#the scared tentative question and all of it spilling out at once without thinking

[iraot]

The Sound of Staying

Pairing: Sylus x f!reader Summary: Your worries never scared him. He could quiet those fears. Similar plot line to "Every Answer, Always" Word Count: 9467 AO3

The car ride back was slow, unhurried by traffic or tension, just the hum of tires over asphalt and the occasional click of the turn signal. Streetlights passed over the windshield like brief pulses of gold, flashing soft shadows across her face where she sat beside him, quiet. Sylus glanced over once—then again—just long enough to catch the slight crease at her brow, the edge of her bottom lip tugged in, bitten without thought. Not alarmed, but lost somewhere inward, spinning through something she wasn’t saying.

He parked, engine easing into stillness with a low sigh, and turned to face her, resting an elbow casually on the steering wheel. “You look like you’re trying to untangle three knots in the dark,” he said lightly, voice low, the kind that seemed like it came from the back of his throat, patient and textured. He didn’t press, didn’t poke—just gave her that space to confirm or brush it away. She didn’t respond at first, just looked out at the soft lights of her apartment and then down at her hands, fingers laced tight.

“Something I did?” he asked, letting the question hang in the air without weight. His red eyes were striking, yes, but there was nothing sharp in them now—only a kind of slow-burning attentiveness, like he was already halfway through mapping out the answer she might not know how to voice. His voice dropped a note, more intimate without becoming urgent. “Or maybe something I didn’t?”

Her head tilted, uncertain, caught between brushing it off and being honest. He didn’t wait. “Let me guess,” he went on, smoothly, as if reciting a familiar script. “You're wondering if you said something too much, or not enough. Whether the silence in the restaurant meant I was bored, or thoughtful, or both. Whether leaning into me when we walked back was okay or if I was just polite and now you're replaying every step wondering which part crossed some invisible line.”

She blinked, mouth parting slightly. His gaze didn’t shift. He leaned in a bit, his shoulder brushing hers just barely. “You’re not wrong for wondering. You’re not crazy. But I think you’re used to people who let you wonder instead of answering.” A pause, deliberate. “So let me be the guy who answers.”

A breath left her. Not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. Relief beginning to thread in, cautious but real.

“I liked tonight,” he said. “I like the way you watch people when you think no one’s paying attention. I liked how you asked the waiter if he was okay after he spilled the water. I liked that you were nervous but came anyway. I liked that you talked about the novel you started but didn’t finish because you got scared it wouldn't be good.” He paused, just for the rhythm of it. “I liked that you were willing to be a little real.”

Her voice was soft when it finally came. “But I talk a lot when I’m nervous. Ramble.”

“So let me listen when you ramble,” he murmured, smiling slightly. “I’ve got more patience than you think.”

She turned toward him then, more fully, shoulders easing just slightly. The look she gave him wasn’t wide-eyed or grateful—it was tentative, like testing a bridge to see if it would hold her weight.

“And if I overthink everything?” she asked, finally voicing it.

“Then I’ll over-explain everything,” he said without missing a beat. “I don’t care if it takes three conversations and a pie chart. I’ll walk you through what I feel, what I meant, what I didn’t mean, and when I breathed. You never have to guess with me.”

A beat of silence. She looked down again, this time not out of retreat, but recalibration. A quiet surprise that maybe—just maybe—she didn’t have to keep doing all the math alone.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Sylus reached up and brushed a knuckle gently down the side of her cheek, not as a caress but a promise. “No ghosts. No riddles. Just us. And maybe some late-night takeout if you’re hungry.”

Her smile then—small, real—was all he needed. The air between them changed. Still tender, still cautious, but beginning to open. He walked her to the door without rushing, his fingers brushing her lower back with an easy, anchoring kind of care. The kind that said: I see you. You’re safe. You’re not too much.

—

Her number lit up his screen just past midnight, soft buzz against the wooden table where his book lay open but long since forgotten. Sylus blinked once at the name, then again at the time, the corners of his lips twitching faintly. He didn’t hesitate. Thumb tapped “Answer” before the second ring could roll into the third.

“Hey.” His voice was low, sleep-roughened but not annoyed, carrying that smooth weight like a blanket pulled close on a cold night. “Everything alright?”

There was a pause. Breathing on the other end—quick, caught, trying to steady. “I… I didn’t want to bother you,” she said, her voice a quiet scrape. “I just—something’s been gnawing at me and I couldn’t sleep, and I know it’s probably nothing but it feels like something, and the longer I sit with it, the worse it gets.”

He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the back, a muscle twitching in his jaw not from irritation, but empathy. “You’re not bothering me,” he said simply, and meant it. “Tell me what’s gnawing.”

She exhaled a small, nervous laugh. “It’s stupid. I keep thinking back to when I made that joke about your reading habits. The vampire comment? And you didn’t really laugh, and I just… I don’t know. Maybe I crossed a line, or maybe you thought I was making fun of you.”

A slow smile pulled at his mouth. His white hair slipped forward slightly as he tipped his head, listening like someone savoring every word of a song. He didn’t interrupt. Let her keep going.

“And then I remembered you went kind of quiet after that, and I wondered if I killed the mood, and maybe that’s why you didn’t text yesterday, and I know it’s only been a couple days but my brain’s been running loops, like… like I ruined it. Somehow.”

Sylus breathed in, slow and deep, the kind of breath meant to ground more than just himself. “You’re doing a whole autopsy on a moment that didn’t even die,” he said gently, voice threaded with warmth. “I didn’t laugh at the vampire thing because I was trying not to make a face. I was swallowing a mouthful of wine. And I didn’t text because I passed out the second I got home. You didn’t ruin anything.”

