. With them gone you take a seat, looking down at the selection you have to offer this year, trying with all your might not to focus on the empty chair beside you, one that is usually fill by your-

“Hi, sorry I’m late...” Your gaze flicks up from the table, startled to find a giant of a man. Greeting you with a smile warm enough to melt your frozen expression. 

“H-hi,” You stutter out, staring at his handsome face framed with light brown locks, feeling as though you’ve seen it before, but can’t quite place where. “You must be Namjoon?” You ask, running through the list of actors and singers in your mind but coming up empty on who he reminds you of.

He nods, before confirming your name too, and launching into the reason behind his tardiness. “The traffic was not in my favour today.” He gestures to the table and the vacant seat behind it. “May I?” 

“Of course.” You quickly scoot the folding table over so he can slip by the barrier that separates you from the mall. He takes off his coat to reveal a whole suit beneath, though he soon disposes of the jacket and tie too. You try not to gulp as he rolls up his sleeves in front of you, his arms flexing as they reveal themselves. 

“Pretty quiet?” He asks looking around the mall. 

“It usually is around now, give it an hour or two.”

“Have you been doing this long?”

“A few years...” You mumble, not wanting to dive too deep in that well, you quickly turn to pin the question on him instead. “What prompted you to volunteer? Did Emma enlist you during her recruiting effort?”  

“She did, I found her posting the flyer at my workplace.” Namjoon chuckles. “But I’ve seen you all set up here before, and since my usual Christmas plans with my family have changed, I thought I’d join you all instead.”

“Oh, so you’re not spending Christmas with them?” 

“No, they’ve gone to visit my sister and her family in her city this year. I unfortunately have a few work commitments I can’t get out of to make the trip in time, but rather than just mope about at home I thought I might be of some use.” Namjoon smiles again, his fingers folding the corner of the wrapping paper in front of him. “What about you, any plans?”

“No, I usually spend it with my mom, but she won’t be with me this year...” Or any year going forward, you consider while you give him a weak smile. She was the very reason you joined this organization all those years ago, when Aunt Emma was making her rounds and signing up everyone she could at the hospital, you and your mother were there for an appointment, your mom offered up both of your services lending you to a tradition that would extend for years through her treatment, remission, and the final return. 

“So we're in the same boat?” 

“I guess so.” His grin is so contagious, despite the differences in your situation you can’t help but agree.

Your first client of the evening comes forward and drops a small pile of kids toys in front of you both . “Thank god you're here. If I bring these home unwrapped my kids won’t hesitate to spoil the surprise.” You divide the presents between you and Namjoon while the mother keeps talking and flicking through the different styles of paper offered. “At least if they’re wrapped I can say I saw Santa at the mall and he gave me these early. They are so hard to fool these days.” 

“I take it you’ll want the Santa stickers?” You ask pointing to a closed box behind you, hidden away from the wide and prying eyes of young children passing by. 

“Yes, thank you so much!” 

“No problem.” You assure her while putting the last piece of tape on the stack of video games. Though when you look over to check on Namjoon you find that he has barely even started. He cut off a sheet entirely too big and is attempting to fold it around the boxed animatronic pet. Your eyes stare at the state of the poor paper unable to look away from the crumpled carnage. But the shock soon turns to amusement over his determination to salvage the mangled sheet, and you find yourself biting your lip in an attempt not to laugh. Luckily the woman in front of you hasn’t noticed but once you're finished with yours, you reach over for the assist. 

“Here, I can take over that one. Could you do the ribbon for me?” 

 Namjoon nods opening his mouth in an embarrassed grin. He does manage to secure the strand around the package but loses the spool before he can cut it. The red ribbon rolls all the way to your foot, before you stop it with a tap on the sole of your boot. Namjoon winces, while you let out a chuckle before bending over to hand it back to him, and finish wrapping the other present. 

The attempt at a ribbon curl unfortunately goes the same as the package before it, with him completely at a loss and using the wrong edge of the scissor blade. Trying to save him you make another suggestion. “If you want you can always use the premade sticker curls.” 

Namjoon nods and places them on the two packages along with the vibrant sticker of a cartoon Claus winking as he delivers the warning, ‘Do not open ‘till Christmas, Santa’s watching.’

As you load up the presents into a bag, Namjoon takes to the cashbox, looking expectantly from the client with his dashingly dimpled grin. 

“Oh right.” She comments with an awkward smile. Opening her Gucci bag and matching wallet, the corners of her lips turning down when she rifles through several triple digit bills unable to find any smaller denomination. 

The stand is by donation only, but the implication has always been that one should compensate the fundraiser for the service provided. You can usually tell when someone intends to leave no payment at all, and unfortunately you know this act all too well. She’ll apologize and say that she has to run to the bank and get some cash, but you’ll never see her again. Namjoon, unfamiliar with this ploy, continues to give his eager smile, and to your utter shock she submits, handing him a hundred dollar bill. 

Namjoon thanks her profusely as she melts too under his gaze muttering, “Not a problem.” Before walking off clutching her now wrapped gifts. 

You look to Namjoon in disbelief while he locks the money away in the cash box. Only breaking the silence when the client is fully out of earshot. “How the hell did you do that?!”

“Do what?” He raises an eyebrow completely oblivious to what he just achieved. 

“She... she... you got her to donate, and such a large amount. How?”

“What do you mean how? People give that much all the time don’t they?”

“No, they don’t!” 

“Oh...” He gives you another of his knee weakening smiles. “Sorry I assumed, I guess I’m just used to it.” He scratches at the back of his neck looking down at the table.

“Used to it? Where on earth do you see, do you get used to, that kind of generosity?”

“Through my job I suppose?” His grin turns to a look of embarrassment. “I work in art procurement, currently under contract with the museum. I seek out collectors and convince them to donate or loan out their assets.”

It would seem that getting people to open up their wallets is practically his profession. “Well... looks like manning the cash will be the perfect job for you.” That smile of his is a dangerous weapon, and one you would be remiss not to use in the fundraiser’s efforts. Though it still leaves one question unanswered. “But I have to ask...” Your previously concealed giggling comes to the surface. “Why on earth would you volunteer for a holiday wrapping station if you don’t know how to wrap?”

A blush reaches his cheeks. “Last year when I was here... I left with far more than I was expecting, and feeling as though I should have given more. So I figured if I couldn’t be with my own family, I wanted to do this instead.” He starts habitually folding a paper scrap. “And maybe I’d learn a useful skill-”

When a streak of red is left on the paper trailing behind his finger you jump to interrupt. “Is that...”

“Fuck.” He mutters pulling his index close to examine it. “Yeah, those scissors are sharp, didn’t realize I drew blood though.”

You immediately start rummaging around in your bag. “I know I have a couple in here, one second.” You pull out a small box of bandages and peel apart the papers to reveal the adhesive.

“You carry band-aids in your purse?” Namjoon asks, with a raised brow.

“You're the one who cut their finger trying to make a ribbon curl.”

“It wasn’t a criticism, sorry I just thought it was... nice.” He holds up the injury and you're careful to wrap the strip around it.

“Yes well,” Your face heats up as you catch yourself lingering. “Try to stay away from the scissors unless absolutely necessary. I’d rather not have to make a trip to the hospital.”

“That would be counter productive wouldn’t it?” Namjoon laughs outright. 

...

Despite you being the only one to wrap you both manage the evening surprisingly well, pulling in a record donation amount.

“You must be good at your job,” you mutter with a smirk, as you finish counting the lockbox. “I’ve never seen people so happy to part with their money.”

“I only showed them how good of a job you did,” Namjoon explains. “I’ve never seen someone put so much care into wrapping.” 

“First impressions for a gift can be important too.” You justify as you secure the cash in a deposit bag. “They put a lot of care into selecting the gift, why shouldn’t I exemplify that?”

“Even the gift cards?”

“Especially the gift cards. I have to make them memorable somehow don’t I?”

“True.” Namjoon concedes, with a small frown.  “Listen I’m sorry if I didn’t make a good first impression on you myself. If you want I can call Emma and we will find someone else to help you.”

“No, I enjoyed working with you. It just caught me off guard that you didn’t actually know how to wrap. If you get bored of handling the cash I could try and teach you if you’d like... you said you wanted to learn right?”

“You’d be willing to show me?”

“Definitely, though let's stick to the premade ribbon curls. I’d rather not have to use anymore band-aids if I can avoid it.” 

After pulling down the gate and locking up the station up behind. Namjoon accompanies you to the bank to drop off the deposit before you part ways for the evening, with you going out one exit and him another. 

The sudden blast of cold air forces you to huddle in your coat, and crank the heat the very second you step into your car. As the windows to thaw and frost retreats, you spot your tall wrapping partner waiting at the bus stop. 

“Now why would he...” You’re left perplexed judging from the description of his job and quality of his attire you assumed him to drive some sort of flashy car, never would you think he would take public transportation. 

You drive over and stop right in front of Namjoon, rolling down the window. “Where do you live?”

“The Swan Estates, but if you don’t leave near there that’s fine I don’t mind bussing home.” Namjoon looks down the road. “It should be here soon.”

“It’s no problem, I pass by that area on my way home.” You reach across the car for the handle opening the door. “Come on get in. It’s too cold to wait for a bus.”  

Namjoon nods, and eagerly hops into the car holding his hands close to his vents with a sigh. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I didn’t think to ask, I just assumed-”

“That I could drive?”

You nod giving him a sheepish grin this time. 

“As you saw earlier I’m rather accident prone. I think it’s safer for everyone if I leave the driving to others.” He chuckles looking out the window. “What about you? When not rescuing people from cold transit stops or wrapping disasters, what do you daylight as.”

You grimace at the question knowing your answer is nowhere near as impressive as his. “I’m a phone-rep for Interlude Shipping, I work in their tracking department.”

His reaction is not the usual glazed expression you get when you reveal that you work in a call centre, but a look of awe. “You must be so busy this time of year, how do you have energy for volunteering too?”

“I’m used to it.”

“Do you like it there?”

“It’s... a paycheck. I needed a full time position with benefits right out of school and that was what was available. I would have preferred something else but...” You stop yourself, scolding how much you almost revealed. Finding it far too easy to talk to Namjoon. He doesn’t pester you to continue but lets your abrupt end linger in the silence until he points out his house within the estate. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Namjoon nods in agreement with his dimples on full display. “Looking forward to it. Thanks again for the ride.”

After he leaves your car another nervous giggle you’ve been holding in finally escapes you. Three weeks working with this kind, considerate and downright gorgeous man. Though there’s no ring on his finger, he has to be attached to someone. Men like him don’t walk around single for long. Your shoulders fall at the thought, despite the fact that you have no intention of forming an attachment at this time... it’s still too soon. 

Before you even pull out of Namjoon’s driveway, your phone vibrates from the cup holder you stashed it in. Aunt Emma’s name popping up on the display. You press the green button to accept and put her on speaker while you pull out onto the road. 

“Hello my dear, just checking in to see how the first night went?” 

“Good, no great actually. I think you’ll be happy with the result.”

“And your partner? Everything working well with him?”

“Yeah,” You confirm looking up in the rearview mirror taking one last look at Namjoon’s house. “He’s really nice, we already have a system in place so I think we’ll work well together.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. I was worried at first, wondered if I had made the right decision-”

“You did!” You encourage her, not wanting her to change her mind, and make another switch.

“Great, so we’ll carry on as is then. I’ll message Maria to let her know, I think she’s still on shift at the hospital though...” Aunt Emma mutters to herself. “Speaking of which I had to stop by there today and guess who was asking about you?” 

You freeze in the front seat of your car, unable to say his name, but that doesn’t stop your chatty Aunt from continuing on despite your silence. 

“That Jackson, such a nice young man, it’s a pity you-” 

“Aunt Emma, I’m so sorry but I should go. ” You cut her off unwilling to listen to her disappointment over your own personal matter. “It’s getting late and I have work in the morning.”

“Oh of course, no problem dear. Call me if you need anything.” 

When you arrive at your cold and empty apartment. The silence greets you with the usual punch to your gut, just as it has for the past eight months. She should be there to say hello and ask you about your day, just as she always had. But all that’s there to welcome you is the stack of dusty Christmas decor boxes thrown in the corner of the living room. Unwilling to spend another minute alone you sulk off to bed, ready to put another day behind and start the next. But for the first time in a while, you are actually looking forward to a fraction of the never ending cycle. 

...

Whoever said Christmas time is the most wonderful time of year, clearly never worked a customer service job. They’ve never been yelled at for four hours straight, gone to lunch, and then endured another four. With a couple weeks still left until the looming deadline of Christmas you can only imagine what you’ll have to listen to in the coming days. The woes of a parent trying to track down their child's number one gift... it’s enough to send chills down your spine. Just once you’d like to find someone happy on the other end of the line, someone who didn’t need something from you, someone who called just to say hi, and indulge you with a friendly chat. 

With the last call of the day done you throw on your coat, and bolt out of the office before anyone else. Elated by the fact that you have somewhere else to be, happy that someone else is expecting you. Namjoon beats you to the station today, chatting with the other volunteers as they leave. One of them pats you on the arm and delivers a sad smile, you seize with fear and the worry that they had discussed you, but when you find Namjoon beaming without a hint of concern the weight lifts and you can once again forget your loss for now. 

“Hey, how was work?” He asks.

“Good... good.” You cover with a smile not wanting to drag him down. He doesn’t look convinced his eyes narrow and the corner of his lip twitches, but you reciprocate before he can confirm. “How about your day?”

“Quiet, I’ve spent the past few months alongside the curators putting together an exhibit and with it finally finished all that’s left is to wait until it’s over.”

“So you had to stay here for Christmas only to wait for it to end? That’s too bad.”

“There are a couple other tasks I have to attend, an auction, and an event for the patrons, but the tear down on the 24th is pretty important, some of the lenders will want their pieces back in time for Christmas.”

“That’s such a miserable deadline for so much work. Why would they ask you to give up your Christmas Eve to do that? Surely it can be done after the holiday can't it?”

“Not this one, it’s ‘The Gift of Christmas’ Past’ exhibit,” Namjoon explains. “Many people were good enough to donate their family heirlooms for the majority of the season, but come the actual holiday, it’s time for them to return home.”  

You just about fall off your chair in awe. You’ve seen that exhibit advertised everywhere, even been tempted to go yourself, but the thought of going alone has prevented your attendance. “I had no idea, that’s such a popular exhibit, you worked on that?”

“I did, I even helped come up with the idea for it.” Namjoon beams, with a small amount of red rises to the surface of his cheeks. “The curators at the museum have been more than accommodating. I never thought I’d get the chance to step into their roll myself. I was lucky to be given the chance, so you can understand why I had to stay and help them once it’s finished. Of course it’s given me some other opportunities I would never have had in the past too, like the ability to help you here.” 

You nod still looking at him in admiration, while in your mind a further divide falls between you. As friendly as he is to you, it’s obvious that he’s way out of your league. Even if you wanted to pursue something more with him, someone of his status... really it’s a wonder he even looks in your direction, let alone chose to volunteer at this tiny holiday wrapping station.  

Your conversation is interrupted by a mall goer with a bag of gifts. Namjoon helps as best he can, supplying you with tape as he learns over your shoulder. Loaning you his finger to help you knot the ribbon around the gifts. With a sizeable donation left in Namjoon’s care you are both left alone at the table again.

Between clients you do your best to show him how to wrap the small boxes and ready cut paper at your disposal. Though his folding has improved, his use of tape can be considered... excessive. “You shouldn’t need more than three pieces on a present like this.” You chuckle as you catch his hand before it can apply the seventh piece of tape. 

“But your packaging looks so durable compared to mine. How is it supposed to hold together if not for more tape.”

“Years of practice with tighter folds and better adhesive placement.” You analyze his work. “You might be an up and coming art curator but wrapping is my craft.”

Namjoon laughs and grabs a fresh sheet along with the scissors. 

“Should I go fetch my band-aids?” You ask, gazing at the sharp implement with trepidation. 

“No I’ve got this, I’m ready to earn my redemption.” Namjoon folds the paper several times before cutting a rounded edge. “Wrapping might not be my forte, but this I mastered long ago.” He opens up the paper grinning madly as he reveals a perfect snowflake.

You giggle at the innocence of the piece in question. “That is quite impressive, when did you become such a proficient?”

“I’d say I peaked at eight. One evening when it was just my sister and I, we covered my whole house with them. Every surface, every window, plastered with paper snow. Though my parents were less than enthused I like to think of it as my first full art show.”

“What on earth possessed you to do it?” You ask, trying to imagine the look on his parents as they returned home to the indoor flurry.

Namjoon looks up with a heavy expression, for such a lighthearted story why does he look so wary to tell you “A mutual fri-”

But as chance would have it he is once again interrupted by another coming to your station. When the post dinner rush hits you hardly get another chance to chat. 

...

-2 Weeks Until Christmas-

The week passes in much the same way as the past two days, but with each evening session Namjoon is able to improve upon his wrapping skills a little more. To the point where you are comfortable to leave him alone for a few minutes to man the station.

“You’re sure it’s all right if I just run to the washroom for a minute?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could put up the be back in five minutes sign if you-”

“Go, I can hold down the fort... just leave the band-aids.” You are ready to let out a big sigh when Namjoon holds up his hands in defeat. “Just kidding, I promise, now go.”

You hurry off as fast as you can swearing when you find a line up. By the time that you are finally able to return you find Namjoon finishing up with an attractive woman and her single gift. You smile at her as you join him behind the table, she pauses, caught off guard for a moment but then hands him the donation along with a slip of paper. 

Namjoon opens it as she walks off. Blushing profusely before throwing it in the trash along with the wrapping scraps. 

“What was that about?”

“Nothing... she just must have gotten the wrong impression.”

“Did she give you her phone number?”

Namjoon nods looking down with guilt. 

“And you're not going to keep it? She was gorgeous.”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Right, I assume that wouldn’t go over well with your girlfriend.” You speculate, seeking to figure out his status once and for all.

“No girlfriend.” Namjoon mutters.

“Boyfriend?” 

“No boyfriend either.” Namjoon smiles. “I just wasn’t looking to get her number.”

You look at him in disbelief. If she wasn’t good enough, there’s no way in hell you could ever dream of being with him.

...

The drive home in the evening is rather quiet. Namjoon’s fingers drag across his lips as if in deep compilation. 

“Any big plans for your couple days of freedom?” With Aunt Emma’s team working the weekend that gives both you and Namjoon some time off, but unfortunately apart. 

“What? Oh yes, I suppose.” He answers as though you dragged him from a stupor. “I have an auction to go to tomorrow for work.”

“Buying art for the museum are you?”

“Not exactly in the market to buy. But if you're not busy you should come along, I would love some company.”

“Not because you would love a drive?”

“No, not at all, I was planning on booking a car tonight. I could come pick you up on the way.”

You shake your head. “No, if we’re going together I’ll drive. No need to waste your money on something like that. What time should I pick you up?”

“I’ll have to double check and get back to you but likely late in the morning?” You nod in agreement as he pulls out his phone. “What’s your number?”

You give it to him and your cell vibrates in your pocket as he sends off a text a second later, leaving you with his own.  

“So I guess I will see you tomorrow now then.”

“It’s a date.” Namjoon smiles as he gets out and leaves you in the car. 

You snort in disbelief, staring after him while he runs off to the front door of his house. No, there’s no way, he can’t be serious, it’s not a date, date. The phone vibrates again, reminding you of the unread message he sent, prompting you to look at it before you drive off home.

This was the only phone number I actually wanted.  See you tomorrow,  - Namjoon  

...

You lie in bed caught between denial and anticipation for what’s to come in the next day. Every moment that excitement bubbles up inside, you are forced to push it down with the weight of scepticism. Namjoon was looking to distract from his lonely Christmas, you are just the band-aid to his superficial wound, but would that be so bad? Haven’t you been using him the past week in the same manner, a mode of distraction? The only difference is the depths of your injuries. While his might be a simple cut repaired by time, yours is a laceration straight to the heart, damage that will soon bleed through a flimsy bandage, but at least you can hide it for now, you can conceal the extent of your misery and enjoy the comfort that is him for the holiday. Ripping that band-aid off won’t hurt, not compared to the damage that has already been done.

You look back at your phone smiling at his message, confirming that this is what you want for now, when to your surprise another comes in. 

KNJ: Are you awake? 

You double check the time, 12:23 a little late for a friendly chat isn’t it?

YN: Yeah, everything okay?

KNJ: That depends, what are your thoughts on Hallmark Christmas movies?

You pause in confusion, questioning his motives for such an odd query. Coming up dry you can give him the most truthful answer you can. 

YN: They’re chestnuts.

KNJ: Chestnuts? 🤔

YN: Palatable only when thoroughly roasted. 🔥🔥🔥

Your phone starts ringing a second later, the caller Namjoon. You pick it up to hear him laughing on the other end. “I’ll have to remember that. You up for burning a film? I could use another open fire, there’s a pretty horrible one on their channel right now.”

“I’m sure I could spark an ember of criticism. How bad are we talking?”

“There’s a made up country, a town that looks like it exists solely for the purpose of celebrating Christmas-”

“And let me guess, a prince?”

“You know it?”

“Nope, just following the trend of tropes.” You grab your earbuds and venture out to the living room wrapped in your blanket, a beverage in hand, and ready to turn on your own TV. With one bud lodge in your ear to listen to Namjoon the other is free to take in the cringeworthy dialogue. “My god why were you watching this?”

“Couldn’t sleep, and I thought this would also help put me in the Christmas spirit, but I can’t stop laughing at how bad it is.” Namjoon chuckles deeply as the heroine stumbles over a mere pebble and falls into the hero’s arm. 

“I don’t think you have any right to laugh at that part.” You join him in laughter. “You two appear to have some similarities.”

“Wait, so does this make me the clumsy lead and you the dashingly perfect love interest?”

“Oh most definitely, I’ll be saving your Christmas.”