A pause. Soft breath on the line. She didn’t speak, but he could feel it—her shoulders starting to loosen.

“I liked the joke, for the record,” he added, red eyes flickering as he stood and paced slowly toward his window, the city lights casting faint patterns over the floor. “You saw something about me and made it playful instead of weird. Most people don’t know how to do that.”

She made a small, involuntary sound. “God, I feel ridiculous.”

“Then be ridiculous,” he said, with the easy cadence of someone who'd made peace with all his own sharp edges. “Be anxious, be honest. Let me meet you there instead of watching you spiral alone.”

She went quiet again, but it was different now. No tension in it, just processing. Just quiet appreciation without knowing how to voice it.

He leaned against the window frame, bare chest reflected faintly in the glass, and said, softer now, “You don’t have to rehearse your heart with me..”

A small laugh escaped her. Real this time, light enough to chase the shadows back.

“I didn’t want to seem… clingy.”

“If this is clingy, then I’m building the damn shrine,” he murmured. “Call me when you need. Or when you don’t. I’ll answer either way.”

He could hear the way her breathing changed then—slowed, softened. Like she’d finally let herself exhale. The silence between them stretched, but it was warm now, full of permission.

“You should sleep,” she whispered eventually.

“I will,” he said, sitting down again. “After you do.”

“You don’t have to wait—”

“I know. Still will.” His voice dipped again, that signature tone of quiet finality wrapped in care. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

She hesitated, then whispered it back: “Goodnight.”

He didn’t hang up. Waited until her side of the call went still, breathing deep and slow, before he let the line fall quiet—like a watchful promise held through static.

—

It happened at the edge of quiet, in the hush that follows laughter when two people have run out of things to joke about but not out of reasons to stay close. They were sitting on the stairs outside her building, not in any hurry, Sylus with one knee up, arm draped casually over it, his other hand resting just inches from hers on the step. The night was cool, not cold, the kind of evening that coaxed confessions and comfortable silences, and she’d just finished telling him some childhood memory—something silly and embarrassing, complete with hand gestures and mock voices.

He’d laughed—really laughed, low and rough and genuine. And then he’d gone quiet, not because the story wasn’t good, but because he didn’t want to chase that moment away too quickly.

She glanced over, eyes catching on the sharp lines of his face, the white fall of hair brushing over his cheekbone, those red eyes softened now like embers rather than flame. And he was looking at her—not just glancing, but watching, with a focus that didn’t flinch, like he was memorizing her face in case he’d never see it again.

“You do that,” she murmured.

His brow arched slightly. “Do what?”

“Look at me like… like you already know something I don’t.”

Sylus’s mouth curved faintly. “Maybe I do.”

Her heart kicked once, sharp and unexpected. He didn’t lean in—not yet—but he shifted, just a fraction closer, the space between them thinning to something almost intimate. “You don’t talk to fill silence,” he said, voice low. “You talk to see if someone will stay.”

She opened her mouth—then closed it. That was too close to the truth.

He reached up then, slow, telegraphed every movement, giving her time to pull back, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fingers grazing the curve of her cheek. His touch was warm, firm but not forceful, as though the weight of her against his palm was something he’d thought about longer than he should have.

“I’m still here,” he murmured.

Her breath hitched. And then she leaned, not in a dramatic sweep, just enough to cross the line between wondering and wanting. His hand slid from her cheek to her jaw, guiding—not taking—and when his mouth finally touched hers, it was with startling care. Not tentative, not unsure, but intentional. His lips moved slowly against hers, tasting, exploring, telling her in pressure and heat what his words hadn’t dared say yet.

She melted into it almost without meaning to, fingers curling against the fabric of his sleeve, grounding herself in the moment as his thumb stroked lightly beneath her ear. The kiss deepened—not rushed, but inevitable—until their mouths moved with a rhythm that spoke of things unspoken, of late-night phone calls and slow-burning promises, of a man who kissed like he explained: thoroughly, attentively, leaving no part of her doubt untouched.

When they finally pulled apart, her lips tingled, flushed and full. He stayed close, forehead nearly brushing hers, red eyes half-lidded and watching her with something quiet and devastatingly warm.

“I wanted to do that since the first time you said my name,” he murmured.

Her smile came slowly, blooming like a secret.

“I’m glad you waited,” she said.

“So am I.”

—

She closed the front door behind them with a soft click, the hallway light catching on the curve of her cheek as she turned to Sylus, her fingers still laced around his. The smile she’d worn through most of dinner had faded now, lips pressed into a thoughtful line, eyes distant. He could already read it—the gears spinning too fast, replaying the evening in fragments and tones.

They reached her apartment door before she spoke, her voice low, hesitant. “Did… what my dad said—about your eyes—did that bother you?” She wasn’t looking at him, not directly. “I don’t think he meant it in a bad way, he just—he can be blunt sometimes, and now I keep thinking about it and it’s sitting weird.”

Sylus paused. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and brushed his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face up gently so their eyes met. His were unreadable for a second, glowing faint under the dim hallway light, and then softened into something unmistakably warm.

“You mean the part where he asked if I wore contacts because they looked unnatural?” he said with a ghost of a smirk. “Or the bit where he wondered out loud if I was part ‘something’ because of the ‘sharp features’?”

Her mouth opened, horror flickering in her expression. “God. That’s it. That’s exactly what I—he didn’t mean it like—”

“I know,” Sylus cut in, gently, thumb brushing across the underside of her jaw. “I’ve met that kind of man before. Observational, not malicious. Says what he sees and doesn’t dress it up. I didn’t take it personally.”

She blinked. “But still. I should’ve said something.”

“You did,” he said simply. “Your hand tightened around mine when he said it. I felt it. That was enough.”

A breath caught in her throat, half-relief, half-something else—something tangled in guilt, or the ache of wanting to shield someone you care about from things they may not even be hurt by.

Sylus stepped closer, until her back brushed the door. “You don’t have to carry every awkward thing someone says like it’s yours to fix. You already do enough of that.” His voice dropped slightly. “I don’t bruise that easy. And I don’t expect your family to filter their curiosity before I’ve even earned their trust.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed, unsure whether to lean into the comfort or apologize again.

He beat her to it. “Besides,” he added with a smirk, “he didn’t say anything about my height, or the fact that I eat steak like I’m stalking it. I count that as a win.”

She laughed, a real laugh this time, head tipping forward into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her without hesitation, pressing his lips briefly to her temple.

“I like them,” he murmured into her hair. “And I like how much you care. But next time, let me decide what stings and what doesn’t. You just keep holding my hand.”

She nodded against him, breath easing. “Deal.”

— She hadn’t said much through dessert, which was the first red flag. No warm tease when he subtly stole the last spoonful of her tiramisu, no amused glance when her cousin’s obnoxious friend launched into yet another overly dramatic story punctuated with a flirty giggle and barely-disguised glances at Sylus. Her hands were still—too still—and when she finally excused herself from the table, she didn’t touch his arm or shoulder or back on the way out. That was the second.

He found her on the terrace, pacing, arms crossed. Her jaw was set, not with sadness or hurt, but tight fury barely held together under a thin veneer of calm.

“She really thought I was going to sit there and smile through it,” she muttered without turning around, as if the moment he walked out, she knew it was him. “Like I was invisible. Like I was the fucking potted plant between her and you.”

Sylus leaned against the railing beside her, arms folded over his chest, his white hair catching the low golden patio light like moonlight over bone. “Are we talking about the friend with the nails that could gouge glass?” he asked, tone casual but edged.

She cut him a look. “Don’t joke.”

He straightened, no longer leaning. “Wasn’t joking. Just trying to see if you’re pissed about the right person. Because it sure as hell better not be me.”

“I’m not mad at you.” The words came sharp, fast, like a reflex. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You never do. That’s what pisses me off. She saw me with you. She saw us. And she still—God—she was halfway in your lap every time she leaned forward to tell some story she probably rehearsed in the mirror.”

He didn’t smile, not even a flicker. Instead, he reached out and caught her hand mid-gesture, drawing it down to his chest, right over his heart.

“You think I didn’t feel that?” he said, voice low. “Every time she looked at me, I looked at you. Every time she touched my arm, I shifted closer to you. You think I didn’t notice you dying in your seat because I was waiting to see if you’d speak or if you’d swallow it?”

Her breath stuttered. Her eyes flicked down to where his fingers had closed around hers.

“I didn’t want to make a scene,” she muttered.

“You can set the whole table on fire if someone disrespects you,” he said calmly. “I won’t blink. I’ll pass you the matches.”

A breath caught in her throat, then softened into something deeper. He pulled her in slowly, arms wrapping around her waist, holding her tight, grounding her in the sheer solid mass of him—warm, calm, unbothered, but entirely hers.

“You don’t have to question if I’m yours,” he murmured, lips brushing against her temple. “But if someone wants to pretend they don’t see the crown on your head, I have no problem reminding them who stands beside you.”

She exhaled shakily, pressing her face against his chest, fury ebbing into frustration and finally into something she didn’t need to name—safe, steady, solid.

“I don’t like being disrespected,” she whispered.

“And I don’t like watching you try to swallow it down,” he said. “Next time, let me take her wrist when she gets too close. Just a tap. Enough for the message.”

She laughed into his shirt. “You’re not subtle.”

“I’m not interested in subtle when it comes to you.” His voice dropped even lower, right against her ear. “I want the world to know where I stand—and who I stand with.”

She looked up at him then, fire still in her eyes but calmed now, focused.

“You really weren’t tempted?”

Sylus bent down, pressing his lips to hers—slow, sure, and deeply possessive. “Tempted?” he echoed against her mouth. “I can’t even see other women when you’re in the room. She was a shadow. You are gravity.”

She kissed him again, hands fisting in his shirt, and this time the heat wasn’t from anger.

— The villa they’d rented was tucked along a quiet stretch of coastline, sun-warmed stone and drifting salt air, with a private pool that shimmered like melted sapphire under the late morning light. She stood just inside the glass doors, wrapped in a towel, fingers bunching the fabric tight around her middle. The scent of sunscreen lingered faint on her skin, but she hadn’t stepped outside yet.

Sylus was already by the pool, lounging back on one of the low chairs, dark swim trunks slung low on his hips, hair a tousled shock of white in the sun. He’d pulled his shirt off casually and tossed it aside—muscled, broad, comfortable in his skin in a way that made it look effortless, but never performative. When he noticed the movement behind the glass, he turned his head—and stilled.

Her hand hovered on the doorframe. She wasn’t trembling, but her body language said it all: hesitation strung tight as a drawn bow. The towel hadn’t shifted, not even a little. She was still wrapped like armor.

His gaze softened instantly.

He rose slowly, not with urgency, but purpose, and crossed the patio toward her, every step of his tall frame radiating ease. He opened the sliding door himself and stepped in, not saying a word at first. Just looked at her, quiet and steady.

“You don’t have to,” he said, gently. “You don’t owe me a show. Not here. Not ever.”

She looked up at him, uncertain, caught between the vulnerability of being seen and the fear of not being enough in the face of someone like him—someone who made turning heads look accidental.