“I suppose you are pretty perfect.”  

You’re thankful that Namjoon isn’t there to see your response, silently choking on your glass of water, followed by spilling your sip all down your shirt, further emphasising your next point. “I’m not perfect.”

“Well you should let me see that side sometime, or I will continue to feel like this poor woman who is confronted with someone way out of their league.” 

Namjoon thinks that you're out of his league? “No, I’m sorry but in order for me to save your Christmas based on this movie I have to play the perfect hero.” Of course the leading lady swoons in her prince's arms. “I just wish the characters had more depth, I’ve read kids books with a wider emotional range.”

“Me too. And the timing,” Namjoon scoffs. “It’s always so perfect. They always meet at the perfect moment and latch on immediately only to have everything work out in their favour, and it all claims to be a Christmas miracle, it doesn’t work like that.”

“That sounds like someone’s been scorned before on Christmas.”

“Not scorned no. More like a missed opportunity, one that I’ve regretted for a long while.”

 “Anything I can help with?” You ask. “As the supporting lead that is my mission is it not?”

“Maybe, I’ll have to think about it. Unfortunately my dilemma isn’t so easy to solve.”

“I don’t think anyone's dilemma’s are ever as easy or clear cut as theirs.” You yawn as you lay down on the couch and watch the pitiful drama unfold. “Their world is perfect and always has their back through some sort of mystical power or being.”

   “I think people in the real world call that god...” Namjoon chuckles.

“Yeah well, our god is a shitty writer if this is what their creations come to expect.” You murmur, stifling a yawn.  

“Is that a crack in your shining armour I spy?”

“No, just commentary.” Though your own internal defences are askew, and the longer you watch the more you understand why. It’s jealousy, jealousy of how quickly they overcome any tragedy, and how they do so with a picture perfect life, as if the creators left all the negative emotions, the realistic impacts of trauma, on the cutting room floor. If only you were that perfect love interest that Namjoon wanted you to be... maybe you can keep the facade until the end of the holidays, at least one of you can have a better Christmas for it. 

All you have to do is continue ignoring the most painful parts, a practice you are well versed in considering the boxes still looming in the shadowy corner, still unmoved after all this time. You know nothing good will come from unpacking them, there is no comfort inside, the only thing that could help is long gone, the story which your mother used to read to you every Christmas before you moved here. You’ve hunted through those boxes so many times while she was still here with you, but now that she’s gone you don’t even have the desire to look, nor the strength to store them away. 

...

You wake hours later with a loud crumpling sound in your right ear. Your bud still in place, and your call time continues to count past the 7 hour mark. “Namjoon, are you there?” You inquire with a groggy yawn. 

“Fuck... yeah, did I wake you?” 

“It’s fine, sorry I fell asleep.”

“Don’t worry I did too. But unfortunately I seem to have lost an airpod at some point in the night.” The rustling continues as he chats to you. “I refuse to lose another to this couch, it’s taken so many from me already, you’ think I would have learned by now.”

“Oh, then this is a regular occurrence for you? Chatting up women until you fall asleep,” you scoff.

“No! God no, I just usually fall asleep listening to music and then my cushions eat them when I lower my defences.”

“I leave you to battle it out with your sofa, but what time should I pick you up?” 

“Eleven okay with you?” 

You double check the clock, ensuring you have enough time for a shower and to look presentable. “Yeah that works. I’ll see you then.”

...

You pull into the packed parking lot of a large warehouse. With Namjoon looking dapper in a blazer and peacoat. You yourself are glad to have chosen to dress a bit classier than your usual garb for a Saturday afternoon. When he said it was for work you couldn’t risk dressing down. 

But there is still an air of confusion about your reason for being here. If he’s not attending to buy something for the museum or a client, why is his presence required? The items up for auction are not exactly what you expected, with the majority of it being furniture and woven rugs. You tilt your head in confusion as Namjoon eyes up an old wooden desk. 

“Sorry,” He mutters, seeing you as he comes to from his distracted state. “I have a personal weakness for such items.”

“Don’t be, but is that why we're here?”

“No, although it is tempting.” He nods over to a collection of old black and white sketches on the wall across from you, graphite scenes of the city from long ago judging by subject matter and the yellowing of the paper behind the frame. “They’re the real reason we’re here. When I heard of this estate sale I knew that some of those works would likely come to market. I’m here to find out who buys them, and hopefully see if we can secure a possible loan for the museum in the future.”  

“So how do you do it? How do you convince them to part with such pieces other than that dangerous smile of yours?”

Namjoon humours you, flashing his most coveted weapon. “Many of the artworks found at estate sales like this, they’ve fallen into disrepair. They often haven’t been cared for, likely kept in some musty room where the humidity damages them. The museum has a team of top rated and highly respected conservators who would be able to properly preserve it and slow any further deterioration, and in exchange for their services we ask for a short term loan of the art. 

“A win-win.” 

“I like to think so, but some people are rather protective of their investment. It can be a tricky negotiation which I have been on both sides of when I worked for the private sector.” 

“Which do you prefer more?”

“Definitely the public. The museum doesn’t pay as much, but the audience and notoriety far greater. I really hope that I can continue my work with them once my initial contract ends.”

“I assume securing this for them will help in that goal?” You nod to the pieces, admiring the sought after collection. 

“One can only hope. Who knows, maybe I’ll get my Christmas miracle like the movies promised.” He jokes, putting his hand on your shoulder and leading you on. 

While you and Namjoon continue to look around at the lots up for bidding, he proceeds to fawn over the wooden art and furniture, taking pictures and looking up the makers. 

You can’t help but enjoy his interest, watching his eyes go wide and his mouth gasp when he’s found something which intrigues him. “Have you ever purchased something for yourself at one of these?” 

“A few things, tables, chairs, and books too. It’s a great place to find unique pieces, or things lost to the past.” He gives you a shy smile. “Is there anything you’d like to look for?”

A possible item springs to the forefront of your mind. “Do they have any books here now?” 

Namjoon grins at your request and leads you over to several crates filled to the brim with books. All the copies inside look to be older editions of epic novels, nothing like what you hope to find. Your heart sinks as you let out a sigh of disappointment.

“Can I help?”

“Nah, I think I’m out of luck. I was looking for a kid’s picture book. I briefly met someone at the wrapping station who found a copy second hand, must have been at a sale like this. I was hoping I would have the same success, but that seems like a bit of a far reach.” Had it not been their gift to someone else you would have made them an offer for it or even gotten their name at the very least, but you were so distracted at the time... all you can see and remember to this day was the book in front of you.

“I’m sorry-” Namjoon starts with an unnecessary apology, it wasn’t his fault that you lost the favourite book of your youth, that you missed the chance to give your mother one last glimpse of the pages with you before she passed.

“It’s fine,” You cut him off not wanting to dwell on the loss or risk deteriorating that perfect cover right here in front of him, in front of everyone, when he has something important to attend to. “Should we go find seats before they start the auction?”

Namjoon nods, seeming to examine your eyes with careful study, but he will find no tears, no dampness there, those are locked away tight. He escorts you to a seat near the back. “This way we can get a better view of those bidding without looking out of place.”

The auction lots pass by with many remaining silent. Namjoon points out several antique dealers to you that are snapping up many of the pieces. But the rest of the buyers all appear to be waiting for the same prize that Namjoon is. 

“Do you have any favourites to win?” You whisper to him as the collection is carried into view.

“I’m hoping for anyone I’ve dealt with in the past.” Namjoon nods in the direction of a middle aged woman dressing in a fur trimmed coat and strands of pearls draped around her neck. “Mrs. Coleman already has a few works in one of the exhibits, and Mr. Roth over there.” He turns to a man wearing a tweed jacket and a sturdy wooden cane in hand. “Is one of the most notable patrons of the museum.”

Silence falls in the room as the auctioneer takes up the gavel again and describes the works. Many around you sit up a little straighter as Namjoon’s eyes dart around at those he thinks might attempt to purchase.

The bids flood in, with very few gaps for breath as the numbers are rattled off. It takes only two minutes before the going price is more than your annual salary. You lower yourself, pooling in your seat as the extravagant wealth is thrown around you. 

Once the pace slows, Namjoon's face highlights his concern, his eyes glancing back and forth between two people, the older lady in mink he spoke of before, and an unknown man with a cell pressed to his ear. 

As the wooden hammer drops so do the corners of Namjoon’s lips. 

“And sold to the gentleman on the phone number three-two-eight, number three-two-eight for sixty-five thousand.” The auctioneer announces. 

“Shit.” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“What, what happens now?”

“Now we have an anonymous buyer who I have no ability to meet or advise.” He sighs, hanging his head, with his fingers dragging across his mouth again.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper as he nods next to you taking several deep breaths. Your hand reaches out to his arm and he turns to you with a small smile.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll figure something out, but I might as well make the most out of my time here.” With the auction now over he rises from his seat and approaches one of the museum's patrons with an outreached hand. “Mr. Roth, good to see you, you’ll be attending the final night of the exhibit I hope, and who is this with you...”

While Namjoon continues to make pleasantries and exchange business cards you keep your eye on the sketches watching as they are rolled behind the desk and packed away in crates. You approach the area where one of the clerks is recording and distributing the information for the now rightful owners, with a mob of bidders descending on him for their newly purchased items so they might leave as soon as possible. 

It would seem that this business too is feeling the crunch of Christmas. A flurry of paperwork is exchanged in haste passing from one hand to the next, until one signed receipt of purchase escapes his notice and falls to the ground in front of you. Picking it up you wait for the crowd to clear, giving the clerk a chance to recover before you approach with the lost sheet, setting it on the desk before him. His confused gaze soon changes to outright shock over his loss when he realizes what you’ve returned.

He thanks you profusely, causing you wonder how much strife he would have encountered had you not been there to return it. “No problem, you look like you have a lot on your plate.” You smile politely, attempting to soothe your fellow casualty of the Christmas rush. “I just have a question for you though, if that’s okay?” 

“Not at all how can I help?” He agrees, his stance far more relaxed than it was with the horde a few moments before. 

“My friend, he was hoping to get in contact with the purchaser of those sketches there, on behalf of a museum. I don’t suppose there’s any way we could get a hold of them, is there?”

“I’m sorry but not at liberty to divulge that ma’am.” Your rising hope falls, you knew it would be a long shot but you didn’t want to leave without trying. “However... if there’s a phone number or information regarding the museum’s interest I can include that in the paperwork to send off along with the purchase.”

“Really? You would do that?”

When the clerk confirms, you immediately turn on your heel and take a step in Namjoon’s direction before bumping into his solid chest, not realizing that he had already come to find you. 

“What are you doing-”

“Getting you that miracle.” You grab one of his business cards from his hand, and turn back around to give it to the clerk who tucks it into the envelope along with the other documentation. “Thank you.” You smile at the clerk who returns the gesture.

“And you said I have a dangerous smile?” Namjoon mutters as he leads you away with a chuckle. “What did he say exactly?”

“That he would include it with the paperwork for the sale. I just hope they will reach out and call you.”

“Me too.” Namjoon smiles, but it doesn't quite appear to reach his eyes. “Shall we head out. I think I’m done here.”

The drive home is rather quiet, the weight of Namjoon’s gloom hanging in the air and he makes no attempt to hide it. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just trying to figure out where to go from here,” he groans. “Those sketches were going to be the start of something new for me. I know the buyer might still come through but I’m not going to hold my breath. I need to keep searching for what comes next, I’m just a little lost, but I’ll find my path again soon.”

“You make it sound so easy.” 

“Sometimes it is, sometimes life will drop it right in front of me and other times I will have to search for it, but that’s a problem for after the holidays.” Namjoon looks out his window at the lights which start to come alive as you drive home. “Are you ready for the big day?”

“Christmas?” You give a nervous laugh, “No, I haven’t even put up any decorations.”

“Why not?!” Namjoon asks in alarm. 

“Just haven’t really felt the need this year. There’s no one there to enjoy them but myself.”

“Which makes it all the more important to put them up.” Namjoon sits up in his seat, his whole persona changing. “I could help you if you’d like?”

You wince over the quandary. With your decorations sitting in your living room under an inch of dust it might arouse some confusion, and his heart would likely sink if he knew how long they actually rested there for. “I’m not sure I’m quite ready for it yet. Maybe another time?”

...

-1.5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Work continues to degrade as the countdown progresses. The only thing getting you through the shifts is the thought of Namjoon’s help at the stand. But as soon as Christmas is over, you wonder if your friendship will go the same way as the festive season, cast aside like the wrapping of the gifts you tended to in the weeks prior. 

After a few days of busy shifts you’re both thankful to make it to another close. But when you are packing up the station Namjoon’s phone starts to ring. He looks down in confusion at the number without a contact attached. “Do you mind?” 

“No, not at all.”

He grins as he answers the phone pacing further back into the vacant shop space and away from the sounds of the echoing mall. You continue to count off the deposit, and roll the wrapping paper. Trying your best not to listen, to give Namjoon his privacy, however you can’t help but notice the happiness in his tone, spotting his dimples from across the room when you sneak a glance. When you grab to move the last box of bows Namjoon ends his call. Tears glisten in the corners of his eyes accompanied by the widest smile you’ve ever seen from him.

“That was- that was the buyer.” He explains as he comes to help you with the final box, taking it from your hands and placing it on the back shelf. “He wants to meet with me this weekend.”

He’s so close, vibrating with an overwhelming delight. His arms move around you as though he is about to pull you in for a gracious hug. You start to congratulate him as he embraces you, “Really?! That’s gre-” only to be cut off when his lips come for yours instead. Once the shock evaporates, you start to appreciate the heat of the moment, the warmth of his skin, the softness of his mouth. Your hands reach up to his toned shoulders and neck pulling him down, diminishing the space between you. Breathing him in like this with your eyes closed, nothing else matters in the moment, nothing other than his firm chest pushing back against yours, his hands on your waist gripping at your shirt.  

With a deep sigh and a bite to his own lip he pulls back. “Sorry I just-”

“Don’t, don’t apologize.” You cut him off this time.  

“I can’t even begin to thank you.” 

“I hardly did anything.” You laugh at the extremeness of his appreciation, though a small part of you dies when you realize his kiss was nothing more than a gesture of gratitude.

 “That’s not true...” He responds, giving you his wide eyes and a shy smile.

On the drive home your companion can barely contain his delight, breaking into random smiles and laughter as he informs his coworkers of the success via text. 

“There’s this event...” Namjoon starts, as you pull in front of his home. “At the museum on the twenty-third, a week from today, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.” 

“Next Wednesday? But we have a shift at the wrapping station.”

“I spoke to Emma a few days ago and she agreed to cover if we both wanted to go.”

“Emma, making a change so close to Christmas? I don’t buy it. What did you offer her in return?” You ask with a critical gaze. The woman runs such a tight schedule, only something great or important would have prompted her to agree.

“My next year of service.” Namjoon confesses, he looks down at his feet as though he might buckle from the embarrassment. 

“Next year? You already promised to work it?”

“If you want me there that is. I’ll practice more in the meantime, I promise I won’t leave you to all of the difficult packages.” Namjoon chuckles. “But what do you say, will you go with me?”

“Ye-yeah I would love it’s just...” You stutter trying to come up with a good excuse but your brain draws a blank leaving only the truth. “I don’t know how well... how well I’ll fit in there.”

“What? No, why would you think that?” Namjoon places his hand on your leg while you drive. A move which causes the both of you to pause in reaction and him to retreat. “Trust me when I say you belong there more than anyone else.”

You nod your head and give him a small smile, wishing more than anything his hand would return. “I’ll come if you want me there. What’s the attire?”

“Semi-formal, and don’t worry about driving I’ll pick you up.” 

...

-2 Days Until Christmas-

You stand in front of your mirror, wearing a dress which fits your shape perfectly, but stretches your pocket book significantly. The price tags hanging down from the zipper taunt you, tempting you to rip them away, to commit to the indulgence. Even if it’s only for a night, the payoff in the end might be worth the overpriced lace. You give in with a snip of the scissors and a swallow of guilt, letting the printed cardstock hit your bedroom floor. 

 You’ve spent the past couple of hours leading up to this moment in a fit of stress cleaning, disposing of the dust bunnies. Now at least if Namjoon comes over after... you won’t be completely off guard.

The phone on your bedside vibrates with a new message.

KNJ: Just pulling in.

YN: Be right down.

Sliding your shoes on and grabbing what you need, you leave your empty apartment with a growing smile on your face. The moment you can see the car from the buildings foyer both Namjoon and the driver exit the vehicle, though Namjoon is quick to wave the driver back to his seat, choosing instead to hold the door for you himself. 

The thoughtful gesture is made more appealing as if it gives you a full view of your date in his dark three piece suit, his hair tamed back framing his handsome face, whose gaze appears to be giving you the once over for you too.

“You wrap up nice.” Namjoon jokes.

“Of course, I couldn’t embarrass you now could I? Have to land that first impression.”

“You would never. Besides I’m sure my colleagues will be fascinated to know who has enough courage to teach me how to wrap.”

“And how do you plan on introducing me to those colleagues of yours? As your date or your teacher?” You laugh.

“I was actually hoping I could introduce you as my girlfriend.” 

“Your girlfriend for tonight?” You panic, not expecting this development. “Wait, is this one of those fake dating scenarios? Did you tell them you had one and then-”

“I think we’ve been watching too much Hallmark.” Namjoon laughs and shakes his head. “No this is not one of those scenarios, but I’ll take whatever form of companionship you are the most comfortable with.”

He gives you the stare of a man who is looking for more, but you know he won't need you once the holidays pass. His loneliness is temporary, yours is permanent. You’d rather not get your hopes up only to have them lost as he fades away in the cold gloom of January when his family returns. “Let’s see where it goes.”

Upon arrival Namjoon leads you through the massive doors by hand, taking your coat and checking it. The main hall just off the entrance is filled with patrons and staff all mingling and drinking while dining on tiny hors d’oeuvres. You look at the crowd with apprehension.  

Namjoon’s fingers interlace with yours again, a grip clearly intended to give you confidence. “I’ll introduce you to some of the staff first.” 

Several people congratulate Namjoon on the exhibit as he passes, he responds giving them a brief thank you as he ushers you through the crowd. Stopping at a small group of two, who greet Namjoon with a warm welcome. 

“Thank god you’re here, people have kept asking for the brains behind the exhibit.”

“And why didn’t you answer them.” Namjoon smiles before turning to introduce you to them, following up with the man who just spoke. “This is Eric Nam, a curator who I worked on the project with.”

“Don’t pass the torch, we both know it was your idea, I just helped put it into motion.” His coworker smiles gazing at you. “And you must be the one Namjoon has talked so much about.” 

The heat rises to your face as you look to Namjoon who confirms the statement with his own embarrassment. “Thank you Eric for sharing that with her...”

“No problem, it’s the least I could do for someone who gave you the insp-”

Namjoon coughs and shakes his head, cutting off his verbose friend. 

You're about to question your partner himself when the other colleague of his starts asking you questions. “What do you do for a living Ms....” You remind her of your name while Namjoon spotting refreshments wanders off with a whispered promise to get you both a drink. 

“I-I work for Interlude Shipping, in their tracking department.” You explain clasping your hands together in an attempt to settle your nerves.

“Oh, how nice...” The false quaintness in her tone is matched with a smirk as she takes a sip of wine. “Maybe you can help me find out if my sister’s present will arrive in time tomorrow.” 

“Valerie...” Eric growls. 

“What? I’m merely curious about her employment.” She smirks at him before continuing to her inquisition. “How long have you worked there? Did you have to get a degree for your role?” 

“No,” This is exactly what you were afraid of coming here, you just didn’t think the judgement would be coming from someone who works with Namjoon. “I started there right after high school. I didn’t have the luxury to go to an elite school to work in a place like this.” 

Eric comes over and claps you on the back. “Neither did Valerie; she just has family on the board.” Giving a coy smile to his coworker who scowls and stalks off without another word to you.  “In fact you’ve actually done more work here than her in the past month. I hear you’ve been helping Namjoon secure the collection we’ve been after?” 

You nod looking off after the departed curator, worried as to what impact your interaction could have with Namjoon’s position here.

“Don’t worry about her. She’s just bitter that Namjoon didn’t ask her to accompany him here.”

“Oh, does she- do they-”

“Fuck no, but if she’s not everyone’s first choice she’s not happy.” Eric gets in a little closer. “You don’t have to worry about Namjoon looking elsewhere, if he’s at all hesitant it’s just because he’s a little cautious with you.”

“Why would he be cautious?”

“Why would who be cautious?” Namjoon asks, handing you a drink as he appears by your side again. 

 “Mr. Roth, that man should be careful. I heard he had hip surgery recently.” Eric responds, cutting in with a lie to cover your discussion. “It's good of him to still join us tonight, but enough about that, why don’t you go show her the exhibit before it gets too crowded in there?”

Namjoon offers up his arm in agreement. “I suppose we can get started on the tour, if you’d like.”

“Yes please,” You answer, threading your arm through his. “Thanks again Eric, it was nice meeting you.”

“You too, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” 

The stand next to the entrance bears all the names of those involved in the creation and a countless list of those who loaned out pieces to make it possible. “There’s so many involved, how large is this exhibit?”

“Not too big, you’ll see why there’s such a long list soon.”

When the door opens you find yourself in a hallway amidst what you can only describe as a snowstorm. The walkway, made to look like an alley set adrift in snow, with flickering lights and paper creations hanging from the ceiling. “Did you make any of those?” You ask, grinning as you squint through the flurrying beams.

“No, I left those to the talents of the students who came by on school field trips. It didn’t take them long before we had enough.”

“Find any new prodigies?”

“Several.” He answers, before pointing to the mounted photos on the wall. “But these works here are some of my favourites.” The pictures are framed to seem as though the viewer is looking in through the pains of a window to happy holiday scenes. From unwrapping presents around the tree to the busy crowds of your very own mall, each image sets out to draw from you a sense of nostalgia. 

“I can see why.” You find yourself lingering on the last of the photos by an accredited local photographer, savouring the display as much as you can, worried that it might end too soon. 

“Don’t worry,” Namjoon whispers, taking your hand in an eager urge to press on, “There’s plenty more to look at.” He points to the end of the hallway, where you find another door, though this one is dressed with a knocker and wreath looking as if it’s the entrance to someone's home.

You open the door to reveal a series of rooms connected by one long hallway. The first you step into you washes over you with warmth and comfort, the sound of a cracking fire surrounds you while the light of fake embers flows from the side. Set up through the room are tables of items from old to new ranging from Christmas tree ornaments, and household decorations to handwritten cards. “All of these-”

“Were loaned by families from the region, they gave a piece of their history and traditions up for most of the season so everyone could enjoy it. Over here we have...”

You could spend hours sitting and admiring in this room alone, but more than anything you want to push on more to see Namjoon’s excitement in sharing it with you. Each room features a different spot of the home. A chilly shed with vintage toboggans and sleds, a kitchen, stuffed with cookbooks and the smells of baking featuring countless cookie cutters of every shape and size. 

The next room is a little unusual and different from the rest, throwing you off for a moment, when the distinct scent of pine hits your nose. In the centre you find what look to be the replication of a massive trunk, and above false branches twinkling with lights. All round in a circle you find toys in glass cases spanning generations, when it hits you. “Are we under the Christmas tree?”

Namjoon gives you his coveted dimpled grin. “Yeah, do you like it?”

“I do. I can’t believe you managed all of this.” You exclaim hurrying between each display like a kid on Christmas morning. From wagons, and Rubik’s cubes, all the way to Furbies and gaming systems he has the whole collection of popular toys throughout the years.  

Namjoon beams with pride once you’ve circled the entirety of the fake trunk and the presents beneath it. “Only one room left, but I think you’ll like this one the most.”

You're ushered into the next, a dimly lit space, a bed with a quilted cover stands in the centre, and on the walls you find countless story books, pinned open to so their stunning art is on display, papering the room with climatic holiday scenes and loveable characters. In one you find Scrooge meeting the ghost of Christmas past, in another you witness the Grinch save the sleigh from a perilous fall. Namjoon was right, this is without a doubt your favourite. While people filter in and out, you take your time looking at each set of pages. Your pace slow and steady, until you reach the special story that stops you entirely, the book you lost long ago, and have been trying to find ever since. Drawn on the pages before you is a little blue koala, with a pale purple nose, round ears, and a smile that lights up his face as he cuts out dozens of snowflakes. Namjoon stands behind you with a hand on your shoulder as you gaze at the book you know to be titled ‘Koya’s Christmas.’ 

You take a deep breath, while trying not to bend to the tears that threaten to break from your eyes. Focusing your attention instead to seek out the owner of the book, but unlike most there is no nameplate attached to this desirable artifact. “Namjoon, who loaned this? Is there any way I could contact them?”

When he gives you a sad smile, your gut clenches over the possibility that this might be a similar issue to what happened at the auction, a lender who wishes to remain anonymous. The only difference here being that you’ll fight Namjoon for the information if you have to. You’ve already let this book escape from you last year, you refuse to let it happen again. “Please, I’ll-” Just when you are about to plead with Namjoon’s integrity, another memory of your past walks into the room, but this one unfortunately has more tragic ties. “Shit,” you whisper, shifting to put your date between you and the newcomer. 

Namjoon catching the change in your expression immediately reaches out in concern. “What? What’s wrong?”

“There's someone I know just over there,” You nod in the direction behind Namjoon. “I’d like to avoid him if I can. Sorry, it-it’s complicated. ”

 Namjoon puts his hands on your shoulders, eyeing a path the closest exit without letting go of you. “Do you want to leave?”

“If that’s okay?” And just when you thought you were free, when you were ready to make a break for the door. The man in question, spots you and calls out your name.

You turn to face him, trying your best to keep your tone even and your lips pulled into a smile. “Jackson? Hey, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s been so long, not since...” Thankful he stops, not dragging up the subject you wish to avoid. 

Namjoon moves closer, moving his arm from your shoulder around your waist, a comforting and protective gesture. “Dr. Wang... I had no idea the two of you were acquainted.” 

“You know him?” You ask Namjoon, your concern rocketing over what else your date might become privy to. 

“Dr. Wang was the phone bidder. I invited him here tonight to see the work we do.”

“The exhibit was impressive, I can’t wait to see what you have planned next.” Jackson confirms. 

“I should go and let the two of you discuss-” You ready to step away when Namjoon’s hand grabs yours and Jackson calls your name again.

“No reason for you to leave, we should catch up.”

“May-maybe later?” You plead with him fighting back the tears, pushing down the memories his presence drags up. “Sorry I just, I need to go.”

You pull your hand free and race to the exit.  

“Wait.” You can hear Namjoon call behind you. Though you continue to proceed out the exhibit and towards the closest exit outside, breaking into the cold evening air, only to find that he still followed. “Let me call for the car and we can go together.”

You stop in realization that your running will not deter him, he’ll pursue you unless you give him a reason otherwise. “No you should stay, this is your big event, I won’t ruin it for you.”

“Not without you.”

“Please Namjoon,” you beg, adamant that he return. “I don’t belong in there, I don’t fit in and I never will. Even when I try...” The ghosts of your past have a way of finding you and destroying your facade.

“I’ve told you before you belong in there more than anyone else-”

“That’s not true. I can barely keep myself together. I can’t, I can’t go back in, I'm sorry.”

“I don’t understand, what does Dr. Wang have to do with it? Did he hurt you? Did he-”

“No! No, he did nothing of the sort. Jackson was always very kind to me. Don’t let me affect your plans or any arrangement, you should go back and talk to him, I just can't be there.”  

“You think I’m going to just drop you for him, especially when he makes you so uncomfortable? No, I’m leaving with you.”

“Fuck, just... please listen to me. He is a good man, he’s a good doctor, you would be foolish to give up this chance.”

“A good doctor...” Namjoon pauses as a grimace hits his face. “Does he have something to do with your mother?”

“How-How do you know about that?” 

“I didn’t mean to pry, I swear. It's just, when I was first talking to Emma about you, out of concern she opened up about your past... about your mother, about your loss.”  

“She told you?” Aunt Emma, you should have known she would do something like that, god forbid at least one person not know your history. “Then all of this, these past few weeks were they all out of pity?” You should have known, there was no way he would like someone like you. It was all out of sorrow for what you’ve been through.

“Not pity no, I like you, I like you a lot. When Emma said you were pushing her and so many others away... I concealed it out of fear of losing you too. I wanted you to open up about it until you were ready. I was just trying to help you get through this.”

You look up at the museum, drawing a distressing connection between Namjoon’s daily life and you. “Why? You think I’m some abandoned project you rescued from a deceased’s estate? One for you to mend, and later show like an achievement? You should have just left me where I was, instead of breaking me further.”  

   Namjoon’s hands immediately pull back from you. “I never meant to hurt you. Only help you move on, you can’t deny that you are frozen in place. You have so much more potential, but you're living in denial.”

“I live there because it hurts less...” You snap back in fury, as he exposes your painful flaws. “I live there so I can work, so I can help others.”

“But what about you? When will you let someone help you?”

You step away unable to answer his question, turning your back on him you race to the sidewalk to hail a nearby taxi, refusing to let him see a single tear fall. 

Once home, you crawl into bed after throwing the dress to the floor. This was so far from the evening you had hoped it to be, with you instead left alone to ruminate on Namjoon’s words. Despising all the evidence he laid bare against you, turning it over again and again in your mind until your morning alarm startles you out of your stupor. Signalling for the last shift before your break for the holidays. 

...

-Christmas Eve- 

It’s finally here, the worst of all days at the call centre. With your eyes heavy from a lack of rest you take a seat at your desk with an extra large coffee in hand. On your computer you have this morning's team email pulled up, and attached to it a list of de-escalation tactics. You’ll need them today because if people don’t get their package by the end of the routes this evening, there’s no hope for tomorrow morning. 

The call board on your phone is already lighting up like a Christmas tree, but you know those little embers to be fuelled by wrath, fury and unkept promises of delivery dates.   

You try your best to remain calm during the egregious conversations. Offering up tips and tricks to parents who are worried that this will be the year that their child gives up on Santa because your company failed to deliver. 

Your lunch break can’t come soon enough. But when you finally check your own phone it’s littered with texts from Namjoon. Messages of concern, apologies, and the hopes that he will still see you at the wrapping station tonight. He even sent a picture of your abandoned coat and promised to bring it along. 

Fuck, you had completely forgotten about you wrapping shift together. Just one more night, then you can put it all behind you again. If you can just keep your cover for a few more hours then it’ll all be over and Aunt Emma will have what she was promised. 

You send Namjoon a quick message confirming that you will be there, but not promising any more before you head back to your desk. 

The calls get progressively worse with several people using foul language and demanding to speak to your supervisor, you try to talk them down as best you can knowing any call passed on to the higher ups will reflect poorly on your efforts.

Until one woman calling in search of her package finally wears you down, insulting you, your profession, even your family.

“Ma’am I’m sorry but if you continue to speak to be in such a way I am well within my right to disconnect the call.” A desperate bluff, your superiors would rather them end the call than you, you’ve been penalized for it before, and you’ll be damned if it happens again. But unfortunately she calls your hand.

“You will not! I have spent hours on the line trying to reach anyone. The shortsightedness of your company and staff is all too apparent.” 

“It’s the holiday sea-”

 “I know what time of year it is, but it seems your staff doesn’t realize Christmas is tomorrow!” 

“You ordered your package past the guarantee date, we could not insure-”

“Now you listen to me, if there was any form of intelligence in that office you’d be working hard to ensure that all packages make it out before tomorrow morning, but instead you just sit on your ass fielding phone calls and giving excuses so you don’t have to actually go out and do honest labour. You must be the biggest disappointment to your family, not even having a proper job. How can you go home and face them knowing you've left so many without their gifts?”

With the woman's last insult, something inside you finally snaps, giving you the freedom to do what you’ve dreamed of for so long. “I don’t,” you pronounce, building up to take your final shot at both her and your employment. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to let you go, as I’d rather not listen to your nonsensical bitching. So merry fucking Christmas to you ma’am, I suggest you go spend it with your own family if they’re willing to put up with your pompous ass.” You hang up the phone and pull off the headset, refusing to answer the next blinking light that comes on to replace it.

You just sit there looking at it denying the next caller their chance at verbal abuse, and your company's lax policy to protect you from it. The chatter of apologies continue to echo around you as your coworkers press on, but after the years of abuse you can no longer hold it in. Your company always said that this position was a stepping stone to greater things, that opportunities would come you just had to wait a little longer, but after being shackled by circumstances, and no forthcoming higher step to take, you refuse to press on any longer. 

...

You pull into the mall parking lot, far too early for your slot at the wrapping stand, with the contents of your desk now stationed in the trunk of your car. Taking refuge in the women's bathroom cleaning your face of the tears you shed on the way over as you try not to think too much about what you’ve just done. After refusing to concede and admit to any wrong doing you quit, telling them to shove their shitty policies right back where they came from.

Namjoon was right... and with the mall closing early tonight you’ll only have two hours with him, two hours to smooth the tension over and allow for an amicable goodbye while maintaining your cover. 

He’s already waiting for you, with your coat in hand, when you show up. The look of pity that you never wanted to see grace his face directed at you. “Are you okay?”

“Fine... I just would prefer if we didn’t talk about last night. I’m sorry for what I said, and now I just want to let it all go if that’s okay with you?” You smile up at him extending the olive branch.

Namjoon nods looking down at the floor as his hands habitually fold a scrap piece between his fingers. The silence between you is drowned out by the carols echoing down the emptying halls of the mall.

“Didn’t expect it to be so slow.” Namjoon mutters after what seems like an age with no one coming to the stand.

“On Christmas eve? Yeah generally people are home by now, spending time with their-” You force yourself to stop, unable to say a word which will bring sorrow to your heart and loneliness to Namjoon’s.  

 “I’m sorry I can’t do this,” Namjoon interjects. “I want to talk about last night, I need to talk about it.”

“Now is not the time.”

“There’s no one here but you and me. It’s just us, the mall is closing, it's our last shift, if not now when?”

“Anytime but now. The last twenty-four hours have been the worst in my life since-since...” You take a deep breath burying the wave of sadness and regret back down in your chest refusing to let it out. “Please, just forget it okay?”

“Not until you stop shielding yourself like that.” Namjoon scolds you. “I’m tired of you living in fear that your tears will erode your cover, and that your anger will tear it away entirely. I’m tired of you thinking that people will only appreciate you if you maintain this perfectly wrapped state. You might think it’s pretty, that it’s convenient for everyone else, but you are only keeping others out.” 

“Maybe I keep it on so that you won’t be disappointed in what you find when it’s discarded. A sad woman, with no direction, no dreams, unable to cope with loss, and I suppose I can add unemployed to the list now. Is that what you want to see? Is that what you want to find?”

“That’s not all you are... and as for your job, I’m sorry but fuck it. It’s about time you moved on to better things, that place was only holding you back, you deserve so much more.”

“No I don’t, do you want to know why I worked there? Do you? I took that job to make sure she got the care she needed. I promised her when she got better I would quit and find something else, but she never did. But if I leave now I’m accepting the fact that she’s gone... that she doesn’t need me anymore, because I couldn’t do enough to keep her here.” The first tear falls breaking through the long standing divide.

“Staying there wouldn’t have brought her back. Tormenting yourself by remaining frozen in place, won’t bring her back. It’s Christmas for god sake and you are being kind to everyone else but yourself.” 

“This isn’t Christmas for me. If it was, she would be here... not you. I’m tired too. I'm so tired of looking at her chair and- and-”

Namjoon wraps his arms around you pulling you forward as your emotions tear through the shroud. He moves you to the back of the vacant store sitting you among the boxes. “I’ll be right back okay?” You nod, while he tugs the table in and drags the gate down to indicate that you are now closed. When he returns his eyes too are starting to redden. His hands brush through your hair, the side of his palm pressing on your cheek and catching your tears. After seeing one of his own fall you crush yourself against his chest, clinging harder to him than before. His lips touch the top of your head, his hands rubbing on your back and arms as he waits, waits for you to be the first to pull away. The lights for every other store shut off around you the music lowers, all that’s left is the retreating chatter of those going to celebrate the eve of Christmas, and still you hold on to him. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a very good substitute.” He whispers, encouraging you to finally lean back and admit your denial, accepting his efforts to help, when you yourself wanted to do the same for him. 

“Don’t say that, it was never going to be a happy holiday for me, just something I needed to get past. But for you, I at least wanted to make yours better, I’m sorry I wasn’t a very good one either.”

“You never were a substitute. You were the one I wanted to spend the holidays with. A different Christmas than usual but no less enjoyable.” 

“That’s sweet of you to say.” You smile, but you doubt it’s true. “I suppose we should go...” 

“What about all the supplies?”

“Emma will come by in a few days to collect it all.” You grab the small donation from the lock box and seal it in the plastic pouch, while Namjoon rummages through his own bag. “Do you still want a ride home?”

“If you're offering, I would love one.” The flap of his satchel closes as he stops his search and instead goes with you to the bank and finally your car. You hadn’t checked the forecast for tonight so finding your car buried in a few inches of snow comes as an unexpected sight. At least with Namjoon’s help cleaning it off is a quick task.

Once inside you both warm your hands on the sputtering heater, changing them on the wheel as you continue to thaw your fingers while you drive. 

“Do you have any plans for the next couple of days?” Namjoon presses, though hesitant in his tone.

“Maybe look for some jobs, and take a good long nap?” You answer with a dark chuckle, still preferring to miss the entire holiday if you could. “You?”

“No, nothing in mind. But if you wake up and want to come over, you're more than welcome to spend it at my place.”

You return both hands to the wheel as the road becomes more difficult to drive on, your tires slipping here and there on the ice beneath the snow. “I’ll think about it, though depending on how much snow we get tonight we might both be stranded at home.”

You pull through the neighbourhood gates and up Namjoon’s driveway. With the car stopped he once again dives into his leather bag and pulls out a thin rectangular gift he looks to have wrapped himself. Dressed as per usual, with far to many pieces of tape, he hands it over to you. “I know this won’t make up for everything, but I want you to have this. Consider it a very belated Christmas gift.” 

“Belated? But Christmas isn’t until tomorr-” You take the present and succeed in pulling back the wrapping to reveal the book that you were reunited with just the night before. “Oh...” You look up from the cover to find the return of the sad smile on his face you saw in the museum. “But if this is late then, last Christmas, it-it was you? You were the one at the stand... with this?”

...

-One Year Ago-

You are counting down the hours and minutes until the mall closes, until you can pick your mother up from her doctor's appointment and head home, to your promised tradition of putting up the decorations. The past few weeks have been so busy, with work, volunteer shifts, and her treatments at the hospital, you’ve made it all the way to Christmas eve with the tree and ornaments still packed away in boxes, sitting in the corner of your living room since December first. 

Aunt Emma is currently taking your mother’s position at the cashbox, thanks to the scheduling of the last minute check up. You light up your phone again checking the time, only an hour left. 

“You can head out if you want my love,” Aunt Emma offers while swaying and humming to the carols. “It’s quiet enough for me to manage myself.”

You grin embarrassed by your desire for a hasty departure. “No it’s fine. I’m still waiting for the phone call to say she’s done, otherwise I’ll just end up waiting at the hospital.”  

“Suit yourself.” She stands up to look down the halls of the mall. “Oh, I think we might have someone, he’s heading this way. He’s cute too, you should give him your number and put that mother of yours at ease.”

“Aunt Emma, I don’t need your dating-” You look in the direction she was speaking of losing the rest of your words when you find a tall beaming man coming closer to your station.

“If you need me I’ll just be in the back fetching more ribbon.” 

“But we have plenty.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” She waves herself off when he makes it to your table.

“Hi,” He greets you with the warmest smile and an even tone. “I was wondering if I could get these wrapped together?” He holds up a bag of gifts which he hands over to you.

“Of course. Any preference on paper?”

“Whatever you think is best, it’s for my mom. Just a bottle of her favourite perfume and something a little more special.”

You open the bag to find a small box containing the fragrance, and the other what looks to be a kids picture book. But what initially seems to be an odd choice for his mother, slams your chest with nostalgia when you see the cover and read the title.

“Koya’s Christmas.” You laugh with delight, you can’t stop yourself from smiling when you examine the artistry. The memories it brings back is enough to make your eyes well with tears.

“You know it?” The man asks, looking pleasantly stunned. 

“Know it? I had it memorized as a child. I loved it so much I couldn't bear it when it was packed away at the end of Christmas each year.”

“Me neither, I flat out refused to let it go, I read it year round to the point where our old copy is currently falling apart on the shelf. Even made snowflakes to put in my windows like he did.”

“That’s right, that scene was one of my favourites. May I?” You gesture asking him for permission to look through it. He nods just as excited as you by the concept of something so sentimental. As you flip through the book you recall the beautiful storyline of a koala living in Australia, one who is so upset that they must celebrate Christmas in the summer, never getting to have a while Christmas described in the songs and shown in the movies. But once Koya talks to the leaves in the trees, and the other small animals of the forest, the realization hits that none of them would be able to stay there if it was cold enough for snow. 

You are so close to tears when you reach the page where the little koala realizes it’s more important to have friends for the holiday than the frozen flurries. Proceeding to stay up all night cutting out perfect snowflakes to hang in the windows for all to enjoy at the family's Christmas Eve party. 

“Where did you find a copy? I’ve looked for so long, I lost my own in the move here.”

“I actually found it by chance, amongst a bunch of rare second-hand books at an auction.” The man itches at the back of his head. “Sorry, I can’t be of more help in locating another.” 

“No it’s fine. I’m just glad I got to see it again. I’ll have to tell my own mom that I was lucky enough to see a copy, she loved it as much as I did.” 

You quickly wrap the two gifts in the one sheet as requested. Handing it back to him before you can be tempted enough to make an excessive offer of your own on his mothers gift. 

“Thanks again.” He hands you two twenties for the donation. “My mom usually helps me with the wrapping but I didn’t want her to see this, you’ve made her Christmas.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

When he walks off you notice that he makes several glances back to you, holding a smile each time. 

“So did you get his number?” Aunt Emma pokes her head back out from the stock area. “Maybe his social media, his dick-dock or whatever it is you kids do these days?” 

“No, I did not get his tiktok.” You answer, unable to contain your laughter. “I was distracted by-” You’re ready to defend yourself when your phone starts vibrating on the table, the screen lit up with the number of your mother’s doctor’s office. You answer it, excited to share your account of the book. “Hey mom, you all finished? You’ll never believe what I just wrapped-”

“Sorry dear this is Laurie, I’m just calling on behalf of Dr. Wang’s office. We were hoping you could come by as soon as you can, the doctor would like to meet with both you and your mother before she leaves for the day.”

“Y-yeah, I’ll be right down.” You hang up the phone taking a deep swallow of fear, the moment of happiness and nostalgia vanishing with the prospect of the news to come. It’s never been a good sign when they’ve wanted to meet with you both in person. 

Aunt Emma catches on in an instant, pushing your coat on your shoulders and your purse in your hand. “Go, I’ve got this. You give your mother a big hug for me, and I’ll stop by soon to see you.”

...

While you try to relive, to pull back and hold on to, that moment from a year ago, Namjoon nods confirming your suspicions.

You mentally kick yourself for not recognizing him, for not remembering a single thing about him except your connection with the book. But after everything you had gone through, in that night alone, the devastating news regarding your mothers health had blacked out everything else. You took her home that night, trying not to cry, trying to be strong for her. Helping her into bed for some much needed rest, leaving your previous plans boxed up in the corner... where they remain to this very day. And the year only got worse leaving your mind engaged elsewhere, far from the man with the kind smile and similar taste in literature. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you sooner.”