“I know,” she said, voice small. “But I wanted to. For me. I just…”

Sylus leaned down slightly, one hand coming to rest at her hip, the other brushing a thumb just beneath her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his.

“You know what I saw when I looked over just now?” he murmured. “You. Standing in the sunlight, wrapped up like the fabric was holding you together, but your eyes already out here. You looked beautiful before you even stepped outside.”

She swallowed, lips parting—but he wasn’t done.

“I don’t care about stretch marks. Or softness. Or lines. I care about the way you look at me when you’re trying not to smile. The way you walk into a room like you don’t belong, and then own the air in it. That’s what I see when I look at you. Not what you’re wearing. Not what you’re hiding.”

Her fingers relaxed around the towel slightly.

“And if you come out there,” he added, voice velvet and certainty all at once, “I’ll make sure you never have to wonder if I see anything but the woman I chose.”

She stared up at him, then slowly nodded. Hands moved, unfastening the towel with a slow breath and letting it fall from her shoulders. The swimsuit hugged her close—flattering, but revealing enough that the unease curled just beneath her ribs.

Sylus didn’t look away. His red eyes tracked down and up again with open reverence—not hunger, not evaluation, but pride.

“Holy shit,” he said softly, a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “You’re stunning.”

Her blush bloomed so fast it made her laugh, half hiding her face.

He stepped back, offered his hand with an incline of his head toward the sunlit pool. “Come on. Let the sun see what I get to wake up beside.”

And she followed him—still a little self-conscious, still adjusting—but walking straighter, a smile fighting its way back onto her face, because he wasn’t looking at her like she was pretending to be beautiful.

He looked at her like she already was.

— It happened slowly, like warmth creeping into cold skin—no sudden fire, no frenzy, just a steady draw, a pull that had been simmering under every glance, every brush of fingers, every breath caught between silences.

They’d fallen asleep curled together on the second night of the trip, tangled beneath white linen sheets, the balcony doors open to let the night breeze sweep in, carrying salt and jasmine and moonlight. At some point before dawn, she’d stirred, shifting closer in the dark, her hand sliding across his chest with the kind of quiet need that wasn't asking for sex—it was asking for closeness. For skin. For certainty.

Sylus hadn’t been asleep.

His arm wrapped around her immediately, drawing her in with that same confident, unhurried strength he always carried—like the weight of him alone could make her feel anchored. He tilted his head, nuzzling his nose just under her ear, and whispered her name—soft and full of things unspoken.

“I know,” she murmured, barely audible. “I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

No need to name it. The way her fingers curled against his side, the way her thigh slid over his, the way their mouths found each other in the dark with instinct more than aim—it said enough. The first kiss wasn’t like the others. Slower. Mouths open, lips brushing again and again as if searching for the right angle, the right rhythm. He kissed her like she was something sacred, something fragile but fierce, letting her set the pace.

Her hands explored tentatively, tracing the hard planes of his shoulders, the smooth warmth of his chest, down to the sharp V of muscle just above his waistband. He shivered beneath her touch, but never rushed her, letting her feel every shift in him, every breath he took like it meant something.

When she pulled back to look at him, moonlight caught in the strands of his white hair, she saw more than want in his red eyes. She saw restraint. Devotion. An almost unbearable care that made her heart throb harder than the slow ache building low in her belly.

“Are you sure?” he asked, even now, even with his hands cupping her waist, thumbs stroking gentle arcs over bare skin.

She nodded, voice caught somewhere in her throat. “I want to remember this.”

His expression shifted—something tender and reverent sliding over his features—and he kissed her again, deeper this time, rolling her gently onto her back, blanketing her with his body without crushing, without taking. His weight was heat and solidity, his breath warm against her neck as his lips traveled lower, trailing over her collarbone, her shoulder, the swell of her chest.

He undressed her slowly, like he’d dreamed of doing it a hundred times but had waited for the real thing. Every inch of her he revealed was met with a kiss, a brush of his knuckles, a quiet murmur of something that wasn’t quite words—just low sounds of approval, of worship.

When he finally slid inside her, it wasn’t fast or frantic. It was slow—achingly slow—his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathing each other in. She gasped, one hand gripping his back, the other curled into the sheets as her body stretched to take him. He groaned low, barely holding onto his control, and whispered her name like it steadied him.

“Look at me,” he murmured, hips rolling forward, filling her in smooth, measured thrusts. “I want to see you when you fall apart.”

She did.

She watched him watching her, eyes locked as his body moved with hers—no rush, no pounding pace, just a rhythm that built and built until it felt like they were unraveling together. Her moans were soft at first, lips parting in disbelief at the fullness, the stretch, the pressure that climbed higher with every movement. He kissed her when she whimpered, kissed her when she cried out, kissed her when her back arched and her legs trembled around his hips.

And when she came—fingers digging into his arms, breath stuttering, body clenching around him—he didn’t stop. He rode it out with her, whispering praises against her skin, holding her like something precious even while his control finally broke.

He came with a groan against her shoulder, deep and raw, his body shaking as he buried himself inside her, holding her tight like he needed her to feel how much it meant. Not just the pleasure—though there was that, too—but the trust, the closeness, the act of being let in.

Afterward, he didn’t roll away.

He stayed wrapped around her, hand on her lower belly, nose buried in her hair, whispering small things in the dark that made her laugh softly, even as her limbs ached and her skin buzzed. He didn’t fall asleep right away, and neither did she. They just lay there, the sea whispering outside, their bodies pressed together, and nothing between them but breath.

— The restaurant was beautiful, the kind of hidden rooftop jewel that didn’t rely on popularity to fill its tables—just moonlight, music soft as breath, and the city stretching out beneath them like a painting. Their table sat near the edge, candlelight flickering gently between them, casting warm shadows across the sharp lines of his face.