“No, it’s fine, it was a while ago, and I’m the one who should be sorry,” He whispers. “The moment I stepped outside that day, I realized you needed it more than my mother needed a second. I went back, but you were already gone. I was selfish though, rather than leaving it with another, I wanted to be the one to give it to you myself, I wanted to see you, to talk to you again, and so I kept it. I even put it in the exhibit on the chance that you might find it. When I met Emma at the museum and found out that you’d be doing the fundraiser again it seems like fate, but then I heard about what had happened since I saw you last. I realized how foolish I had been, how I had stolen your chance to share it with her before she passed.”

You reach up to your face attempting to wipe away the tears before Namjoon can see anymore, but he catches your hands before you can hide your grief.

“When you saw the book that day, you have no idea the impact it had on me. Watching you react, your emotions so close to the surface. You didn’t care where you were, what you were doing, all you could see was the memory in front of you. I wanted to create that for everyone.”

“Then the museum exhibit-”

“Was a result of my meeting you, my breakthrough idea which got me a chance to curate was thanks to your reaction. I was going to tell you when we were there, why you deserved to be there more than anyone else, but everything fell apart so quickly.” 

“I’m so sorry, I never intended to ruin your night. I just-” You take a deep breath, finally letting out the words you’ve been holding back. “I was scared. Jackson was one of my mother’s doctors, he was always friendly and kind to the point where my mother would joke that he would make the perfect son-in-law. We even went on a date, but when she passed... it was difficult, painful for me to see him again. Finding him there last night, I was so worried you would learn about what had happened, and that you would look at me with the same pity he did, so I ran.” 

“You didn’t ruin it, I deserved what you said for not being more open with you about what I knew. I was scared of losing you. So no more running, no more hiding okay?”

You give him a nod, unable to speak through the tears as you gasp between sobs. He hugs you across the cars divide. “Now will you please come inside? At least for a bit. It’s Christmas Eve and I can’t let you go home like this. I have the snowflakes up and everything but we both know it’s not enough without someone else to see them with.” 

You shake your head, now laughing despite the tears, “You really know how to reel me in.”

“I’m just admitting that I don’t want to be alone on Christmas,” He looks at you with a raised brow. “And I don’t think you want to be either.”

...

Namjoon’s house is the very opposite of your apartment, filled with warmth and light, wooden furniture and plants in every corner. The Christmas decorations bring another layer of himself into the fold. As promised, his window pains are full of snowflakes and the sills... you squint at several small blue lumps perched beside the glass. Moving closer you recognize them as clay koalas made by the skill and hands of a much younger age. Namjoon catches you staring at one position in a dozing state. He takes it off the ledge and hands it to you to give a better look. 

“Careful with that one though,” He points to another figure stationed in the corner. “It’s ears like to fall off.” He rolls the round bit of clay out of position chuckling as it exhibits the trait. 

“Did you make these?”

“When I was a kid. My mom held on to them.” Namjoon muses as he continues to fidget with the figurine. “She dropped off a box of decorations before going off to be with my sister and her family.”

“I’m glad she did.”

“Me too. But even with all the trimmings and decor here this year doesn’t feel quite normal.” He replaces them both in their rightful positions of honour and gestures to the massive couch behind you. “Make yourself comfortable,” he insists, before wandering off to the joint kitchen. “Is there anything I can get you to drink?” 

“I’ll have whatever you're having.” You take a seat on the monstrous cushions, which ease you in before swallowing you in comfort. Making it easy to see how this beast of a sofa has eaten several of his several earbuds. 

“Beer okay?”

“Perfect.”

He comes round with the drinks and takes a seat beside you. Turning on the television he lets it play with low volume in the background so you might continue your conversation if you wished, but at the same time eases the pressure from you if you’d rather not. 

You smile down at your beverage as the overly dramatic film plays out. Your mind still lingering on the damage that you might have caused with your hasty departure the night before.

“Have you talked to Jackson since, is he still going to loan the sketches?”

“He wants to, he sent me an email today saying so...” Namjoon pauses taking a sip of his drink, swirling the contents around in the can. “He asked if you were okay too. I haven’t responded yet, I wanted to talk to you first and get the full story, rather than speak on your behalf. But it’s clear he has feelings for you, if you told him how you felt, I’m sure you could still work things out if you wanted to.”

“No, I don’t think it’s feelings but his concern. He’s just too good of a person not to worry, and I’m sure his own guilt has a place in there too. Jackson and I never would have worked out, we went on that date, we didn’t have much in common, there was nothing there that I wanted to pursue, not like my time with you.”

Namjoon’s eyes perk open as he smiles. His arm reaches around, pulling you in to lean on his side and shoulder. As the strained plot plays out before you. 

“Why do you insist on watching these.” You ask as your eyes become heavy after a few minutes. Leaning into Namjoon more he lays back putting his feet up and sliding you down with him to do the same. Your head now resting on his chest the deepness of his voice carrying down to your ear. 

“They’re like the snowflakes-”

“A paper thin plot full of holes?”

“Funny and true, but not what I meant. I know they are by no means real, but they have this way of adding to the feeling of the season. I didn’t realize how much of a tradition it has become for me and my family until this year, when watching them alone just felt wrong. The movies were an excuse to sit down with them, to talk and laugh. The other night when I called, it wasn’t that I couldn’t sleep, I just wanted to spend the time with you.”

“But why me? You could have anyone, even Valerie seems to-”

“Why would I want anyone else when you helped me achieve something I’ve long dreamed of? You may think this cheesy but at the end of all these films, when everything comes together wrapped in a perfect bow, that’s how I’ve felt in every moment with you.”

“You’re right, very cheesy, but not unwanted.” You look up at him from his chest finding only sincerity in his face. “Now if we’re to continue in this similar Hallmark course of action, I do believe this would be the part where you kiss me again.”

“But I’m just the clumsy lead,” Namjoon jokes. “I’m pretty sure that’s your-” You lean in doing just that, cutting him off and pushing him against the couch as you kiss him. His chest quaking with silent laughter soon turns to rumbling groans as you fulfil the expectation of your role. “Though this would also be the part where I tell you we should wait before giving into temptation.”

Your nose scrunches up in displeasure over the notion of such abstinence. “Then let's omit that line, and go off script for the rest of the night.”

Namjoon takes his turn, flipping you over to push you down onto the plush cushions, where you sink under his weight. “Gladly,” he growls, his mouth trailing down your neck pulling on the collar of your sweater to seek further in. 

Desiring the same you discard your own knit garment, before moving on to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, pushing it back until he is forced to tear his hands from the sleeves himself and whip it down to the ground. 

Sliding between your thighs he wraps your legs around his back and picks you up off the couch. With an arm wrapped around your waist, he continues to kiss you while you squeal from being lifted into the air. 

“Bedroom?” You ask, excited by the possible prospect.

He nods, looking up at you with a smirk. “If that’s okay? I’d rather not risk losing you to the couch too.”

You giggle at the notion, while Namjoon heaves you up again to get a better grasp, his mouth tucking into your chest. He fumbles for the door now behind you looking as though he might break it open if the knob won’t turn to his grappling grip. You reach back to assist and push it open. The cool air of the room hits you, causing you to cling to Namjoon’s warmth. 

With two more steps you’re lowered onto the bed, where he grips the waist of your pants, unbuttoning and tearing them down your legs. Laying on the edge of the mattress, you watch as Namjoon kneels down between your legs. His hands glide up your bare legs and pause at the tops of your thighs massaging them as he asks to go further. “May I?”

You take his fingers and press them down on the dampening fabric. Namjoon groans and dips the tip of his index below the material peeking inside to find the warmth of your cunt. It’s a pity it’s so dark in the room, you would have liked to see his smile. 

But it seems you're not alone in this desire, as Namjoon gets up and reaches over flicking on the lamp beside his bed. “No more hiding, I want to see you, all of you.” 

“I want that too. I want you.” 

He smiles kissing you with both hands before rolling over and pulling you on top of him. You return the favour by taking off his pants and boxer briefs releasing his erection. Running your fingers down the soft skin of his shaft, curling them around the base. Tilting his cock towards your mouth you take the tip, teasing your tongue on the rim of the head. Namjoon groans in delight, thrusting his hips up, you take it again as far as you can manage, enjoying his reactions to your tongue trails downward, tracing the swelling veins of his dick. With another drag of his cock you release him with the pop of your lips and he reaches down to grip your arms, breathing heavily with closed eyes.

“I thought you said you wanted to see me?” You chuckle at his undoing.

“I do, but I also want to last.” 

“Condoms?” You ask, continuing to stroke his cock while you adjust to straddle his thighs.

“In there.” He mutters, pointing to his bedside table breathless and helpless to your touch. Only looking up when you have to free him to reach for the box and unwrap its contents. His own hands help you to roll it down his shaft. 

You guide yourself down on his cock while Namjoon arches against his pillow and mattress. His fingers tracing up your stomach and ribs. You reach back to unclasp your bra just as he reaches your chest, and lean down into his touch. 

With his firm grip you rock your hips clenching on his dick and grinding your clit on his pelvis. The louder he gets the faster you move, trembling as you chase your own high and pivoting down further. When Namjoon’s hands grip your hips pressing you into him the pressure becomes far too great pushing you over the edge, sending waves of pleasure through you until you collapse on his chest. He holds you in place as he thrusts from beneath, gasping as your climax continues, coaxing you to clench down on him, straining his thrusts until he comes. 

Dotting the side of your face and neck with his lips at a soft and slow pace, he succeeds in forging another smile in your still gasping lips. He tilts you off and beside him in your blissful haze so he may dispose of the filled barrier. When returning to your grasp you cling to him and he you, dragging the covers up and over the both of you.  

“I could get used to this.” You whisper, curling into his warmth. No longer afraid of the emotions that the holiday will bring. Glowing over the prospect of not facing Christmas morning alone, but wrapped together with Namjoon in the sheets of his bed. “Maybe even consider it a new tradition?” You joke with him looking up to witness his smile.

“If that’s a tradition...” Namjoon whispers, coming in for another kiss. “I plan on celebrating Christmas everyday for the foreseeable future.”

[sirowsky]

The Stories We Tell Ourselves (One-Shot)

Author's Note: So, this was an ask sent to me by my darling wife, @lucrezia-thoughts a while back, that I for some reason never actually added to my collection of works. Which seemed like a shame, since I'm kinda proud of it (it was my very first ask), so I thought I'd re-post it and give it a proper spotlight. Description: Mando's injured and Grogu's bored, so fem!reader tells him a bedtime story.

Rating: Everyone (all fluff all the way on this one, though blood is mentioned) Word Count: 1872

It had been one of those days when one thing had just bled into another, and everything had gone wrong. It was a miracle all three of you had survived, but the Mandalorian had been injured, trying to protect you from a very unpleasant trader, who had knives concealed everywhere in his clothing. Mando had been cut along his side, and while the injury would heal on its own, it had bled a lot before you’d been able to get back to the Crest and properly dress it. He’d insisted on getting the ship off the planets surface before he’d allowed you to help him, and as a result, there was blood everywhere. He hadn’t actually hired you, he had just sort of… realised that the kid liked you and decided that if you were brave enough to stick with them despite the danger of their situation, without even asking for payment, then he wouldn’t stop you.

You weren’t sure if he actually liked you. It was hard to tell with him, even after months of being couped up with the man. You could quite easily read him around others, as you’d become familiar with his body language and mannerisms, so you knew how he should behave if he liked you. But for some reason, he behaved differently with you. His body language was always much more still and maybe even careful, around you, as though he was afraid you’d break if he accidentally bumped into you. It was more than a little annoying, sometimes, since it made it difficult to define what your relationship actually was. But it was mostly just annoying because you wanted him to bump into you. He was a mystery, but that wasn’t what drew you to him. He was kind and respectful, quiet but strong, in both body and conviction. He wasn’t too proud or too self-assured, but he was loyal and protective and gentle. It was quite amazing to you that he was so proficient at using those hands for violence, when he was also so tender with the baby. It had brought tears to your eyes on more than one occasion.

When you’d finally cleaned the last remnants of blood from the controls in the cock-pit, you headed back down to check on Mando. But your eyes fell on the empty pram sitting on the floor of the cargo-bay.

“Oh, no. Kid… where’d you go?”

You searched quietly, not wanting to wake Mando after you’d finally gotten him to lay down in his bunk to rest, before going to scrub the blood away. But then you heard a muffled giggle, and of course it came from the damned bunk. You’d left the door open so that you could easily hear it if he stirred or seemed to worsen in any way.

“No, no, no… Come on, get out of there, let the man rest.”

You reached in and snatched the kid off of Mando’s chest and then stood there for a minute, rocking him quietly against your hip, while you listened for any sign that your… companion… had woken up. You eventually sighed and sat down on a crate, directly behind the bunk, cradling the kid in your arms.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, you know.”

He just cooed and looked at you with bright eyes.

“Okay. How about a bedtime story?”

He just blinked and angled his head a bit more towards you.

“Hm, let’s see. When I was young, my mother would tell me stories about love to get me to sleep. She said that a child that feels loved, will always have the comfort to sleep soundly. So, this story begins with a King. A good, and kind man who rules his land with open arms and a warm heart, but also protects it with ferocity and conviction. Because that land holds everything that he loves, and without it – he’d be broken. One day, when the King is travelling, he finds an orphan outside of his dominion, and being the good man that he is, he brings the child home, to raise as his own. He has no idea how to do that, and it’s chaotic most of the time, especially since his duties can’t be put on hold while he cares for a baby. He still has to rule the land. But he loves that baby so much, that no matter how hard it gets, he endures. He doesn’t care that he hasn’t slept in days, or that he’s always terrified that something’s gonna happen to his boy. None of it matters, as long as the child is safe.”

Mando woke up the moment the kid climbed onto his chest. It was reflexive at this point. Even though he knew that you were there, and would care for the boy without his asking, he was already conditioned to react to whatever the little one needed. But he was wounded and tired, and he heard you coming down from the cock-pit, probably having cleaned up his mess – yet again, so he ignored the kid, and made no effort to let you know that he was awake, when you came to pick the child up. He was in some pain, the wound throbbing a little with each beat of his pulse, which made falling back asleep a little harder, even though he was exhausted. And it was surprisingly nice, just listening to you talk quietly to the kid, not knowing he could hear you. It wasn’t surprising that he found it nice; he found everything about you nice. It was surprising that he enjoyed the eavesdropping aspect so much. That he liked the intimacy of listening to you when your guard was down, and you were just being a woman caring for a child. He listened closely to your story, not missing the clear similarities to your actual life and the way you two had met.

“So, when the King has to travel again, he decides to bring his son along, and they go on a long and adventurous journey together. But on their way back, they come across a woman, wounded and in need of help. And because the King is a good man, he brings the woman to his castle, and helps her heal. And while she heals, she repays the King his kindness, by looking after his son while he cares for his kingdom. And as the woman watches her rescuer, and sees the true warmth of his heart as he cares for his land as closely, and tenderly, as he cares for his son, she falls in love with him.”

He nearly stopped breathing as he heard the words. Could you really mean him? The rest of the story was more or less exactly your story, so you had to be talking about him. He had never allowed himself to consider it. To think that you could ever want to be with a man like him, no matter how much he might want you to. He knew that his efforts to restrain himself around you made him seem stiff and perhaps a bit cold, and it always hurt him to see you try so hard to read him, to understand why he was different towards you than his friends. But if you wanted him too… that changed everything.

“But this wonderful man is a King, and she’s just a woman he found on the side of the road. She has no claim to him, and she’s afraid to tell him how she feels, because if he doesn’t feel the same, it’ll break her heart. So, she cares for the child as best she can, and hopes that he won’t make her leave the castle once she’s healed. And he doesn’t. He let’s her stay, and over time, she finds the courage to tell him the truth, and he reveals that he loves her too. And together they raise the child with love and happiness and adventures, and that’s how this little story ends, my sweet.”

The kid was asleep by the time you finished the tale, and you rocked him gently in your arms after you fell silent, to make sure he wouldn’t stir once you got up to put him back in his pram. You tucked him in snugly, and then closed the little egg up, to keep him warm and safe. Once you were done, you raised your hand up to your neck, rubbing idly at the knots and strained muscles, after such a long day of hardships and stress, and you couldn’t stop the exhausted sigh that escaped you. The movement to your side didn’t register in your brain until Mando was already sitting up at the edge of the bunk, and it startled you. You flinched and then your brain woke up again, and you approached him.

“Hey, what’s the matter, are you okay? Do you need anything?”

Oh, stars above… the number of ways that he could answer that last question.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“No, no, you’re the one that’s wounded, which means I’m the only one that gets to ask that.”

He considered that for a moment.

“I heard your story, mesh’la.”

You froze, and suddenly your heart was frantic in your chest. He heard… all of that? You’d been so certain he was completely passed out! You hadn’t meant to pour so much truth into the story, but it had happened anyway, and now he knew how you felt. He knew. He saw you begin to panic and reached a gloved hand out to you, which you couldn’t bring yourself to take, but before you could back away from him, he reached for your waist instead, and pulled you in closer, until you were standing between his slightly bent knees as he rested against the bunk. You were flustered and shocked to suddenly be so close to him, and you found yourself having trouble figuring out where to put your hands in the small space between you. He’d never given any indication that he liked it whenever you’d touched him, so you settled for resting your palms on the flat and cool beskar on his chest, with your eyes firmly planted on the diamond shaped indentation at the centre of it.

“It was a very good story. I really liked it.”

Your eyes snapped up to stare at his visor, and you wanted to say a thousand things. But nothing came out. You felt him draw in a shaky breath, before his hands tightened on your hips, pulling you even closer. Then he bent his head forwards, leaning his helmet against your forehead, and your arms found their way around his waist, suddenly needing to hold him to you, now that he’d finally given you his silent permission.

“Would you tell me another story?”

His voice was trembling just a bit. Just enough that you could tell through the modulator.

“Okay. What would you like to hear?”

“Tell me how the story continues, after the King declares his love for the woman? Tell me how they live happily ever after… and I promise I’ll try to make the story come true for you.”

THE END

[enviedear]

miss moonlight, put in a word → draco malfoy

DESCRIPTION ⌙ in which draco sees the same annoying hufflepuff he’s enamored within his dreams every night, but can’t muster up the courage to talk to her in waking life. so instead he talks to the moon, telling the rock that’s miles away, everything he wants to tell her. little does he know, she does the same thing.

PAIRING ⌙ draco x fem!reader

WORD COUNT ⌙ 3k

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

its a little angsty im sorry. but im nervous abt this and have been sitting on posting it for almost a month now so please lmk if you like it :)

based off the songs talking to the moon by bruno mars and please mr sun by tommy edwards

she waves at him, her eyes holding a happy glimmer. he walks closer to her and wraps his long arms around her, pulling her close. he breathes in her scent and she giggles. it sounds like heaven. he holds her like that for what feels like forever before she pulls away.

he watches as she sits down in the grass, patting the place beside her.

“sit draco.” she commands. he complies.

“i love it when i’m asleep. you’re here and the world is so much more peaceful.” he smiles, a real true smile. not like the ones he usually gives now.

“but imagine if we were awake. the world might not be so wonderful, but we’d have each other. and the sun. and the wind. and the trees. and missus moon.” she grins, looking up at the bright blue sky.

he wants to agree, and tell her that’s all they’ll ever need. but he knows he can’t. because truth be told he needs more. he needs to know his family will be safe. he needs to know if he’ll make it out of his sixth year alive. he needs more than the sun and moon.

instead, he places his head in her lap, relishing in the way her fingers card through his hair. she sings a song he can’t place as he falls asleep. 

“i love you y/n” he whispers, right before he dozes off.

that’s how the dreams usually end. he always slips off to sleep so peacefully in your arms. but when he wakes up, he’s still in the slytherin dorm, lonely and afraid.

yours end in the same way, and when you wake, you’re clutching your pillow as if it’s him. you don’t dare tell anyone about the dreams. your friends and family would think you mad. but it’s enough for you to be able to have them, even if you’re not sure if they’re shared or not. 

you see the way he looks in the dining hall, potions, and in passing. he’s always so monotonous. so unlike the boy you’ve grown up with.

you of course have dreams, where he’s told you everything that has happened to him. he’s confessed to you that he’s working with voldemort, for his parents' sake. he even told you about dumbledore. but no matter how much you beg him to leave that life behind, he can't. besides, you’re dreaming all of this. who’s to say it’s even real. 

so you stay away, yearning for bedtime. where you can talk to the boy you love more than anything else in the world.

you’re not sure how the dreams started but you have an idea.

and so does draco.

he reckons he must have used some sort of wandless magic the night he was thinking to himself on the astronomy tower. it had been a humid night and he was all alone. his eyes deadset on the bright moon in front of him. he had just started talking.

he knew the moon wasn’t someone that could actually listen but then again, maybe that’s what he wanted? he didn’t want someone to place any input on his situation. he just wanted to speak and let his thoughts travel into the void and maybe out from his aching head.

“i just want everything to be okay. mother deserves a son who can protect her and.. father needs me. i can’t fail.  i just wish i had someone to talk to when the sun goes down. someone kind and someone warm. i know they’re somewhere out there. but maybe all i’ll ever have is you missus moon, at night when it’s just the stars to listen in to our conversation.” the boy had mumbled, before making his way to his dorm room.

you had been having a word with missus moon that night as well, alone in your hufflepuff prefect dorm. you thought yourself lucky to have a window so that you could see the stars and the moon. you were fighting sleep and had no one else to speak to, so you watched the bright yellow moon as you recounted your troubles.

“my dreams have been so bad recently missus moon. i think it’s because i’m still so scared for everyone and myself. they say the dark lord could strike any day. i’d hate for anyone i love or even myself to end up like poor cedric. i wish i had someone to talk to, someone to understand. everyone thinks i’m crazy, but they don’t know what i know. the world is getting scary. at least when the stars light up my room i have you missus moon.” you had sighed getting off the floor and laying down in your bed.

that night draco dreamt of flower fields and you. at first, the boy wondered if maybe it was real. it seemed real. he could see you and everything around you so vividly. and the same for you, you made out his platinum hair and could smell his crisp cologne. but when the two of you awoke, you knew it couldn’t be real.

until the next night, where the both of you met again in your dreams.

“are you following me?” you had asked draco.

he narrowed his eyes at you, “how could i follow you into a dream. what a stupid thing to ask.”

“you’re supposed to be nice to me. this is my dream after all.” you had pouted.

draco snorted, “i need to stop drinking tea before bed. i’m having dreams where the people in them think they’re the ones doing the dreaming.”

“but i am the one dreaming! this is my dream. i can control it, watch!” you’d grinned, before commanding a nearby tree to grow apples.

draco’s eyes had widened, “no, this can’t be right.”

you watched as he wished for the tree to grow taller before glaring at you, “smack yourself.”

you glared back at him, “no, but you can shove your fist down your throat if you’re going to be rude.”

draco circled you, “so you don’t have to do what i tell you and neither do i. strange.”

“why would i have to do what you tell me to do in my own dream?” you’d asked.

the boy had shrugged, “maybe it’s not just your dream. maybe it’s mine too.”

that’s the most the two of you ever discussed the shared dreams. after that there wasn’t a need. you both enjoyed them. both of you needed them.

once in study hall you caught draco reading a book about dreams but you didn’t ask him about it. in truth, you were too afraid to have him label you as insane.

draco found himself wanting to speak with you too. countless times. he had grown quite fond of you after the dreams he found you in every night. so in the daytime, he would sneak glances at you. he took notice if you did your hair differently or if your makeup was done. of course, he knew he couldn’t talk to you. you’d think him mad. still, he found himself dropping subtle clues to see if you’d come over to him, like reading a ghastly book about dreams in a class the two of you shared. it hadn’t worked but he could have sworn he caught you looking his way.

draco spends hours obsessing over you, the dreams, and the few glances you would give him. but the vanishing cabinet is almost fixed and he knows it’d be foolish to speak to you now. no matter how much he wishes to run into your arms and tell you to take him away from here, he won’t. 

it’s a dreary day in june and you’re getting snacks for some of the first years when you hear it. maniacal laughter and breaking glass. your first thought is to check on your house. you rush into the hufflepuff common room and make sure everyone’s ok and then urge them to stay safe. they nod and bolt to their dorms.

then, you make your way to the source of the noise. the dining hall, which is torn to shreds, is crawling with death eaters. you feel lightheaded as you watch them. out of the corner of your eye, you see professor snape making his way to the astronomy tower.

curious, you quietly sneak behind him, careful not to make yourself known. you hear a voice above you. a voice you recognize.

draco. 

you’re trying your hardest to figure out what he’s saying but you can’t. all the sounds around you are blending together and you can’t seem to calm down enough to hear anything. when the professor reaches the tower, underneath the scene of whatever is going on, you stay behind.

in a flash, the teacher is out of your vision and upstairs in the chaos.

“severus, please.” is all you hear before the killing curse bolts out of snape’s mouth.

you stand in shock as the footsteps trail out of the tower. draco. snape. dumbledore. death eaters. it was all so much.

“y/n! are you ok?” a watery-eyed harry potter asks from beside you. you don’t even question how he got here or if he saw what you did. instead, you fling your arms around him and stare at the wall petrified. no tears can escape your eyes, you’re in disbelief.

“come on. you have to breathe and we have to get down there. get your wand ready. we have to do something!” he shouts, voice breaking.

you look at him for a second before he bolts out of the room, wand in hand.

instead of trying to fight, talking to anyone about what you saw, or even going to look at your headmaster’s dead body like everyone else, you slip quietly into your prefects dorm.

you watch the moon until she’s gone and when you see mr sun the tears finally fall. you mumble, “talk to him please, mr sun.”

draco glanced at the blinding sun from the malfoy garden, where he had spent the night. he couldn’t be in that house. not after everything that happened. so instead, he sat in the garden thinking of his best thoughts, you.

he watches the sunrise, listens to the winds and the robins singing, and mutters to himself, “tell her how i feel. it shouldn’t end this way. since you are all her friends, she’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

a baby robin sings a little louder, almost like it’s agreeing, and it causes the boy to cry.

it’s an eerily quiet early morning in the room of requirement on the second of may. you’re in the back of the room, trying to sleep. sleep has become your only form of happiness. your dreams have become a wonderful fairytale. draco is still prevalent and he holds you tighter and tighter with each night.

almost as soon as you drift to bed, you hear gasps. you look up to find harry, ron, and hermione. without a care in the world, you rush to the three just like everyone else. harry gives you a weak smile and you return it.

the three of them explain that today is the day. today is the day the world is split into two and voldemort attacks. plans are arranged and everyone holds each other close.

selfishly, you wish you could see draco. 

minutes later, a meeting is called by snape in the dining hall. You watch as neville and ginny procure robes for the green-eyed boy and walk to the hall.

the carrows look at everyone with malice in their eyes as snape drones on about a sighting of harry in hogsmeade. soon after, harry shows himself and begins arguing with the black-haired man. he tells everyone about the night in the astronomy tower.

mcgonagall throws curses at the man along with harry before he flies out of the hall. The woman looks at all of us, eyes wide but determined.

in a rush, everyone is scattered about. you follow neville to the bridge and help as much as you can. when the death eaters, led by greyback, enter hogwarts, you stand your ground. you’re ready to fight.

draco easily locates blaise and goyle before heading off to find his wand and harry potter. his chest aches with looming fear but he tries to repress it the most he can.

“i guess this is it boys.” blaise sighs.

draco looks at his friend, “we’ll be fine. just stay safe and together. don’t go weak on me now zabini.”

you’re doing your best to fight off corban yaxley but every time you’re ready to throw a killing blow his way he narrowly hits you with the killing curse. your fighting in a state of pure unadulterated anger. it’s been hours of fighting but your anger remains.

“stupid little girl, you’ll be dead before nightfall.” yaxley spits before hitting you with a weak spell. 

you still double over a bit, but hold your ground enough to raise your wand and hit him with the cruciatus curse. in the corner of your eye you watch professor flintwick begin dueling the vicious man, before running inside the castle.

fire burns everywhere around draco. he’s about to turn to blaise and say his goodbyes before potter snatches him up and leads him out of the room of requirement. the second he’s on the ground he makes a run for it. he loses blaise on the way and can’t seem to figure out where to go. he’s on the second floor, tears are pooling out of his eyes and the ache in his chest has grown when his body collides with another.

you fall back, hitting your head against the hard stone of the castle floor. when you look up, your vision is hazy and shaky.

“y/n?”

you know that voice. it’s the same voice you’ve heard every single night for a year.

“draco?” you ask, hands reaching out.

“you’re bleeding. let me help,” he says before gently healing your head.

you stare at the boy, “you know it feels weird to see you. i’ve never really spoken to you besides the dreams.”

his eyes grow wide, “you know about those?”

you smile a little, “yeah, i do.”

the two of you find yourselves entering the great hall, helping whoever you two can.

draco is comforting a teary-eyed second year when blaise zabini comes in, eyes bloodshot and clutching his right arm.

you watch as the two embrace, pulling apart so that draco can tend to his arm.

minutes that feel like hours pass as the three of you silently process the commotion going on around you.

a tattered luna lovegood emerges through the rubble and towards the three of you.

“everyone’s outside now- harry he... i think you all should come with me.” her shaky voice requests.

draco looks to you and nods, helping you rise. his hand grasps yours and you all follow luna outside.

all around you is destruction. the place you’ve called home for years in now a bruised battleground and at the very center of it stands the man you’ve come to fear more than anything in the world. voldemort. 

“harry potter, is dead.” the creature laughs.

you grip draco tighter and he looks at you with an expression of sorrow.

“from this day forth you put your faith in me. and now is the time to declare yourself! come forward and join us. or die.” the man spits, smiling at the broken faces opposite him.”

it is quiet for just a moment before lucius malfoy calls for his son. you watch the man and his wife plead with him. but his hand remains in yours and feet right beside you.

you look up at him and give him your brightest smile, a smile you would give him in dreams. as he peers down at you he knows that nothing in the world means more to him than you and that smile he’s spent hours telling missus moon about.

“you insolent boy, draco!” the snake-like man hisses.

you turn to face him, eyes wide with fury and hate.

neville begins limping toward the band of villains.

“i’d like to say something.” the boys breathes out.

voldemort smirks at him, “well neville i’m sure we’d all be fascinated to hear what you have to say.”

“you’re wrong! harry’s heart did beat for us, for all of us!” and with that, he pulls the sword of godric gryffindor out of the sorting hat he’s been clutching and aims it at the deatheaters and their leader.

draco’s head cranes in harry’s direction, and in an instant, the boy flies out of hagrid’s arms and throws a spell at voldemort.

you cry out along with everyone else before watching voldemort’s followers disappear.

“come on, we’ve fought enough. i won’t let you die now!” draco commands, leading you to the bridge.

you follow, but turn to look at the castle one last time. draco stops as well and you see him meet ron and hermione’s gaze. ron nods his head and draco returns the gesture.

“let’s go draco.” you sigh.

he didn’t know he’d see you again. the two of you had gone to your home to bathe and sleep and when the boy found himself in his dreams, he saw you.

you smile at the platinum haired boy, “sit draco.”

he complies. 

“i hope you haven’t gotten tired of seeing me. i suppose it will be a lot now. to have me in waking and in sleep.” you giggle.

draco stares at you deeply, “i could never get tired of you. i’ve spent a year talking to the moon, trying to get you. in hopes you're on the other side, talking to me too. i’ve asked the sun to tell you all the things i couldn’t, the wind to whisper all the things i love about you, all the rainbows to make you smile, and the trees to take you under their branches. i’d want nothing more than this.”

you lean your head on his shoulder, “i’m here now and we have eternity to tell eachother the things we haven’t said yet.”

the two of you can’t help but to stare at the moon some nights, silently thanking missus moonlight for putting in a word.

[ilalos]

True love (Hvitserk Ragnarsson x reader/Ivar Ragnarsson x reader)

Summary: In order to make you happy Ivar has to give away what he loves most, you.

Warnings: there’s like one curse word, a little bit of angst and I think that’s it :)

Word count: 1.4k

Ivar loved you, he knew he did but he also knew that because of his love for you he had to do this. After all his years on this earth he finally understood what true love is: sacrifice, so he was gonna sacrifice himself for your happiness and pretend he had no feelings towards you, pretending to hate you so you could be happy and have what you always wished for.

And his sacrifice brought him to where he is now, yours and Hvitserk’s wedding.

You were the love of Ivar's life and he had known that since the moment he first saw you in the woods, you had an exceptional talent at setting traps and he always saw you walking home with a good hunt. The first time he gathered enough courage to talk to you was when he watched you carrying a small deer, the animal although small in size seemed to be giving you a fight with its weight; he had taken a deep breath and crawled your way, and when he was near enough he called out scaring the spirits out of you, after accepting his help you tied the hind legs of the deer to his waist and walked at his pace as you both dragged the animal in complete silence.

After that day Ivar started spending more and more time with you, helping you set up the ground traps or unloading them. In between the hunting and the work you guys talked about anything, from his annoying brothers (specially Sigurd) to his dreams of raiding far across the seas. On the other hand you told him about your life as a farm girl and that you dreamed about having a family someday with a loving husband and many children, Ivar felt terrible when he heard you talk about such dreams mainly due to the fact that he was incapable of giving you that.

As the moons passed and he felt himself falling deeper and deeper for you he decided he needed to do something to show all his love, even if you never knew about it. He concluded that in order to make you happy he needed to get you the best husband available, so that you could have the loving family you always talked about. He then thought than no one could be better for you than one of the ragnarssons and since it couldn't be him it had to be either Ubbe or Hvitserk, because the gods know he would never give such a beautiful and precious woman to Sigurd.

A few more days passed by and he finally made up his mind as he walked towards the great hall to meet his family for dinner. He looked at Hvitserk during the whole meal and determined he would be perfect for you, he could make you laugh, please you, love you and give you all the children your heart desired; he also knew (Hvitserk told him) that his brother would remain faithful to the woman he married leaving all his player days in the past.

After dinner ended Ivar asked Hvitserk to speak with him privately in his room and, although confused, he followed his crawling brother in silence.

"I need you to do something for me, something important" began Ivar.

"Tell me brother" urged Hvitserk, now moving from confused to worried.

"I need you to marry the woman I love"

"What? Who? Why?" asked Hvitserk raising his voice with each question "NO!" he protested with a final raise in his voice.

"I wouldn't be asking if I didn't really need it"

"Why on earth do you need me to marry the woman YOU love?!" screamed Hvitserk being quickly hushed by his younger brother who pulled him by his legs making him fall on his ass.

"I just can't give her what she needs, okay?! I c-can't perform like a man should but you can! You can love her, and please her! A-and give her fucking babies!" stuttered Ivar in a harsh whisper looking down at his lap instead of his brother's face "I j-just want her to be happy, Hvitserk" his eyes filled with tears that he tried to blink away "and I can't make her happy" a small sob shook his body when he finished speaking.

"I could never do this to you Ivar, how could I marry her knowing that you are watching and suffering the loss of your lover? What kind of brother would I be?" Hvitserk tried to reason with his youngest brother but as he saw him angrily wiping his tears away he knew that there was no way to change his mind "why me?" he asked finally, resigned to marry this girl.

"Ubbe is to gentle and sometimes too serious, she needs someone to make her laugh" Ivar smile sadly thinking of the beauty that was your laugh "And I would never give Sigurd the pleasure to keep my love, he would do it only to rub it in my face" he chuckled bitterly.

"So you chose me because I'm goofy?"

"I chose you because you are the most loyal man I've ever seen, I know you will care for her and harm will not get to her life if she is with you. You will be the man that she wakes up next to, and you will also be the man who falls asleep next to her making her giggle with some terrible joke. She will be a very loving wife and she will give you wonderful kids, and will be an amazing mother..."

Hvitserk's eyes got a little more teary than he would ever admit, but hearing his brother talk about the future he wanted with the woman he loved honestly broke his heart. The more Ivar spoke the more Hvitserk understood why he needed him to marry this girl so badly, he loved her so much that he could only let her go because he could not give her everything she wished for.

"I promise you brother, I will lover her and take care of her with all my heart and strength and she will never have a day where she feels unloved or unsafe" promised Hvitserk holding Ivar's face in his hands and looking into his eyes.

The very next day you met in the woods when Hvitserk took Ivar's place in helping you with your duties and flirting endlessly with you. You fell rather quickly for the ragnarsson and when he asked you to marry him a couple of moons after you had met, you had no reason to say no. You were aware of your deep feelings for Ivar, but when you approached him to talk about your recent engagement you received a slap, a laugh and a shove from the cripple when you tried to apologize to him for falling for his brother because you felt like you were betraying him in some way.

"How could you think I would ever love you? A simple farmer like you is no match for a prince like me, my brother is the only man blind enough to want to marry a girl like you" Ivar had spoken with all the venom he could muster and looked at you as if he was looking at the filthiest creature in Midgard "I only ever helped you so I could mock you with my brothers at supper, poor dreamy (y/n), thinking me, Prince Ivar the Boneless could ever love a low creature like you? HA!" he had laughed and when you tried to touch his face to talk some sense into his thick head he had slapped your arms away and shoved you backwards pushing your stomach harshly.

Hvitserk saw and heard everything and he knew his brother felt like being stabbed with every word that left his mouth, with every tear that felt down your pretty face. He didn't intervene until he saw you hitting the ground and then he quickly approached you, picking you up and glaring at his brother, not missing the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes as he turned and crawled away.

The wedding day finally came and all of Kattegat was there to witness the marriage of prince Hvitserk. Some slaves cried knowing the prince would never look their way again, and other stared angrily at the gorgeous bride as she walked by them, slowly approaching her future husband. The ceremony was quick and everyone enjoyed the feast while you were completely oblivious to the eyes that never left your form, belonging to the man who loved you even more than the man who actually got the chance to marry you.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Hi! This was also written a long time ago and was posted on my Wattpad, I edited it and changed a couple things so again, if you feel like you read this years ago you probably did haha. Thanks for reading :) I hope you like it

[maybe-theres-hope]

Of Will and Wildflowers, Interlude - Carlos: “Indecision”

-Hello all. I debated about ever having this see the light of day, as I wrote it as sort of a character study to keep myself honest while writing the main story, which I always intended to be single POV for the drama of it all. 

However, in my heart I feel like I owe you all at least something for how long you’ve waited for the conclusion to this story (I originally intended to post the whole thing before the season even started and...here we are lol), and I figured you’d appreciate this. It doesn’t spoil anything, so don’t be afraid to read if that’s something you’re worried about (unless of course you haven’t read the story at all, in which case here you go!). It’s just a glimpse into Carlos’ psyche in this AU. 

This takes place the second night of the Strand’s visit, after TK and Carlos take their first journey around the grounds that ends in the apple orchard, and subsequently Elena spilling that Mr. de Castillo will be joining them soon.

This is for all those who have encouraged me so much with this story, and I promise you all you will get the conclusion! Life has just gotten in the way so much lately :( @oquinn53, @reyeslonestar, @howtosingit, @a-l-ias, @mtnofgrace, @descending-into-the-crazies if I missed you let me know please! I love you all :)

Carlos was having difficulty dressing for dinner, and it wasn’t because of the fiddly fastenings of his waistcoat.

TK Strand was…The man was…

Carlos was also having difficulty with full sentences, even ones inside his own head.

The morning they’d shared had been as if from a dream, or a fairytale from one of Raquel’s storybooks. Every time TK smiled at the vast landscape of Carlos’ home, every time his eyes lit up at the brush of scent from the wildflowers hitting his nose, Carlos was arrested. Time stood frozen for a few moments in which he could admire the man before him at his leisure, when he could ascend to a higher plane of aesthetic dominated by the gentle slope of TK’s jaw.

Carlos had also to admit to himself—if not out loud just yet—that there was also the man’s intellect, not just his beautiful face and impeccable seat on a horse, that drew Carlos’ attention. When Carlos had asked him of his life in New York, TK had for some reason shied away from speaking of his father’s company and his own part in it, as Carlos might have expected from a man of business on a business trip. Instead, he talked of Central Park and the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and how the architecture compared to that which he’d seen on their journey through the South. He spoke of the air surrounding them and how clean it smelled, even though Carlos knew they were downwind from a herd and they both knew it.

The man was charming in his innocence and captivating in his depth in turns, and Carlos could hardly bear to look away or allow himself to speak in his turn when TK asked him a question about this landmark or that bit of wildlife.

They’d passed the morning gently ambling along wherever the horses saw fit to take them, talking of everything and nothing, and it had been glorious. And their picnic…their picnic! Carlos had never worshipped Mrs. Smith’s blackberry jam quite as much as when he caught a glimpse of it clinging to the side of TK’s mouth just before a deft tongue slipped out to take it away. He was quite taken aback at the weight of his infatuation, to be honest. He’d not ever had occasion to fall so fast into regard for someone, and it was at times disorienting and grounding. His body felt as if it had been given over to some mystical force, using its hands to ensure the movement of his heart when it stopped itself at the sight of TK’s smile in the sunshine and guiding his eyes to alight once more upon TK’s handsome profile.

The apple orchard had been…a risk. Carlos simply could no longer help himself in his desire to be near this man. He made every clandestine endeavor to brush a shoulder or knee or knuckle as they walked. Holding TK’s hand properly to help him down from Flor’s saddle was akin to ascension to the clouds beyond.

His hand still tingled when he thought of it.

Was this what everyone referred to when they spoke of love? Surely not. He’d only known the man for two days. And yet.

And yet.

Just then a knock at his bedroom door startled him out of his thoughts, which he was secretly glad of.

After a word of acquiescence from Carlos, Christina passed through the door before shutting it again behind her quietly. Her face still held a small trace of trepidation in it when she caught his gaze, and he was instantly reminded of the scene on the porch when they’d arrived back from their tour of the property.

Fernando was coming, and that muddied his thoughts more than all the rest.

“I came to see how you were faring, and I see it’s just as I suspected,” she offered in greeting. She stood in the middle of the room with her hands clasped against her skirts, looking at him in earnest.

“And what did you suspect?”

“You’re warring inside your own head as we speak. Your thoughts are plain as day on your face. As is your utter admiration for our handsome Mr. Strand. Don’t try to deny it, I know you far better than you wish.”

“That is the truth,” he muttered with a sigh. “What am I to do?”

“About what? Your obvious inclination toward Mr. Strand? Or your equally obvious promise to Mr. de Castillo?”

“There was no promise!” He flopped himself down on the bed, dressing forgotten for the moment. They’d had this argument before. “It is merely an understanding, built upon mutual need. We can just as easily misunderstand each other as well.”

“But you’re not that kind of man, Carlos. You don’t go back on your word,” she replied, her expression turning miserable. She was perhaps the only one who truly understood what had been going on in his head when he’d made the promise in the first place. Christina was also possibly the only one who truly understood why he was warring over it now. She could read his face, his tone of voice, the shape of his stance like a book.  Sometimes he hated it, but for the moment he was quite glad to not have to articulate the particulars of this struggle in bare words. He was content to skirt around the topic they both knew was on his mind with veiled hints and euphemisms.

“I know. So, esteemed elder sister, what should I do?”

She came closer and laid a hand upon his shoulder, her face still a picture of commiseration.

“You should do what every gentleman and lady wishes they could do, but for which they all lack the courage.” He stared at her, waited for her to elaborate. “You should follow your heart.”