But Sylus hadn’t touched his wine. He hadn’t even made one of his quiet, amused jabs when she mispronounced the appetizer. He was watching her too closely, smile a little too careful, gaze flicking down to the tablecloth when she reached for his hand.

“You’re quiet,” she said, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Not in the ‘I’m enjoying the view’ way. In the ‘I’m stuck in my own damn head’ way.”

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Observant.”

“Try dating you for a year,” she teased lightly. “I speak fluent Sylus silence now.”

He looked up then, really looked at her, and the flicker in his expression—an almost-vulnerability, the edge of something deeper just beneath—made her pulse skip.

“I’ve been overthinking this night since last week,” he admitted. “What to wear, where to go, what gift to get. What words to say.” He exhaled, low and rough. “And the truth is, I don’t think any of it really matters. Because all I keep thinking is… this shouldn't have lasted.”

Her eyebrows knit, lips parting—but he shook his head, gently.

“Not because I didn’t want it to,” he went on, voice softer now. “Because I’ve never had something like this not fall apart. Never felt… wanted, without it turning into obligation or distance or something ugly with teeth.” He swallowed, gaze falling again to where her hand still held his. “The first few months, I kept waiting for the moment you’d see too much. Or get bored. Or realize I wasn’t what you thought.”

“Sylus…” she whispered, but he wasn’t finished.

“But it didn’t happen,” he said. “You kept showing up. Not just for the good parts. For the hard stuff. For my worst moods. For the silences I couldn’t explain. And after a while, it stopped feeling like a countdown to failure.” His eyes lifted to hers, red and burning and bare. “It started feeling like home.”

Her chest tightened. Emotion caught thick in her throat.

“I love you,” he said simply. “And not in the fragile, fairy tale way. I love you because you make me feel like I don’t have to hold my breath waiting for it to implode. Because with you, everything feels like it fits. Like I was never made for anything else but this.”

She didn’t speak for a second. Just looked at him—this man with fire in his eyes and careful hands and a soul so much gentler than anyone ever noticed. And when she did speak, her voice shook a little.

“I felt the same,” she said, fingers tightening around his. “From the beginning. I kept waiting for you to realize I was messy. Or too sensitive. Or not enough. And every time I started doubting, you just… saw me. Really saw me. And stayed.”

A smile finally broke through his tension, slow and raw.

She leaned forward, brushing her lips across his knuckles. “You’re not just loved, Sylus. You’re wanted. All of you. The overthinking, the intensity, the calm, the chaos—every part.”

He stood then—without thinking, without caring if anyone watched—and pulled her up into his arms. There, in the golden halo of candlelight and stars, he held her like the words had finally sunk in. Like maybe this was real, and maybe it wasn’t going anywhere.

And when he kissed her—slow, reverent—it wasn’t for show, or ceremony, or because the night demanded romance.

It was because she had given him something no one else ever had.

A year of peace in a heart that had only ever known war.

–

It happened quietly, the way all their moments did when they mattered most—not with a flourish, not with a spotlight, but in that hush that fell when the world outside stopped mattering and it was just her heartbeat and his breath in the same space.

They were in the kitchen. Not a candlelit dinner. Not a staged event. She was barefoot, hair pulled back, one hand around a mug that had gone lukewarm while she stared out the window, too lost in thought to drink it. The late afternoon sun spilled gold across the floor, streaked her collarbone with warmth, lit her like something he hadn’t quite deserved but somehow still got to keep.

Sylus leaned in the doorway, shirt half-buttoned, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He watched the way she chewed the inside of her cheek, the way her foot tapped slightly against the tile like her body was trying to siphon off the excess noise in her head.

He knew that look.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just stepped in slowly, letting his presence press into the silence without demanding anything of it.

Her eyes flicked up when he reached her. Then down again.

He didn’t need to ask what was wrong. He’d learned her rhythms the way some people learned languages—by immersion, by instinct, by a willingness to get it wrong until it became second nature.

“You’re doing it again,” he said softly, voice low and warm. Not accusing. Just factual.

She blinked. “What?”

“The math,” he said, brushing a knuckle along the edge of her jaw, lifting her gaze. “Trying to calculate how long I’ll stay. What it means that I didn’t say ‘I love you’ after I hung up yesterday. Whether me forgetting to buy your oat milk means I’m forgetting to see you.”

Her breath hitched, jaw tightening like she wanted to argue—then slacked, because she knew he was right.

“It’s not fair,” she murmured. “You shouldn’t have to keep... talking me down.”

“I’m not talking you down,” he said. “I’m walking beside you. That’s different.”

He took the mug from her hands, set it gently on the counter behind her, then stepped closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head slightly to keep eye contact. His hands didn’t touch her yet. Just hovered near her waist, like asking permission even after all this time.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, quietly, steadily. “Not about if—I haven’t questioned the if since the first time I fell asleep with you beside me and woke up wishing we had forever. I’ve just been thinking about when. When’s the right moment. When you’ll feel safe enough not to flinch at the idea of permanence.”

She stilled. Her breathing slowed. Her arms wrapped around herself like a shield.

“And now you’re overthinking again,” he added gently. “Trying to read the signs. Wondering if this is a setup, if there’s a speech coming, if you’re supposed to react a certain way.”

She opened her mouth.

He stepped in before she could.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t try to manage this. Don’t plan your face. Don’t rehearse your heart.”

A breath. His hands finally settled—one at her waist, the other sliding up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing across skin he knew like second nature.

“I don’t want the perfect proposal,” he said. “I want you. I want every anxious question, every night where you double-check the tone of my text, every time you ask me if I’m sure—even when I’ve told you a thousand times. I want the messy love. The kind that holds, even when it shakes. The kind that stays.”

She blinked fast, once, then again. Her lips parted, but her voice stuck somewhere in the middle of a breath.

So he gave her something to hold onto.

From the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a ring. No box. No speech. Just silver and stone warmed by the heat of his skin. He held it up between them—not kneeling, not dramatic. Just holding it the way he held everything with her: steady, open, real.

“You want to know if I’m sure?” His voice was quieter now, threading under her ribs like a second heartbeat. “I’m sure enough to risk everything I’ve never had. I’m sure enough to want your overthinking and your soft mornings and your full-body laughs and your ‘are you mad at me?’ texts after I go quiet for five minutes. I’m sure enough to put it all in your hands. Because I’d rather live in the chaos of us than peace anywhere else.”

Tears welled but didn’t fall. She stared at the ring, then at him, and something in her cracked—not in pain, but in recognition. The dam of doubt finally breaking.

“You don’t have to say anything yet,” he whispered. “Just… take it. If not the ring, then the moment. Let it be real.”

Her hand trembled as she reached out. He let her take the ring. No pressure to put it on. No demand.

But when her fingers closed around it, and her gaze finally lifted to meet his fully, something shifted in her expression. A quiet relief. A wonder so thick it left no room for fear.

“I was going to say yes,” she said, voice thin with emotion. “But now I just want to hold it for a second.”

“Take your time,” Sylus murmured, smiling like the sun had landed behind his eyes. “I’ve got the rest of my life.”

And when she stepped into his arms, tucked her face into his chest, the ring held tight in her palm like a promise forming shape, he held her like it was already done.

Because to him, it was.

—

It didn’t feel like a momentous discovery. Not at first. Not the way movies painted it—no dramatic music, no gasped realization in a public bathroom. Just the quiet sound of her toothbrush clattering into the sink and her hand bracing against the counter as the wave of nausea subsided, leaving her hollow and shaken.

She stared at her reflection, pale, a bead of sweat tracing her temple. It was the third morning in a row, and while she could’ve written it off as stress or bad sleep or the ever-tightening knot of wedding planning, something in her gut—the part that knew things before her brain could process them—was whispering the truth.

It wasn’t fear. Not exactly. But it curled around her ribs and pressed just a little too hard, made her throat tight and her breathing shallow.

She’d taken the test half an hour ago. It sat on the bathroom counter now, facedown, like even looking at it might turn the possibility into permanence.

She hadn’t touched it since.

From the living room came the quiet hum of Sylus’s voice, low and amused, talking on the phone with the florist. Something about white garden roses and whether or not they clashed with black calla lilies. He sounded calm. Warm. Present. Like he always did when he was talking about them—the future they were building, the life they were threading together, piece by slow, deliberate piece.

She reached for the test.

Turned it.

And everything stilled.

Positive.

The word hit her harder than expected, like a soft punch to the chest. Not painful—but disorienting. Her fingers tightened around the plastic, breath catching. She couldn’t quite name what she was feeling—joy laced with panic, wonder tangled with disbelief. A flutter of something ancient and instinctive moved low in her belly, just beneath the fear.

She didn’t know how long she stood there.

But it was long enough that Sylus noticed.

She heard his steps first. Bare feet across the hardwood. Then the door opened—softly, like he was trying not to startle her. She didn’t turn.

“You okay?” His voice, right behind her now. Concern threaded through it instantly, like it was second nature. “You didn’t answer when I called out.”

She blinked. Her voice stuck in her throat. So she lifted the test instead, hand trembling just enough to betray her calm.

There was a beat of silence.

Then his hand closed gently over hers, steadying it, steadying her.

He looked at it.

Then he looked at her.

His expression didn’t crack into shock. He didn’t go wide-eyed, didn’t step back or freeze. No. His breath caught—barely audible—and his other hand came up to her face, tilting her gently toward him. His thumb brushed beneath her eye, as if checking for tears. There were none. Just something quiet and raw and too big to hold alone.

“You’re…” he began, but the word didn’t finish. Not because he didn’t believe it. Because he did.

“I didn’t plan—” she started, but he shook his head, not sharply, just enough to stop her spiral before it could unfurl.

“I don’t care,” he said, voice hushed and thick and steady. “I don’t care if we didn’t plan it. I care that you’re okay. That you’re not standing here alone thinking you have to carry this before you even know how to feel.”

She exhaled, shaky, pressing her forehead into his shoulder. His arms came around her instantly, locking tight, anchoring.

“I don’t even know if I’m scared or excited,” she whispered. “I just… it doesn’t feel real.”

“Let it be what it is,” Sylus murmured into her hair. “Let it be messy. Let it be big. We’ll sort the rest.”

Her laugh was wet, close to breaking. “God, you’re too calm. You’re too calm. Are you not freaking out at all?”

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes—and there it was. That faint flicker behind his gaze, the crackle of stunned awe barely contained. But he wasn’t spiraling. He was anchoring her.

“I’m freaking out,” he said. “But not the way you think. I’m... overwhelmed, yeah. But not scared. Because it’s you. And me. And now—this. And I don’t know how to feel anything but...” He paused, breath catching. “Lucky.”

She blinked. “Lucky?”

“Yeah.” His thumb stroked her cheek, reverent. “You’re going to grow a life. In there.” His hand drifted down, barely grazing her belly. “Our life. And I get to watch it. I get to help raise it. Love it. Protect it. Just like I protect you.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Only a slow unraveling inside her, like every knot had been tied too tight for too long and now they were giving way under the warmth of his voice.

“What if I’m not ready?” she asked, not as a fear, but a confession.