“I can see now why all those other gentlemen and ladies lack the courage! I am damned if I do anything. If I keep my word to Fernando, I will be secure but restless, adrift, unfulfilled and bound to endure it, and it will be no fault of his but completely my own. He is a good man, and he does not deserve my indifference.”

“But he would have it anyway, would he not? You don’t—“

“You’re right, I do not. But that is not the point!”

“I thought it was? And what should happen if you break your word?” Her eyes seemed to bore into his skull despite the soft brown of her irises.

“I…” Words seemed to slip away on the wind from the open window. He thought again of TK asking about the wildflowers, how his smile lit up the landscape more than the rising sun. He could picture a thousand mornings spent just as they had this one, or perhaps instead of combing Carlos’ family homeland on horseback, they would promenade in Central Park among the birds and trees. They would walk arm in arm with no destination, just the inclination to be together in the bright spring air. He would utter some quip about the couple across the way just to hear the bells of TK’s laughter. TK would point out some high society maiden and they’d remark—under their breath of course—about the ridiculousness of her hat. At the end of each day they would return home together to sit by a roaring fire and talk into the night about everything and nothing before lying down beside each other and drifting into dreams that could do nothing to rival their waking lives.

The picture abruptly vanished at the thought of Fernando, however. Carlos was right, the man did not deserve to be slighted after all he’d done to assure Carlos of a life beyond his mother’s death and Rosa’s inheritance. Fernando was handsome, kind, and the catch of the century. Anyone would be envious of Carlos’ position.

Except Carlos.

Christina, who had been heretofore silent while her brother ruminated in his thoughts, finally sat beside him on the bed and slipped her arm into his, laying her head upon his shoulder.

“I know it’s not ideal, but you have to choose the path that puts your heart at ease, the one you can live with for the rest of your life. If you do that, you’ll be content. If you go against your own heart, you’ll never know peace.”

The problem was, Carlos couldn’t make sense of what his heart wanted in the slightest, and because of that he was frozen in indecision.

[murdershegoat]

it started out with a kiss (how did it end up like this)

(on ao3 // ko-fi)

based on this post

Lena has encountered a problem.

Just a small one, a slight issue.

A teeny tiny complication.

Her roommate keeps kissing her.

Which usually, like, that would be fantastic. Kara kissing her should be best case scenario for Lena.

Except--

“She keeps kissing me while I’m asleep. Well, she thinks I’m asleep, but I’m not. And it’s not, god, it’s not in a creepy way, not at all."

“I’m sorry-” Jack interjects Lena’s stuttering monologue, “How is kissing you whilst you’re unconscious not a creepy thing??”

Lena sighs. “Because it’s like-- it’s like... I don’t know how to explain.”

“Use your words, dude.”

“I nap a lot,” Lena says. “on the couch in our living room, and if I fall asleep without a blanket--”

“So every time you fall asleep, then,” Jack says,  knowing his friend much too well.e

“-- she’ll cover me up with one. Which has been totally normal and fine because there is literally nothing in my life right now more intimate than falling asleep without a blanket and waking up knowing that Kara cares enough about me to put one on me--”

“My god you’re gay.”

“-- except now I’ve woken up three separate times while she’s doing it and she pulls the blanket up to my chin and then kisses me. On the forehead.”

Jack, for the first time in his life, is quiet. He sips his tea with the delicate touch he was forced to internalise at boarding school.

“Lena,” he says softly. “Are you telling me that the woman you’ve been pining over since freshman year, the woman you choose to room with instead of just letting your mother buy you an apartment, the woman you’re head over heals in love with, keeps kissing you?”

“Yes.”

“She’s kissed you in a very intimate, love-filled way at least three times.”

“Yep.”

“Why the FUCK is that a problem??” He erupts, tossing his hands in the air.

“Because she won’t kiss me when I’m awake!!!!!!!!” Lena throws back at him, even louder than Jack had been, completely forgetting the fact that they’re sitting in a very busy cafe. She shrinks down into her chair, her face burning red as others look in their direction.

When he’s finished laughing, Jack leans forward, his elbows resting on the table top. “All you need to do is talk to her.”

“All I need to do?? All I need to do???? You say it like it’s not the single most terrifying thing I can think of. I can barely fucking function around her as it is, how am I supposed to just talk to her about this??”

“I genuinely don’t understand how you’re a functioning adult. Lena she clearly likes you. I’ve told you this a thousand times. You don’t look at somebody the way she looks at you unless you have feelings for them.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because you look at her the exact same way!!! Like she hung the sodding sun in the sky! This isn’t rocket science. You know how I know it’s not rocket science? Because you can actually do rocket science. And yet somehow you can’t bloody do this.”

She stares at Jack over her coffee, eyes narrowed, and he stares right back. Finally, she scoffs, leaning back in her chair.

“Fine. I’ll talk to her.”

Jack grins. “That’s the spirit, dear.”

//

She doesn’t talk to Kara.

But it’s not her fault!! Kara’s doing yoga in the living room when Lena gets home and the sight of her in nothing but skin tight shorts and a sports bra leaves Lena all flustered and she couldn’t possibly attempt speaking in full sentences. 

No. Better to leave it, she decides.

But then Kara’s asleep when she leaves for class in the morning and Lena knows she has night classes so they won’t see each other all day. Maybe she’ll do it tomorrow, she thinks.

Dinner is a solemn affair, cheap take out she eats while watching some documentary that makes her cry and she puts her head down on the pillow for a second to get comfortable--

And then she’s woken by the slight weight of a blanket being draped on her, and the feeling of Kara’s lips on the top of her head.

Lena tilts her head up slightly, still groggy from her nap.

“’Lo,” she mumbles.

“Jesus, Lena!!” Kara yelps, flinging herself back and almost falling over the coffee table. She jerks up straight. “I thought you were asleep.” 

“Woke up,” Lena says, still unable to think conscious thoughts. “You kissed me.”

She’s not too asleep to notice the blush rise in Kara’s cheeks.

“Yeah I guess I did.”

“It’s not the first time, either,” Lena says with no hesitation.

Kara just shakes her head softly. 

“Is it because...” Lena stops. “Why?”

“Why do I show you affection?”

“Please don’t make me feel like I’m going mad. You’re always affectionate. An arm around me while we sit on the couch, or hugging me while you’re waiting for me to cook dinner or-or... This is different. This feels different.”

“It is different,” Kara admits. She sits on the couch beside Lena, as close as she can without them touching. “I couldn’t work up the courage to do it any other time. I was working on it.”

She takes Lena’s hand in her own, holding it lightly.

“Kara,” Lena says. “I like you. Like. I really like you. Like a lot.”

“That’s good,” Kara smiles her megawatt smile. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with you.”

Lena can’t contain herself any longer. She leans forward and kisses her, her free palm resting against Kara’s cheek. If Kara’s surprised, she doesn’t show it, kissing Lena back confidently. 

And when they pull away from each other (much too soon, Lena thinks) all Lena can say is,

“Whoa.”

Kara laughs. “Tell me about it.”

And then she leans in for another kiss.

[gemcuare]

Mama of Two

Every year on the first Sunday in May, International Bereaved Mother's Day honors mothers who have lost a child. It's also a day to recognize women who cannot be a mother due to infertility or other health reasons. One of the hardest days for many women around the world as Mother's Day.

TRIGGER WARNING mention of loss

So I will carry you While your heart beats here Long beyond the empty cradle Through the coming years I will carry you All my life And I will praise the One Who's chosen me To carry you

It’s been a little over four years now since I started this motherhood journey. Even my last proper blog entry here was about Maternity... an experience I wanted to write about in a series. But obviously, four years have passed since and my son has now grown into this wonderful, cheeky big boy (family also moved from Korea to New Zealand)! I just wrote about the second trimester the last time I sat to blog here and now I am at this stage of getting him his first soccer shoes and having his primary school enrolment lined up. Time sure did fly!

But as the title of this entry suggests, I also have a second child. And that, after gathering some courage, I promised myself to write. Nothing inspiring or interesting like that. But still something I hold close to my heart and will read back in years to come. Anyway...

In September 2020, after a year or so of anxiety from secondary infertility (my hormones have always been at odds with me for forever) while trying to conceive Baby #2, I received the miracle of an answered prayer... and that was the wanted pregnancy. 

It was the 7th week (October), instead of an ultrasound to confirm a heartbeat, I found myself waking up from an emergency surgery. While I was in bed, the surgeon stopped by, showed me photos of my uterus, the right fallopian tube where the fetus was in, the beginning stages of internal bleeding-- the cold clinical diagnosis of an ectopic pregnancy, and the successful laparoscopy. From a medical and moral standpoint, the pregnancy was not viable, the internal bleeding was life-threatening, so termination was inevitable.

Compassionately, the doctors expressed their sympathy and added a hopeful “Next time we hope to see you in the maternity ward (to deliver a baby)...” I sighed a sigh of relief, thanked them for saving my life, and got myself ready for the road to recovery.

Or not. 

It didn’t take long from the “I can’t believe it, we’re gonna have another baby!” to turn into “I can’t believe I lost a baby.” 

Just as two lines on a pregnancy test could easily lead to a future family of four... until something goes wrong and your worst fear is realised.

From Congratulations to I’m sorry.

From dream come true to living a nightmare.

From exciting to traumatic.

From thanking God for an answered prayer to being angry at God for the tragedy.

Grief. Yes, it has become very much a big part of me since that day of my surgery. Since becoming a mother. Of. Two.

6 years ago, when I lost my father at 52, grief entered and changed me and scarred me for life. Then...

It happened again. 

Not long ago, I was happy and hopeful... now I’m walking this sometimes painful, sometimes numbing, always lonely road of grief. My incision scars have long faded and all. I even forget that I had a body part gone. But not the part of my Mama heart that died.

I often listen to Bethany Barnard’s song, Tears on Your Face. A raw and beautiful song coming from grief... one of my go-to songs for comfort to ride a wave of grief or anger that knocks the wind out of my faith.

You don't fast forward me through this And I've gotta reconcile that You want to know me when I'm like this And I've gotta reconcile that You didn't change the diagnosis And I've gotta reconcile that You've reconciled it all in Your flesh

And like her, I’m still trying to make sense of my life post the loss. 

It’s now 2022, I’m living through a global pandemic, inflation, and war but I’ll shamelessly admit that I’m still hung up on losing that baby. There was even a phase... whenever I heard someone complain about something, and while listening, looking like I was empathizing, but mentally I was raging. So? But I lost my baby...

The weather sucks. So? But I lost my baby.. 

Traffic sucks. So? But I lost my baby.. 

The housing market sucks. So? But I lost my baby..

COVID sucks.  So? But I lost my baby..

The government sucks.  So? But I lost my baby..

Everyone around me moved on in life. And to me, that felt wrong. But that was just my grief. 

I couldn’t stand pregnancy and baby related posts on social media. But that was just my grief. 

I gave my son extra hugs thinking bitterly that he might be an only child. But that was just my grief. 

I stopped praying. I was scared that instead of giving, God will keep taking away from me. But that was just my grief.

On better days, I find comfort in knowing that my baby is Home in Glory, like my Papa. That she (or he) won’t have to experience the struggles of living in this fallen world, she was spared of suffering and evil. And that I will meet her. Even if it’s for the first time. Because God made her soul, she exists. I’ll always be her mum and she will always be my child. God is good. I’m gonna be okay.

On difficult days, I am far from okay. Hours of stuffing my face in a pillow, stifling the ugly bawling. Here I go again, mourning...

I know that I’ll be brokenhearted for a very long time... I’ve read so many stuff coming from mothers who lost children from every stage of pregnancy or infancy... In Reddit, Facebook groups, Youtube’s comment section. Mothers mourning for 10, 20, 50 long years. Crying about someone they’ll never know in this life but alive and loved, forever carried in their hearts. So much grief and pain.

This is the world of bereaved mothers. A place no Mama deserves to find themselves in. A life I didn’t want to know and am crippled with.

I am all here to celebrate my son’s milestones. Absolutely! but also a part of me will grieve for the other one who didn’t make it... 

Knowing what I know, I hoped to go through it all again, you see.  Having been through pregnancy, babyhood, and now childhood through raising my son... I was going to be an improved version, not like a first-timer. But instead, I am in a loop, hounded by what-if’s and could be’s... I never thought it’ll be silently devastating. The trauma is so sneaky, out of nowhere it messes with me.

I wasn’t prepared for it-- the unbearable thought of never knowing.

The sound of your heartbeat.

The sleepless nights. The cuddles and kisses.

What you’d look like. Your smile. Your frown. 

What you’d sound like.  When you call me “Mama.”

I wasn’t prepared for it-- the guilt.

I was supposed to keep you healthy and safe and alive. But instead, from the womb, I couldn’t. For all I know, you were a perfectly healthy baby, but to preserve my life, yours was cut short. I gave up my right tube for my right to live. For my health and future’s sake. While you were just getting started, cells still multiplying, your tiny heart still beating. *SNIP* Tube removed. That was it?

I feel like I should be very sorry. Why, my poor baby, you had to go that way?

I wasn’t prepared for it-- a future of missing someone.

When we take a family picture, Christmas, New Year, birthdays, and every June. I can just see you there, you were going to turn 2.

So it’s just right to not ever forget you. I can’t and I shouldn’t. I’ll make sure your brother knows you. But even if it’s just me, I’ll cry when I think of you, when you were given to me and when I lost you. I’ll still imagine you could have been my little girl or boy, someone to cherish and be proud of. Always part of the family I’ve always wanted... 

You belong here.

 And on That Day, when I face you, I can say that in my life, in my own way, no matter what, Mama’s here and I love you.

Helpful Links:

13 Things You Should Know About Grief After Miscarriage or Baby Loss

Things Not to Say to Someone After a Miscarriage

The Ectopic Pregnancy Trust

Pregnancy/Infant/Child Loss Support

An Unexpected Family Outing

P.S.  To family and friends and co-workers who have been there for me, and prayed for me, I also want to say THANK YOU again. I may not be in a better place yet emotionally, and even my faith walk has nothing to show for it... Two years on, know that I’ll always be grateful.

[scullysexual]

Baby Cries

Post Emily | Words: 2055 | Angst | Warning: Tiny bit of borderline child abuse | AO3 |

How Scully deals with Emily’s death post funeral. 

My angsty Emily fics never do as well but this post got me thinking. Don’t let the warning put you off reading I just thought it was important that I said something about that bit (which you will understand if you read it) I hope you like it :)

@today-in-fic @mypanicface @impulsive-astrophile

- - - 

He brings flowers. Carries them in his arms much like a mother would carry a new-born baby. It just makes her cry.

When he hands her the flowers to remove the lid of the coffin to reveal a box full of sand, she cries even harder. Her gold cross stark against the dimmer yellow.

She looks down at the cross, then at the altar, wanting to curse the god- her god- that would take her baby away.

But God gives and God takes away; he gave her a child, then took that child away.

Mulder takes her hand and guides her out of the church. In the distance, Matthew whines and it creates the strangest sensations within her. An instinct which should have died with her daughter remerges, tugging at her chest. In her fuzzy-grieving state she hears Emily’s cry.

All baby’s look the same at that age. All baby’s sound the same at that age.

.:.:.:.:.:.

The wake is small and quiet. Much like the funeral, only the family attend. The family and Mulder.

His whiskey sits before him, going stale with each passing minute. Bill Jr. eyes him from the kitchen but even he’s smart enough to know that now is not the time to pick a fight.

Mulder’s attention is trained on Scully. There’s the quiet murmur of a conversation between Bill, Tara, and Mrs Scully. It’s Scully who sits alone on the two-seater table, the wine bottle in front of her, downing wine glass after wine glass.

His eyes flick to the clock on top of the fireplace.

Can I buy you a drink?

It’s 2 o’clock in the afternoon, Agent Mulder.

Another glass.

It’s 2 o’clock now, Agent Scully.

He takes a glance behind him, her family looking on towards Scully from the kitchen doorway as they continue to converse softly, their words low enough to be inaudible from here.

It makes Mulder uncomfortable. He has an urge to remove Scully from the room, take her somewhere more private away from prying eyes. He knows they’re her family and yet they should be the last people being judgemental.

He downs the whisky in one gulp, not as courage but more necessity- it would be wasteful after all- and is about to move from his seat when there’s another cry from Matthew.

Whatever trance Scully had found herself in with her wine is broken at the sound. Her head snaps up towards the direction of the noise and she stands as if about to go up there herself.

“It’s okay, Dana,” says Tara softly as she enters the living room. Matthew and his presence has become a touchy subject. “He’s just hungry.”

Scully sits back down, a dazed look returning to her face as she looks to be repeatedly blinking.

Mulder pushes himself off the couch and walks towards her, extending his hand out.

She looks at it, then at him, confused.

“Where are we going?” she asks childlike.

“I think a lie down would do you some good,” he answers.

She looks towards the bottle and Mulder’s eyes follow, sees it’s almost gone.

“Come on,” he says gently. She takes his hand and much like in the church, she allows him to guide her out.

Upstairs, they hear Tara tending to her son and Scully’s stopping suddenly has her yanking on his arm, her hand tightening in his.

“I thought it was Emily,” she says, tears beginning to form in her eyes once more. “Mulder, why do I keep thinking it’s Emily?”

She searches his face for answers but he has none to give. He feels dumb, inadequate to help her. He opens his mouth but the words don’t come out.

He closes it and sighs as she looks down to the carpet, realising he doesn’t know himself.

“Come on,” he says again.

.:.:.:.:.:.

Her bedroom here is the same one as the one from her childhood only it’s cold and devoid of her things. A suitcase lies on the floor, half packed, reminding her of a flight she should have taken days ago.

But then she found Emily and then Emily got sick and then there was Emily’s funeral.

“Can we go home tomorrow?” is what is asks.

Mulder is bewildered. “Scul—”

“Please!” she begins to beg. She never begs, only ever done it once when she was dying. She feels like she’s dying now, wilting away like the flowers at Emily’s coffin, wilting away like her daughter’s stolen body. The thought makes her beg some more.

“Please, Mulder,” she asks, grabbing at his shoulders, clinging to his arms. “Please, take me home. I want to go home.”

She crumbles against him, falling against his chest, the weight of her body knocking him off balance momentarily as he catches her. Saying nothing, his hand touching her head, fingers in her hair as she splutters her anguish into him.

His cheek resting against the top of her head, wrapping his arms tighter around her.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says.

The answer is enough, it has her calming down, her weeping turning to sniffles.

She’s sleepy against him. Wined-drunk and exhausted, snuggling into his chest, snotting all over his shirt. She wipes it away with her sleeve.

There is still a persistent ache in her chest. The wine and exhaustion doing nothing to send it away. She wants it gone, she thinks. Wants to numb it until she can’t feel it, until it’s a distant memory. She wants a distraction; work or…

She has work in her arms: Mulder, her partner, her best friend, her one companion.

She lifts her head up, rests her chin on his chest.

“Mulder…” she says.

He looks down and Scully rises onto her tip-toes, stretching up for her lips to touch his.

And it’s not enough. This mere contact between them, she needs more. She pushes against him, tongue poking between his lips seeking access. Her hands moving from his waist to the top of his neck to press harder.

But he realises what it is she’s doing, begins pulling away.

“Scully, no…” he starts. “Not- not like this.”

“Yes like this,” she answers, seeking him once more, chasing after him, following him like she always has done, like she always will.

But his finger is at her lips, preventing her from getting any closer.

“Not like this,” he says, looking into his eyes. In them she sees it, the gentleness, the understanding, the want but the restraint. This isn’t a rejection, he’s telling her. It’s just not the time.

She slinks away, back to her natural height, and turns away to the bed.

“Will you stay with me?” she asks pulling back the covers, looking towards him.

He nods. “I’ll stay,” he answers moving to the chair.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She wakes and he is gone.

She wakes and there is crying.

She’s slept a full twelve hours if the clock is right.

I’m coming, baby, she thinks. Emily is crying. Emily needs her.

She makes her way to the nursery, her eyes on the cot and the baby that squirms around in it.

She is smiling. It feels foreign, as does the heaviness in her breasts but she goes to the cot away, to the baby who still whines.

But when she reaches it, realisation hits her. Her hands touching the rail of the cot has her remembering.

She has no baby. Her Emily is dead.

Instead lies Matthew staring up at her with curiosity.

She stares down at it with disgust.

Matthew, she thinks, reaching down to pick him up. His head hangs back.

He smells. A scent coming off of him, the low-hanging diaper the cause of what woke him.

“Why did you get to be born while Emily died?” she asks him. “Was this the price? Tara’s baby for mine?”

Matthew has no answer and Scully has the urge to shake him until she gets one but no, instead her hands find themselves squeezing his side. The baby begins to whimper and the harder she presses the more his cries break through until he’s screaming.

It’s release. The baby screaming is her screaming. It’s doing the thing she can’t do. It’s also doing it because she’s hurting him.

A bright light is on just as she realises, releasing her grip on him.

“Dana?” Tara’s voice has Scully spinning around to the four people standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing?” Her sister-in-law’s voice in equal parts curious and in denial. They all know what she was doing. She sees that knowledge in Mulder, the way he looks down at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she says, handing Matthew back to Tara. She leaves briskly, pushing through the small gap between everyone, down the stairs, towards the door, grabbing Mulder’s car keys as she goes.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

He can’t say what he saw exactly.

Scully holding Matthew, Matthew crying. It could’ve been anything.

“I don’t know why she was holding him like that,” Tara says sounding scared. She holds Matthew close to her, protecting him.

“She’s grieving, Tara,” says Mrs Scully.

Yet Bill Jr. is fuming.

“It’s not Matthew’s fault the girl is dead,” he says his voice full of quiet anger.

Mulder leaves, intending on finding where Scully ran off to and leaving the family to figure it out.

Through the window by the stairs, he sees her sitting in his car. Her head bowed down. This is not somebody who needs to be berated right now.