He smiled, small and quiet and devastatingly sure. “Then we get ready. Together. I’ll build the crib, and you’ll yell at me because I read the instructions upside-down. I’ll hold your hair back when the morning sickness hits and sneak ginger candy into your purse like contraband. I’ll talk to your belly like a lunatic and cry the first time they kick. And when they’re born, I’ll be there. Every second. I’m already here.”

Tears burned, finally breaking loose.

She dropped the test on the counter and flung her arms around him, full force, burying her face in his neck.

He held her, stronger than the fear, softer than the doubt, the way he always did.

And when he whispered, “We’re already a family. This just makes bigger,”she believed him.

– She wasn’t going to cry over cake. She refused to cry over cake.

But she was three months pregnant, her feet hurt, her veil was lopsided because Aunt Marla had insisted on “fixing it” one too many times, and someone had changed the Spotify playlist from their carefully curated string quartet acoustic mix to some kind of... jazzy remix of Despacito, and now, on top of it all—

No cake.

Not just late. Not just “running a bit behind.” Gone.

The baker had called an hour into the reception—Sylus had answered because she was dancing with her cousin and he’d seen the number, stepped out with that unreadable expression she knew too well. When he came back, she could tell before he even opened his mouth. His tie was slightly undone. He was smiling, but his eyes had that I’ve got bad news but I’m going to say it gently look.

Now she stood in the side hall outside the reception room, heels dangling from her fingers, the hem of her dress bunched up in her fist, shoulders tight and breath shallow.

She felt a presence behind her before she heard it—the heat of his body, the way he always entered a space like gravity. Sylus stepped up silently, his tux jacket gone, sleeves rolled, hands still smelling faintly like whatever cologne he wore that made her go weak-kneed when he pressed too close.

“I could call them again,” he said quietly. “Demand blood. Or frosting. Either’s fine.”

She made a sound that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so tired. “I know it’s ridiculous,” she muttered, rubbing at the corner of her eye. “It’s cake, for god’s sake. But I had this... this vision, okay? Of cutting into it with you, and it being this moment, and...”

“Of course you did.” He said it with zero mockery. Just a warm kind of knowing. “You made a place in your heart for it. It’s not about the sugar. It’s about the promise.”

Her bottom lip wobbled. “It was lemon with vanilla bean. And raspberry filling. And the sugar flowers were supposed to match the bouquet.”

He turned her gently to face him, large hands settling on her waist, warm even through the satin. “Then we’ll hunt it down, and I’ll make them rebuild it from the ashes of their bakery. Or,” he added, brushing a strand of hair from her temple, “we adapt.”

She looked up at him, cheeks flushed with the effort of holding it together. “Adapt?”

He pulled something from behind his back.

A cupcake.

She stared.

It was... lopsided. Slightly smushed. Frosting clinging to the edge of the napkin like it had been saved from a battlefield. Sprinkles that didn’t match their theme.

“Raided the kids' table,” Sylus said with a shrug. “Don't tell them. I think I traded a crayon and my dignity.”

She blinked once. Then laughed. A real one, small and incredulous and helpless.

“It’s chocolate,” she said.

“It is. Not lemon. No sugar flowers. But,” he said, leaning in close, mouth brushing her ear, “it’s from me. And it’s yours.”

She pulled back just enough to see his face.

“You really think this is going to fix it?”

He grinned—one of those lazy, crooked things that made his red eyes warm instead of dangerous.

“No,” he said. “I think we fix it. Like everything else. Together.”

And then, without waiting, he knelt—knelt, like they were about to do the whole ceremony over again—and offered it up to her like a ring, eyes gleaming with mischief and devotion in equal measure.

“Will you accept this completely inadequate yet lovingly stolen cupcake as a symbol of our resilience and my everlasting desire to feed you, even in times of dessert-related tragedy?”

She snorted. Loud. Then cupped his face in both hands and kissed him, soft and laughing and full of relief.

“I do,” she whispered.

And when he stood and they bit into the damn thing together, right there in the hallway under a flickering sconce, frosting smeared on his lip and her veil sliding again and neither of them caring—

it was the best fucking cupcake she’d ever tasted.

— It didn’t start with a dramatic water-breaking moment or a midnight dash to the hospital. It started with a backache. Then a shift in the rhythm of her breath. Then the slow, dawning realization that the tension in her belly wasn’t just Braxton Hicks—it had intent.

Sylus had noticed first.

Not because she said anything—she’d been quietly timing the contractions, stubbornly refusing to make it a thing until it was really a thing—but because he watched her. Always had. Always would.

He was folding baby clothes in the nursery, neatly, like they were sacred, and she leaned into the doorway, one hand low on her stomach, the other pressing against the frame to steady herself.

“You’re doing that breathing again,” he said without looking up.

She blinked. “What breathing?”

“The kind where you think if you exhale too fast, the contractions will notice.”

That earned him a narrow-eyed glare. But her lips twitched.

“It’s too early,” she muttered. “The due date’s still—”

Sylus finally turned, red eyes landing on her, already reading every unspoken word. “You’re in labor.”

“No, I’m—”

A contraction hit.

Not sharp. Not yet. But firm enough to buckle her knees a little, and he was there instantly—arms around her, steady, grounding, his breath in her ear before she could even ask for help.

“Hey. Okay. There we go,” he murmured. “Breathe, sweetheart. Let it ride. You don’t have to be stoic. Not now.”

She sagged into him, huffing out a curse, and he smiled into her hair.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s get the bag.”

—

Labor was a marathon made of moments: the ride to the hospital, his hand on her thigh at every red light, his voice soft and steady when hers started to fray. The sterile brightness of the maternity ward, the quick movements of nurses, the rush of monitors and questions.