He puts on his shoes and opens the front door. She doesn’t see him when he reaches the car so he taps on the window, alerting her. She looks up and smiles sadly. He smiles back slightly, opening the car door and climbs in.

They sit in silence for a while and Mulder looks over to Scully, to her hands that tangle together and how glum she looks, staring out the window, her eyes wet.

“I was gonna drive off somewhere,” she says finally. “But I didn’t know where to go.”

Mulder nods. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Scully let’s out a breath, followed by a quiet, “Are they angry with me?”

He thinks to Bill, his seeping anger, his lack of understanding.

It’s not Matthew’s fault the girl is dead, he said. That’s her daughter, Mulder thinks. She wasn’t just a girl.

“They don’t understand what you were doing,” he answers. “I don’t even understand what you were doing,” he admits then looks to her. “And I don’t think you understand it either.”

She shrugs and he has no idea what to make of it.

“I thought it was Emily crying,” she tells him. “Then I realised it wasn’t and I just got…so angry.” She lets out a breath before she continues. “I started asking him why he was alive and she wasn’t. Then I squeezed him and he started crying and then screaming and it was what I needed, someone to do what I wanted to do and just as I realised what it was I was doing the lights switched on and everyone was there.”

He digests what she’s said and reaches over to still her hands. It brings her attention away from them, to him.

“I found a direct flight for 10am tomorrow,” he tells her. “But if you want, we can go to the airport now and see what’s available.”

Scully looks to the road then to the house and Mulder waits as she weighs up the decision of whether to apologise to her family or make a fun or it.

She choices the former. Shaking her head.

“No, I think I best apologise.”

Mulder smiles, removing his hand. “Okay.”

They climb out of the car and walk back towards the front door.

“I’m not gonna sleep for the rest of the night.” She looks at him as if what she’s about to ask is selfish. “Do you mind staying up with me?”

He doubts he’d be getting any more sleep himself tonight. He had been awake to hear Matthew cry, awake to hear him scream.

“Of course,” he says, taking her hand as they walk side-by-side up the driveway. “I know a good infomercial we could watch together.”

She smiles, her hand tightening in his, and Mulder’s just glad he could put a smile on her face.

[limit-list]

so this concept has grown a mind of its own... this is gonna be part 1 of my gaoling!zuko concept, and i think there’s gonna be at least 3 parts. enjoy? (special thanks to @ratherbereading125 @bitchdafuqyeet @younggayanddoingokay and @visit-ba-sing-se for giving me the courage to post this haha)

here goes:

CONCEPT!!! okay but how bout when zuko gets banished, fire bitch ozai doesn’t care about him or appearances or whatever enough to give him any sort of imperative on returning. zuko isn’t given any sort of ship at his disposal, he’s just told to get out.

the few days zuko is allowed to prepare, the healers are busy trying to cram months of healing into days. iroh sees this and starts to plot. (iroh is overflowing with guilt, he’s the one who let zuko in the meeting in the first place, he turned away when ozai burned his son, he turned away when lu ten died, he will not turn away when everyone else who matters has turned on his nephew)

when their time is nearly up, iroh gathers everything and they set out. when zuko wakes up, they’re in a boat. uncle won’t answer straight when he asks where are they going? why aren’t they on a fire nation ship? (unasked questions: why does father hate him, why did lu ten have to die, why did mother have to leave, when will uncle decide he isn’t worth it, what’s the point anymore.) days pass. iroh has bags of rations and a pot to boil water in. zuko slowly starts to heal.

when they land, they’re on earth kingdom soil. iroh sits his nephew down on the shore. “now nephew,” he says, “we are not welcome in the fire nation—“ (zuko thinks: there is no we, he’s always been alone in crowded rooms and he can’t let himself accept uncle as a guarantee) “—so from now on, you are lee. i am mushi, still your uncle—“ (iroh thinks: i will always be your uncle, my brother may take everything from you, but i will burn him down before i let him take me) “—but we are refugees from the colonies. our goal is gaoling, we’re going to settle down there. until we are there, you must follow my lead.”

(zuko hears the “or else” his uncle leaves off.)

(uncle left it off because he won’t be the one to enforce the consequences, and there’s no way to tell zuko that he won’t, he won’t)

they head off. cue the traveling act, only with a freshly wounded zuko instead of a long-scarred one. people are much more willing to open their pockets and doors to two refugees wearing browns when one is freshly burned, and much more willing to overlook moody outbursts from an obviously fire-injured child. (because he’s just a child— no. iroh decided to stop his derailments into pity the day they landed. they’re no longer affordable.)

(careful to avoid his nephews sight, iroh eases their way through the earth kingdom through pai sho games and trips to back rooms.)

somehow (surprisingly), zuko doesn’t get them killed with his terrible lying. they make it to gaoling relatively unscathed. a tiny, unknown tea shop on the outskirts of the town proper hires iroh out of pity, but refuses to hire a child. zuko becomes an apprentice at a metalworker’s workshop. he expects to be making weapons, perhaps even weapons for the earth army (and boy does he not wanna think about that), but instead they make mostly accessories.

zuko rages to his uncle in their private apartments about the differences in their lives now, but slowly it seeps into his head that the differences don’t matter. this is life now. (iroh will never protest the verbal beatings from his nephew. this is his penance, for never stopping his brother, even if he never saw it he should’ve been better, and if he tortured himself further by thinking of the niece he had to sacrifice for saving his nephew, the boy he’s coming to view as his—)

(zuko doesn’t know how to process emotions in a way that isn’t rage. frantically at night, he thinks back to his mother, desperate to find an example that isn’t the fire lord, which feels like treason in and of itself. but his mother never let him see her emotions, other than yes zuko, no azula, and why didn’t he see that she had been protecting him until she got sick of him and left—)

(needless to say, iroh and zuko are both holding a lot back.)

but time passes, and they slip into a routine. zuko rages less often, iroh learns how to redirect his nephews attention, zuko fumbles through the motions for making tea when he thinks his uncle needs it most. (he can’t get it right, but instead of making him feel like a failure, iroh laughs and guides him through it again and again and again)

(zuko doesn’t let himself wonder if this is what having a father feels like.)

[theshipsfirstmate]

Agents of SHIELD Fic: Come On, Sweet Catastrophe

post-7x09 dousy (sousy? daisysous?) angst and talking and a little bit of sweetness. Because Daisy’s got some stuff to work through.

Title from “Hurricane” by Something Corporate, because yes, I was an aughts emo kid and yes, “you don’t do it on purpose, but you make me shake” was a line written for Daisy Johnson.

Come On, Sweet Catastrophe (AO3 - wc: 2393)

She and Coulson sit there with Enoch for what feels like forever. Even after he’s gone, even after they’re out of danger, even after Mack sends the all clear over the comms, they just sit there in silence.

She had told him, however many loops ago, how sure she was that they’d figure it out. She should have known it would go like this. They’re not that lucky. There’s no victory without consequence these days, not when the stakes get higher every time she looks up.

Sousa is the first of the team to get to them, of course he is. She can’t even pretend that she’s confused about why anymore. She knows now, just like she knows how frightened he looks when he’s about to die.

“Daisy!” 

He says her name when he sees her slumped on the floor, and looking up at him is enough to push forward the tears that have been threatening to fall.

She’s not sure who moves first, but she’s reaching for him as he’s crouching to help her to her feet and it feels more natural than it should when she turns and buries her face in the crook of his neck.  

“You did it,” he whispers, and it’s not as comforting as she hoped it might be. 

She nods against his shoulder, taking in a deep breath as a fresh wave of grief and worry threatens to take her knees out from under her. “But, Enoch...“

“I know.” Daisy loosens her grip to see May and Mack are already seeing to the body.

“Why did he-”

“It was the only way.” Coulson answers before she can finish the question — even though she’s not entirely sure it’s the one she was trying to ask.

Deke nods in agreement, swiping at his cheeks with a jacket sleeve. Simmons can’t meet her eyes.

Suddenly, inside her, the sadness begins to crystallize into something darker. Coulson was right, it’s a special kind of devastation to be the one carrying the memories of all the failed loops. It feels almost like her childhood, packing her lonely memories into those flimsy black trash bags when it came time to move on to the next home. She can blink and see Mack going blind, Simmons gasping for breath, Sousa falling to the ground right in front of her. 

And they’ll all leave her again, Enoch had warned with his last breaths. A bitter, angry dread pushes its way up her throat, blurring her vision and crawling across her skin, and an old familiar instinct returns.

She pushes Sousa back a step and turns for the door, ignoring his confused look and the way he calls her first name again as she leaves without a word.

_______________

The thing about this ship, she’s learned over the years, is that there’s really nowhere to run away. She makes it to the loading bay before setting down in an exhausted huff, and when Sousa follows moments later, taking the seat next to her, it feels like deja vu. Daisy remembers the fire in his eyes when he talked about taking on HYDRA single-handedly if he had to, remembers how it had ignited something in her own chest.

She remembers how he had told her time wasn’t the only thing he’d lost in the fight so far. She remembers wanting to tell him that she knows that feeling too.

Now, he just sits in silence, waiting for her to make the first move. When she finally does speak, she wonders if she surprises them both.

“When all of this is over, if we survive,” she asks, even as the odds of that seem lower than ever after today, “would you want to go back?”

“What do you mean?”

“Back to 1955. Back to your life.”

“I-I couldn’t. I’m dead, remember?” There’s a crinkle in the corner of his eyes, but his gaze is serious and she can tell he’s trying to feign a playful response to put her at ease.

She’s had countless extra time to try and figure him out, but when, in the midst of all this chaos, did he learn to read her so well?

“You work for S.H.I.E.L.D.” She adds a sarcastic eye roll for good measure, and hates herself immediately for it. “I think they could figure out how to keep that secret. Or you could have a whole new life, travel the world, I don’t know.”

“Why are you asking me this?”

It’s a fair question, and one for which she has no good answer. Maybe she’s selfishly trying to get him to reveal even more of himself to her. Maybe she’s trying to push him away proactively, to blow this up before it can even really begin. 

“Just wondering, if you could. You said it yourself, there were some goodbyes…”

“Daisy.” It’s sharp, but not angry. He knows what she’s up to, even if he has no idea why. Even if she’s not entirely sure herself.

She sighs, and looks down at where her fingernails are dug into her thighs. 

“You don’t call me Agent Johnson.”

“No,” he answers, immediately back on an even keel. “I guess I don’t.”

“You call the others by their last names,” she ventures, forcing herself to meet his eyes again.

“Yeah, I do.” This time the crinkle is genuine, and her heart gives a warning thud in her chest.

She wants to tell him everything. How many times she woke to find him at her bedside. How he’d sacrificed himself without a second thought, trusting her completely. How he had answered so simply when she asked why he cared.

(“Because you don’t.” Not a moment’s hesitation, nothing ulterior about it. The same way he’s had her back since the first day they met.)

She wants to tell him that she’s ashamed for only working up the courage to kiss him after she knew what it felt like to lose him.

But she decides to tell him something else instead.

“HYDRA destroyed my family,” she says softly. Out of the corner of her eye she watches his right hand flex into a fist. “They tortured and killed my mother, and drove my father mad, and left me alone in this world.”

She takes a deep shuddering breath and purposely doesn’t meet his eyes. “S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me a purpose, and a home, and if it’s all falling apart, I don’t know what I...”

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know who I’m going to be. I don’t know how I’m going to survive.

The violent voice in her head is silenced, though, when Sousa reaches out gently to take her hand in his.

“Did you learn something, in one of the loops?” he asks. She has to stop herself from scoffing — if only he knew — but she doesn’t pull away. It feels like she’s mere moments from coming completely apart, and that’s the last thing they have time for right now.

“Enoch, as he died, he warned us that this would be our last mission together,” she tells him. “I can’t even imagine a world where that’s true.”

Sousa hesitates but only for a moment.

“Well, it’s not like we haven’t changed the future plenty already.” Of course he still has faith. Of course he’s still unflinchingly in her corner. It shouldn’t surprise her, of all people. She’s the one that watched him wake up in that uncomfortable chair time and time again, ready to give her any support she needed.

“But Daisy,” he continues, “you’re not giving yourself enough credit. For as much as S.H.I.E.L.D. made you, you made it what it is, too.”

His eyes are just as earnest as she expects them to be when she finally looks up. And it feels like her whole rib cage splinters when he gives her hand a little squeeze and continues.

“I know your type. You’re the kind of person who fights tooth and nail to hold onto the things she loves. If you have any say at all, you’re not going to lose this family.”

It’s impossibly unfair to hold against him things that he hasn’t even said in this timeline, but she can’t help it. It’s the only part of his whole lovely sentiment that she actually hears clearly. “I know your type.” It echoes in her eardrums, throbs at the base of her skull.

It was perhaps the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to her, his little lost speech about being there to pick her back up, and it makes her ache to think about how it didn’t really happen at all. Not for him, at least.

But he’s still sitting here, isn’t he? He chased her down to hold her hand and look at her with those earnest eyes. It’s a look that tells her he’d give that speech all over again if she asked him to.

She wonders what Peggy Carter felt when he looked at her like that.

“Did you love her?”

It is absolutely, categorically, not at all the question she planned on asking him. Probably ever. But it’s the one that comes out.

He blinks, and then shrugs, pulling his hand away, and she realizes: this is what it looks like when he’s shaken. If she could reach out and take it back, she would in a second.

“I, uh- I don’t know,” he admits. “I think so. We didn’t really get a chance to…”

Now he’s the one who won’t meet her eyes, and it’s agonizing. He rolls with the punches so well, but Daisy should have known that there would be a breaking point. He lost 30 years — his whole life — in a blink, and the fact that he doesn’t dwell on it publicly is no excuse for her carelessness.

He even told her, back in that speech she can’t forget, that things weigh heavier on him than he lets on — and she blew past any semblance of propriety and pressed a thumb into his metaphorical bruises.

But before she can tell him any of this as part of a much-deserved apology, he’s standing to leave, rubbing absently at the knee joint of his new bionic before he does.

“You really should rest some more after… all of that,” he says softly, casting a quick, inscrutable glance at her as he goes. “Just for a little. I’m here if you need me.”

He says that, but then he’s gone. Down the hall towards his makeshift bunk. She wants badly to follow him, can feel the selfish ache in her fortified bones. But she’s not sure she deserves that kind of validation.

_______________

In another life, another time, Daisy’s sure she would stay behind and wallow in the callous way she’d let her own emotions step her so clearly over the line. In this one, where she’s ever cognizant of just how precious each moment can be, she gives him five, maybe ten minutes.

Thankfully, his door is still open. He’s sat on his bunk, fiddling idly with his wristwatch, and when he looks up he doesn’t seem surprised to see her.

“I shouldn’t have-“

They say it at the same time. It tugs at the corner of her mouth, but there’s no way she’s letting him apologize to her, so she speaks first — telling him another thing that’s true, another thing that’s been weighing on her mind.

“I’m afraid that if I go to sleep, I’m going to wake up in the loop again.”

He doesn’t answer right away, just pats the bunk next to him, and she doesn’t hesitate. 

“Was there anything good in any of them?” he asks as she sits down beside him. “Other than the last one where you, you know, saved all of our lives and the entire human race? Anything else worth remembering?”

She turns to watch him as he speaks. She’s closer here than she was in the bay, and she thinks she could lose a few good minutes remembering what the salt and pepper on his temple or the line of his jaw or the unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt look like up close.

“Yeah.” Her voice comes out thick, and she has to clear her throat. “Yeah there were some moments.”

Sousa looks down at her as he waits for her to continue and the softness and trust in his gaze is another thing worth remembering. 

“In one of them, I asked you why you care so much,” she tells him, readying herself for more honesty. “Why you’re always willing to help, no questions asked. Why you had my back right from the start.”

“And?”

Part of her had worried he was making some kind of comparison, Daisy realizes, but she knows now that it’s not about who she is to him, or who Peggy Carter was. It’s about the kind of man Daniel Sousa is, and seemingly always has been.

She leans back against the wall behind them and he follows. She tilts her head against his shoulder. Again, he follows, leaning softly against her.

“And you told me,” she answers, sure he already knows somehow.

“Good,” he says. Daisy can feel his mouth curve into a smile, and it feels almost more intimate than kissing him. “I’m glad I did.”

“Yeah?”

Her eyes feel heavy as the adrenaline from earlier finally starts to dissipate, and she wonders if she could actually fall asleep here, upright, but next to him. It’s the safest she’s felt in a long time.

“Yeah,” Daniel answers. “And there’s something else you should know, too.”

“What’s that?” Daisy feels his hand wrap around hers again as she drifts off.

“When all of this is over, the only place I want to be is where you are.”

[randomactsofpigeon]

Personal.  Also like... all the trigger warnings, I’m out of spoons to figure out tags for all this shit. No reblogs please.  This is just a diary post because writing to myself never does any good, but writing in public sometimes helps.

My mother is the most emotionally unavailable person I’ve ever met.  I know the reasons why.  Her father was an abusive POS.  I’m not sure if there was physical abuse because she rarely talks about it, but it wouldn’t surprise me.  There was significant emotional abuse, including that the man had six children but wanted to pretend he lived in a household with none.  She wasn’t allowed to ever publicly express emotion in her own home.  This has manifested as an adult as an inability to understand or express her own emotions, and a profound discomfort with emotional displays or emotionally-impacting negative events of any kind. She will go out of her way to pretend things that very much happened did not happen, because she can’t cope with it.

I have spent a large share of my adult life trying to reconcile how wholly inadequate this was from the standpoint of her child, and how it’s in turn fucked me up, with the fact that she’s an abuse survivor and that isn’t her fault.  

It’s hard to have a mother that has never and will never be there for you, to know you grew up having to cope with literally every last fucking hurt on your own, that you never learned to be excited about anything, or how to share things or ask for help, and NOT blame her.  And then comes the ocean of guilt because blaming abuse survivors is bad.  But these things can be true at the same time: her inadequacies profoundly impacted me and continue to do so this day, and the abuse wasn’t her fault.  It is complicated and contradictory and nuanced and frustrating.  

To put this in context, I fantasized about having cancer for a large part of my childhood.  Because if I was seriously, physically ill, then I might get the warmth, attention, comfort, and support I desperately needed, because then it would finally be bad enough to deserve it.  (I didn’t understand it that clearly as a child; I just knew that being very sick was appealing to me for some reason.  This is years of therapy helping me understand.)

(Also, my dad is a separate post.  For anyone wondering where he was. Long story short present in a physical way, but I’ve literally sat in front of this man sobbing and had him not notice anything was wrong. So.)

But hey, I thought, at least my mom got the basics right.  We were fed , sheltered, and clothed.  She never hit us.  We had medical care and went to good schools.  She protected us.

Well.

Another way in which my family is fucked up is that my sister was molested by our uncle (my mother’s brother) as a child.  She has spent a literal decade trying to work up the courage to tell our “nothing bad ever happens” mother, with the anticipation that she’d probably either ignore or deny it.  Relevant here is my mother still has a good relationship with this sibling (on the surface... more on that later).  She keeps up with him online, she invites him to things.  My sister missed our grandmother’s wake (father’s mother) because he lives in that area and our mom invited him.  I had a contingency plan for if he showed up at my sister’s wedding, because my mom refused to uninvite him.

My sister finally told her yesterday.  

She did not, in fact, ignore or deny it.

Instead, she told my sister, “I suspected the abuse but hoped I was wrong.  Also, he molested me too, when I was a child.”

And there’s this contradiction again.  Because I KNOW trauma fucks people up.  I KNOW THIS.  My trauma is different, but gods, I know how it stops your brain from working right.  

And yet.  

SHE KNEW her bother was a predator.  SHE KNEW THIS. And she still invited him into our lives.  She didn’t abuse my sister herself, but she sure as fuck created the circumstances that allowed it happen.  She put us all in danger.  Knowingly.  Willingly.

And I’ve been trying to understand what on earth could make her do that, and I keep coming up empty.  I mean, how could she do that to us?  

The bar was set SO LOW for her, and she couldn’t even do this one basic mom thing of not exposing her children to a pedophile.  She couldn’t do the one basic brave thing of asking my sister what had happened when she began to suspect.  

I don’t understand.

I don’t understand, and I feel so betrayed, and so furious, and so guilty because I know how much all of this must have fucked her up, because I know that she may never have told anyone about it before.  I’m trying to find empathy and compassion and I all I can find is hurt and rage, that she put us all in danger and my sister, who I love so much, got hurt.  My sister, who I have been supporting through all of this in part because we both knew damn well that she couldn’t go to our mom for support.

And I can’t talk to my mom.  It doesn’t feel fair, like I don’t deserve to feel any of this because I wasn’t in the direct line of fire from our uncle, because I’m just a bystander I don’t have a right to be upset.  And I’ve rarely been this upset in my life.  I could try talking to her, but it won’t do any good.

I was driving home from my covid vaccine today and had a moment where I was tempted to flip my car going around a sharp turn.  This isn’t suicidal ideation (I’ve had that too, and I know the difference).  This is more along the lines of kid-Pigeon wishing she had cancer; I don’t know how to ask my mother to please be there for me, goddammit, please help me understand but feel like she would show up for me if I were physically hurt.  This was the first time in five or six years I’ve had that kind of impulse, so that was super fun.

I’m just... I never had a mom.  I had a caretaker, like someone hired to look after me, and it was just a job she had to do.  And that void is just eating and eating and eating away at me since her revelation.  Because it’s not like you can just go out and get another.  It’s not like making a friend or finding a partner.  It’s just an injury I have to learn to live with because there’s no other option.

And right now I don’t know if I can do that.  I feel like this might be the last straw, the one I just can’t get over and can’t therapy away and can’t stop from hurting.

I need to understand, but there’s no answer.  I want to know what I ever did to not deserve a normal family.  I want to know what I ever did to have to work this hard to just hit some facsimile of being a normal adult.  There’s no answer to any of that.  

I’m just really tired.

[captainjimothycarter]

So it's a silly image but I like to imagine Steve realizing that Peggy was responsible for what's now one of New Yorks first gay bars, but back until the 90s it was an underground secret no one knew about. "Everyone needs a place to be themselves."

i don’t think this was silly at all. I love the HC so much and I hope I did it honor. Thank you for sharing it with me.

--

“What’s this?” Steve asked the second Natasha flung an old file down on top of his sketchbook. His nose wrinkled from the dust, fingers brushing over the frayed edges. This thing had to be decades old, but the same could apparently be said for him in this new century.

It was an old, unmarked file with the edges starting to yellow and fray. He was afraid if he picked it up by the edges or flicked it open, the thing would crumble apart in his hands. There wasn’t one single, distinguishing mark on this thing. It was odd, considering most of the files that Natasha had tossed his way recently were marked with some sort of SHIELD symbol or even the SSR. This one was null.

“What do you think it is?” Natasha huffed, sitting herself down across the table from him. She nearly blended into the gray walls with her outfit, the only part of her that stood out, as always was the bright, red hair. Her voice was kept down low, not in a this is a shared secret sort of way, but more of we’re in public and in a library so don’t you dare we loud.

Even if this was SHIELD’S library.

“I don’t know. Looks like a file.” 

Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes, dropping it down so it laid on top of the book he was reading. Natasha complained he spent far too much time in the library but given the circumstances of waking up in some new century where everyone you knew was dead (including the love of your life), then you sort of became a shell of yourself and hid away in Shield’s library. One, to read all you can about missed events, and two, to hide away and distract yourself with the knowledge of the fact that you had to play catch-up of the last 60-something years.

“Just open it, Steve. I think you’ll find the contents interesting.”

His mouth opened but what could he say? Argue? Insist? Nothing. There would be nothing that he could say that would get Natasha to take this file away because she knew she’d won. She had plopped it in front of him, an unmarked file, and sat down and at him expectedly. Curiosity would get the better of him, even if Steve didn’t want to admit it. 

Natasha’s eyebrow rose in a manner that reminded Steve of his mother, that insistingly asked him if he was really done with telling the whole story. Instead, she silently waited, arms crossed over her chest.

Steve reserved his sigh for another day when she might care more about his wants and just did the quickest thing that would get her to leave him alone. He opened the damn file and immediately wished he didn’t.

Front face and center was the love of his life. Or well, there was a photo of her. Actually, there were several photos of her. Photos that he wasn’t even aware that existed. Peggy must’ve been shortly after the war, standing next to who could’ve only been Angie. She was smilingly brightly despite the shiner and he could hear her laughter echoing in his head, see the red lips despite the black and white photo. They stood with a group of people he didn’t recognize either. People that she looked friendly or even close to given how one guy was holding onto her waist. 

Steve wasn’t jealous, not by much. Maybe a small flicker of jealousy flared to life inside of him, but it instantly cooled down when he made the connection. Or, one connection. Just hidden between them, he could see the guy holding her waist was also holding hands with a gentleman that was smiling brightly at the camera. 

Oh. 

It reminded him of the gay clubs he and Bucky would risk visiting when Steve was in the better days of his illnesses when there wasn’t a risk of them being seen and ratted out by neighbors or when he wouldn’t risk coughing up a blood-clotted lung.

Sadly, there was nothing on the other side of the photo. Not that Steve expected much, Peggy had her manner of keeping things organized, and being a spy meant you left little untraced. So why she allowed herself to be photographed was beyond him.

No answer came with the next photo.

Even if in this one, he could make out the bruise under the makeup she tried to hide it with. He could see her eyes crinkling in the corners when she laughed and smiled at the camera. Her red lips instantly claiming his attention. Despite the crowd of men around her, some familiar to the old photo and some new, Steve didn’t look at them. He looked at her eyes, the warm, honey-coated eyes that were a sign to him that screamed welcomed home.

Natasha wouldn’t give these to him to stare at the photos of his beloved, she wanted him to see something, but what?

There were still men and women around her, some dressed in stylish outfits, some with funky-looking ones. Angie was still beside her and despite the closeness of the pair, one man each hung from their shoulders. The same two men who held hands in the photo before. They stood in front of a brick wall, one that looked familiar to him, but why?

It was an itch in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite scratch.

There were more people in the next photo, more than enough to sit two photos side by side so he could cram them together to see the full photo. Still, nothing. Still, Peggy and Angie and a group of people. Men holding hands, a little braver to be outside the frame of the two women. And still that same brick wall, but why was that brick wall familiar? Why did that little notch right above Angie’s left ear hit him like, well, a stack of bricks?

And why did the next few photos, each following more, and more people, until Peggy stood by herself in front of the building, silver in her hair, a wedding band on her fingers, but pride radiating in those fierce eyes, frustrate him more?

Steve just wanted to slam these photos down and take a walk, take a breather. He doubts Natasha did this to be cruel, to throw his reminder that he had loved and lost into his face. He did that enough to himself.

Sighing, Steve ran a hand over his hair and dropped his hand beside the last photo of Peggy. Older. Shortly before she died of old age. Silver in her hair, wrinkles on her face but a fierce, determined look. 

It hit him then, why those bricks frustrated him so much, why that notch in the brick made his heart drop.

That very notch was made from Bucky using a slingshot to scare off the bees because they terrified his baby sister. 

Those red bricks belonged to the apartments that he and Bucky grew up in.

There was more in the file but Steve didn’t want to look. He wanted to shut the damn thing and turn away. Instead, he swallowed and picked up a newspaper article from the 1990s. Peggy was on the cover, holding onto a cane, looking dead in the cameras as if she was daring a soul to challenge her.

Peggy Carter: Fighting the Unseen Fight is what the title read.

“It was a gay bar,” Natasha murmured, drawing Steve from his thoughts. She must’ve seen how his hand was shaking around the article. “Peggy Carter assisted in running a few underground gay bars in New York, up until the 1990s where...the one she is standing in front of is one of the first public gay bars to open.”

“I…” Steve swallowed, his throat feeling dry. It felt like he took in a mouthful of dust. “I don’t know...why?”

“I think you know why,” she mused, giving him an almost loving look. “Because she wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. I wonder where she got that from?”

“She’s always had that,” Steve snorted, forcing himself to let go of the files. “Always fiercely protective of her loved ones. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Yes, but you stirred the fires inside of her. She might not have done it because of you, but she did it in your name.”

Tapping the newspaper, the woman sat back and Steve sighed as he looked back down at it. He forced himself to read the last few questions and answers.

Why did you do it?

“Everyone needs a place to be themselves. If no one else was to protect the innocent, then I had to step up to the plate to do so. I’m only lucky that some of my connections had agreed to protect us when things got bad. During the movement, we became safe houses and safe havens for those who needed protection. Not once do I regret my actions.”

Why here? Why open the first gay bar here?

“I…could think of no place better. Steven Grant Rogers was an inspiration to me, the driving force as to how I actually met my wife. During the war, we’ve seen men, great men being sent back home for being in love with people of the same sex. I’ve seen Captain Rogers step up to the plate to put a stop to it, to take falls for kissing men and women when all of us knew that he was far from the situation at the time given the nature of the job. I’ve seen him lie straight to people’s faces, no matter their position in the government or war to keep our men’s feet on the ground. I’ve seen him harbor his best friend’s secrets until the day they both died. I protected those men and women before I met Captain Rogers again and even after he died, but Steven...gave me the courage to do more.”

“I…” Steve, this time had to open and close his mouth, to force his brain to think. “I don’t know what to say..”

“Don’t then,” Natasha breathed, reaching over to take Steve’s hand and give a gentle squeeze. “She knew you were bisexual before you even knew.”

“I think that can be said about a lot of things.”

Natasha’s lips twitched into a small smile before it disappeared. “Would you like to see the bar? It’s still functional to this day. I think it’s written into some post SSR, pre-SHIELD clause that it has to be protected and kept open. It’s still in the same spot.”

Sitting back, the blonde let out a long sigh and picked up his jacket. He might as well, he was getting nothing else done today. Not when his mind was on Peggy, on everything she’s done. “Sure. Just...what is it called?”

Natasha paused, leading them out of the empty library. Her head craned over her shoulder to watch Steve carefully tuck the file inside of his coat and follow after her. “Captain’s Commandos.” 

[i-just-love-spop]

Of babysitting and (potential) kitchen fires [Chapter one]

Chapter two

Arrow loves auntie Catra and the bedtime stories she always tells about her adventures with auntie Adora and Arrow’s parents.

Catra might be enjoying babysitting a little too much.

Meanwhile, Adora is unsure whether or not she would be a good mother.

And Glimmer just really, really needs some sleep.

[Shameless post season five Adora and Catra both want kids but haven’t talked about it yet-fic that was supposed to be a one shot but isn’t anymore. Starring: the best friend squad, two Glow/Glimbow children, Melog, cuddling, a bit of angst and, of course, the best friend squad teasing each other.]

Disclaimer: This was originally posted on my Ao3, EleenaDume, which I would love to source, but tumblr is driving me insane and apparently one of the reasons why my posts might not show up in the tags could be external links, so I’m trying it again without the link. If you want to check if I’m really the same person, I’ve added this account to my list of other accounts on my Ao3-profile.

—

“That day, the most selfless girl in the galaxy learned that it was alright to choose herself for once – that it was the right choice to be selfish sometimes. And that’s how she saved the galaxy. The end.”

Catra clapped her hands together to empathize the ending of the story.

The little girl with the violet hair looked up at her. There was an excited glint in her eyes.

“Start over, I want to hear the story again! Please!”

Catra laughed as she ruffled the girl’s hair.

“Nice try, sweetie, but the time has come for little Arrow to go to sleep, because Queen Sparkles will show up soon and throw me out of your room if you don’t.”

Arrow pouted.

“Come on, auntie Catra. Just one more time. Auntie Adora can keep mom distracted in the meantime.”

The adult woman stroked the child’s head again and giggled softly. Damn, she really liked this kid.

“As much as I like the way you think, Glitter, your mom will end me if I keep you awake any longer. And I think she’s pert near issuing a decree about how much I get to talk about Adora here before I must be forcefully removed from the building at all costs,” She joked.

The child laughed.

“But mommy and dad are just as bad!”

“You’re the cheekiest girl in the entire universe. I’m so proud of you.” Catra hugged her gently. “Come on, little one. Time to sleep. I’ll tell you more stories tomorrow.”

Arrow squeaked happily, snuggled up to her aunt and caved.

“Okay, fine. But only if you promise.”

The adult smiled softly. Arrow was just about her favorite person in the entire universe – except for Adora, of course.

The remaining members of the best friend squad were pretty close behind, though.

“Of course. I promise, Glitter.”

She gently tucked the girl in the cupcake pajamas into bed.

“Wanna sleep lights on or lights off today?”

Glimmer and Adora watched Catra from the doorframe as she tugged Arrow in and then started singing her to sleep.

Adora was pretty close to melting into a puddle right then and there. Instead, she almost started crying and rubbed her wedding band nervously, all the universe’s love in her eyes in that very moment.

The scene alone was enough to turn her head all over again, and that wasn’t even including the fact that Catra’s singing was down right enchanting, and she would have happily listened to nothing but that for the rest of her life.

“Adora? ... Adora?” Her best friend gave her a gentle nudge. “Hey, Brightmoon to She-Ra, you in there?”

The blonde jerked extremely startled.

She’d been in a completely different world for the last couple of minutes.

“Yeah, uh, I was just-”

“Zoning out at Catra again. I know.” Adora went beet red. Glimmer winked at her and laughed softly. Despite her visible exhaustion, she still insisted on teasing her best friend. “I’m still surprised how good she is with kids. Arrow loves her to the stars and back.”

“Yeah, I know...”

She-Ra was still way too mesmerized by the scene to take her eyes off her wife and her niece.

“Have you two thought about it yet? You know, the... adoption thing we talked about?”

Well, that jerked the warrior princess back into reality, alright.

She turned away from Catra and Arrow, instead facing the wall across from the child’s room.

“I- we- uh-” she stammered. “I... don’t know. I think I’d be a terrible mom.”

Glimmer shook her head and looked at her best friend sternly.

“Why would you think that? That’s complete nonsense.”

“Well, I’m kind of a complete mess, and extremely chaotic and clumsy and- I tried cooking something recently, and then Catra hugged me from behind while I was doing it, and then my brain short-circuited and I almost burnt down the kitchen because I still can’t believe I’m married to Catra and it’s been ten years-” She was once again talking in that very Adora way where Glimmer wasn’t sure if she even took a single breath while sentence after sentence came out of her mouth in such a speed that it was hard to understand everything. “-and, I mean, I can’t take care of a child! I can barely take care of myself, and-”

Her best friend put her hands on the shoulders of the blonde.

“Adora. Breathe.”

“...right. That... That’s a... thing I should be doing.” She listened, took a couple of long-drawn-out breaths... and slowly, she started calming down again. “I’m sorry. It’s just... I don’t know if I would be a good mother.”

Glimmer smiled at her and pinched her cheek.

“Of course you would be a good mom. I mean, you’re not Catra, but you have watched Arrow before, and you were pretty good at it. And kids love you.”

Adora let out a long sigh.

“Yeah, maybe, but... I don’t know.”

“Hey, nobody’s forcing you to do anything, alright?” Glimmer hugged her. “If that’s not something you want, that’s perfectly fine. Kids aren’t for everyone, and you two are great together on your own. You don’t need kids to be happy.”

Adora shook her head.

“Yeah, no, I know, that... that’s not it. I... I actually think we would both like to have one, but.., the only mother figure we had back at the horde was Shadow Weaver, and I think we’re both afraid we could end up being the kind of parent she was. Catra more so than me.”

Glimmer stopped short.

That though alone seemed completely insane to her.

Adora was just about the nicest, kindest person she had ever met – except for maybe Bow –, while Shadow Weaver was most definitely cruelest, most manipulative asshole she could think of.

And while Catra’s story was... more complicated on that behalf, she still couldn’t imagine her being the kind of mother Shadow Weaver had been. Catra had learned from her mistakes, had overcome her fears and weaknesses and had become a better person along the way.

Shadow Weaver had never learned, never changed, and while her last moments had been a sacrifice, it had been one of cowardice more than one of courage.

A dead person didn’t have to face the mistakes she made. Didn’t have to deal with the people they hurt – the hate in their eyes and the words of anger, sadness and spite that would get thrown at them otherwise.

Catra had faced all that. She’d worked to complete exhaustion to rebuild the cities she’d helped destroy, and she’d went to the end of the galaxy and back to prove that she’d truly changed.

Despite that, some people hadn’t forgiven her, and they never would.

Some people still thought Adora deserved better, and that Catra was treating her badly and should be banished from the planet for good for everything she’d done.

That wasn’t happening... and Catra had learned to live with and accept what people thought of her. She knew she’d hurt others. And as much as she would have liked to turn back time to right her wrongs... she couldn’t.

What others thought of her wasn’t her choice to make. If she had hurt people too much for them to ever give her another chance, that was valid, and she accepted it.

It wasn’t her choice to make.

That made her a much bigger person than Shadow Weaver had ever been.

“Are you serious? Neither of you is anything like her, and you never will be. The way Catra treats Arrow, how she tucks her into bed and sings her to sleep... that’s something my mom used to do when I was little.” For a moment, there was a glint of sad melancholy in her eyes. “Mom would have loved Arrow. And Catra would have driven her absolutely bonkers... but if things hadn’t happened the way they did... I think she would have liked her too.”

Adora pulled her best friend into a hug.

“I...” She started, but Glimmer shook her head and interrupted he.

“Shadow Weaver wasn’t like this at all, was she?”

That was a pretty clear signal.

She didn’t want to talk or think about this any longer. At least not right now.

Adora could accept that and just continued on with the conversation as if nothing had happened.

That was part of their silent agreement when it came to talking about Angella.

“No, she wouldn’t have. Shadow Weaver was never the singing type.” She raised her hands and wagged her fingers in a silly imitation of a spell caster, hoping that would lift the mood again – at least a little. “She was more like ‘uuuuuh, I’m so evil and mean, and if you don’t go to sleep then the weeping princess will show up and murder you, or maybe I will, if you annoy me too much!’...”

She stuck out her tongue.

Glimmer giggled, and Adora joined in.

She could laugh about it today... at least a little.

That had been different for a long time.

“Hey Adora.” The two of them spun around. Apparently Arrow had fallen asleep by now, because Catra was now standing right next to them, the door closed behind her so they could speak loudly without waking the child up again. She looked at her wife all lovey-dovey for a moments then turned to Glimmer, grinned and bowed playfully. “Queen Sparkles, I humbly report your daughter has been put to bed and is asleep now.”

That earned her a gentle nudge against the shoulder from said queen, who rolled her eyes as she laughed.

“Why are you like this?”

Catra gave her a cheeky grin and winked at her.

“What can I say, it’s part of my charm.”

She then put an arm around her wife gently, who had finally stopped zoning out enough to properly greet her.

“Hey Kitty.”

Catra rolled her eyes.

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

Adora pulled her close and looked at her smugly.

“You love it when I call you that.”

“I do not.”

Their faces were now merely inches away from each other.

Truth be told, Catra had given up on ever getting rid of the nickname when Adora had used it for the first time several years ago.

By now, she was sure just about all of Etheria knew about the dumb nickname – that maybe, just maybe, did send a nice feeling of comfortable warmth through her body when Adora said it.

The annoyed facade she put up was nothing more than that – just part of their playful flirting.

Their kiss was unsatisfyingly short.

Adora broke away almost immediately, grimacing. She wiped her mouth.

“...why do you taste like glitter?”

Catra, who had been kind of irritated and hurt until now, started cackling.

“So I might have given the kid a goodnight kiss to the forehead when I tucked her in, sue me.” She turned to Glimmer. “Sparkles’ husband kisses her all the time – I wonder how he does it.”

Her friend and her wife joined in the laughing really soon.

“I’ll have to thank my daughter for finding the absolutely only method I can think of that can keep you two from constantly making out in front of me,” Glimmer chuckled, smiling to herself.

Those two were almost disgustingly cute.

Almost.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but there’s nothing in the entire universe powerful enough to keep our hands off each other for long,” Adora commented truthfully.

The Horde, a war, a collapsing reality and an army consisting of robots and the clones of an insane maniac hadn’t stopped them. Keeping them away from each other for long was a task that would have required something a lot more complicated than a little glitter.

She put her arm around her wife’s waist and kissed her cheek.

Glimmer had a hard time keeping herself from commenting the purring that ensued as the smile on her lips grew wider.

She just looked at the two of them silently for a while until she spoke up again.

“Oh, and Catra... thanks for babysitting. I really appreciate it a lot.”

Spending time with them was nice... but she also started to feel her exhaustion more with every passing minute and wanted nothing more than to just collapse into her bed and sleep for a small eternity... or at least for approximately an hour before she would be woken up again.

The thought alone made her head spin.

But she was really, really thankful.

Catra had been immensely helpful when it came to watching Arrow, especially during these past few weeks.

“Hey, you know I love the kid. Anytime.” The brunette smiled. “I forgot to ask... how was your meeting?”

“Please don’t ask.” The Queen of Brightmoon grimaced and shuddered slightly. “It dragged on forever, and I was so tired that I feel like I missed out on half of what was being said.”

Adora shrugged.

“She fell asleep halfway through the meeting. We voted on whether or not we should let her sleep. It was the only unanimous decision of the day.”

Catra chuckled.

“Seems like you might have to be put to bed just like your daughter, huh, your majesty?” She joked.

Glimmer rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Believe me, I wish it was that easy. Angie is an absolute nightmare. I mean, I love her, and I would do anything for her... but I swear, neither me nor Bow has slept more than two hours at a time in the last three weeks. The kid has incredible lungs. And Adora‘s sleep-wake rhythm.”

The pink-haired woman groaned.

Catra nudged her wife gently.

“We’re really missing out, huh?”

At least for the first few seconds, Adora was certain her wife was kidding... but there was something in her voice...

„Speaking of missing out... what would you say if we took the little one for tonight?“ Adora said as if out of the blue. You two really need sleep and some time to yourselves, and...” She looked at her best friend sincerely, then glanced towards Catra in a meaningful way. “What do you think, Glimmer?”

“...Adora, are you sure?”

She-Ra nodded energetically.

“Of course. And even know how to warm up milk without burning the kitchen down by now... I think.”

She gave them a pretty unconvincing smile and an even less convincing thumbs up.

Catra looked at her wife, eyebrow raised.

“Sweetheart, do all of us a favor and just wake me up, alright? I’m not in the mood for another three o’clock-shower by Mermista.”

“...Or I’ll just wake Catra,” Adora assured her, giving an affirmative nod and smiling at Glimmer. “Come on...”

“Okay. Alright. But if something goes wrong or you need anything or-”

Adora put a hand on her shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

“Now you’re the one who needs to remember how to breathe.”

Glimmer closed her eyes and nodded as she calmed down. Sometimes she really worried too much – especially when it came to her children.

She understood her mother much better these days.

“We’ll manage, Sparkles. Don’t overthink it so much. You really need sleep, damn it.”

Catra nudged her gently.

Glimmer smiled softly as she flung her arms around her two best friends.

“You two are such disasters. I love you so much...”

“Awwww. We love you, too.”

Adora was her usual, hug-loving self.

Catra was still a little tense when being touched by anyone but Adora, but it had been a long time since she’d last flinched back, and she was able to enjoy the gentle gesture of affection much more nowadays.

“Come on, Sparkles. We can go save your husband, and you two can get a good night’s sleep for once, how does that sound?”

“Alright. I’m in.” The Queen of Brightmoon smiled softly at her two best friends. “And – potential kitchen fires aside –, I’m sure you’ll do great.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, feedback would be appreciated a lot!

The second chapter will be much more heavy on Glimbow content.