Through it all—Sylus never left her side.

Not once.

He sat beside her when the contractions were just minutes apart, letting her crush his hand without complaint, murmuring low affirmations into her sweat-damp hair.

“You’re doing perfect. Breathe through it. That’s it, baby. I’ve got you.”

He reminded her to drink water. Brushed her hair back from her forehead. Pressed cool cloths to her skin. When the pain crested into something primal and hot and unrelenting, when she cried out—not from fear but from sheer exhaustion, from the intensity of it—Sylus leaned in, forehead touching hers, voice unshaken.

“You are the strongest thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered. “You’re fire and storm and I’m not leaving this room without both of you in my arms.”

She sobbed once, laughter and tears tangled, and gasped through another contraction.

Later, when the doctor said she was ready to push, when the world narrowed to the roar of her own heartbeat and the ring of white noise behind her eyes, Sylus stayed with her—one hand locked around hers, the other bracing her back as she bore down.

He counted with her. Breathed with her.

“Almost there,” he said, even when she cried that she couldn’t do it.

“You are doing it,” he said. “Look at me. Just one more. You’ve got this. I swear. I swear.”

And then—

A cry.

Not hers.

A new one.

Small. Fierce. The kind of sound that cracked the world open.

She fell back against the pillows, panting, body trembling, every muscle spent. Sylus didn’t look away from her. Not yet. His eyes burned—not from fear now, but from wonder. From the sheer, awful beauty of it.

Then the nurse turned, arms cradling a bundle that squirmed and wailed and flailed like a thunderstorm wrapped in flannel.

“A girl,” she said, smiling. “Congratulations.”

Sylus stood rooted for a second. Just one.

Then stepped forward, slower than she’d ever seen him move, hands shaking as he took his daughter into his arms for the first time.

She’d never forget the look on his face.

Not awe. Not shock.

Just stillness.

Like the universe had finally stopped spinning and landed squarely in his chest.

He turned back to her, eyes full and red, hair mussed and skin pale with spent adrenaline, and he knelt—knelt, again, because everything in him still bowed to her—and laid their daughter in her arms.

She was tiny. Soft. Red-faced and furious at having been born.

Sylus stroked one impossibly small hand and murmured, “She’s loud. Just like you.”

“Shut up,” she whispered hoarsely, but smiled, even as tears spilled over.

He leaned down, kissed her temple, then her lips.

“Thank you,” he said, voice breaking for the first time all night. “For surviving. For bringing her into this world. For being mine.”

She pressed her face to his neck, body aching but heart wide open.

“You didn’t let go,” she said.

“I never will.” His hand curled around both of theirs. “Welcome home, little one.”

And in that tiny, fluorescent-lit room, with exhaustion thick and the smell of antiseptic clinging to everything, they began again—just the three of them.

—

It was late. The kind of late that didn’t really belong to one day or the next, just that blurred space between hours when everything else had gone still—except for the baby.

She’d finally fallen asleep again, swaddled and nestled in the bassinet beside the bed, her tiny mouth open in a soft ‘o’, one mittened hand resting on her cheek like she was already dreaming of something important. The little sounds she made in her sleep—those hiccupy breaths, the almost-whimpers, the sighs—filled the room in quiet pulses.

But her mother couldn’t sleep.

She lay curled on Sylus’s chest, face turned into his shoulder, one arm draped loosely across his torso. He’d wrapped them both up in one of the oversized throw blankets from the couch, the one that smelled faintly of home and a little of lavender from the dryer sheets.

She wasn’t crying, but he could feel it anyway.

That tightness in her body. That breath held a second too long. That way her fingers kept twitching like they wanted something to hold harder than his skin.

Sylus had been silent for a while, letting the moment breathe. Letting her breathe. But when she still hadn’t said a word fifteen minutes after laying down—just blinked slowly in the dark, eyes glassy and far away—he finally spoke.

“Where did you go?” he asked, voice low, thick with sleep but warm, steady.

She shook her head against his shoulder.

“I’m here.”

“No,” he said gently. “You’re with me, but your head ran off somewhere. Come back.”

Her hand curled in the blanket, fingers knotting near his ribs.

“I was just thinking.”

“Dangerous,” he said dryly, and earned the softest snort from her.

But then she sighed. It came out shakier than she meant.

“I just keep… seeing things,” she whispered. “Little flashes. Her slipping in the bath. Me forgetting the car seat buckle. The stairs. The edge of the bed. Sudden silence. It’s like my brain is building a horror movie reel out of thin air, and I can’t turn it off.”

He said nothing at first.

Just held her closer.

“You’re not crazy,” he murmured finally. “You’re a mother.”

She didn’t move.

He went on. “Your brain’s trying to protect her. Trying to imagine every threat so you can stop it before it happens. It’s survival logic. It’s instinct. But it’s also cruel. And exhausting.”

Tears welled then. Quiet ones. No sobs, no gasps. Just wet warmth bleeding into the fabric of his shirt.

“I feel like I’m not allowed to break,” she said. “Like if I do, something bad will happen. Like I have to stay ahead of it.”

Sylus pressed his lips to the crown of her head, his fingers moving in slow, grounding strokes down her spine.

“You can break,” he said. “Break a thousand times. I’ll catch every piece.”

She shuddered out a breath.

“And when your head runs away,” he whispered, pulling her even closer until her leg draped over his, their bodies tangled like vines, “when the shadows start whispering lies—about what could go wrong, about how you’ll fail, about how you’re not enough—I want you to hear me louder.”

She swallowed hard.

“I will never let you fall alone. If you stumble, I’ll be the ground under your feet. If your mind slips, I’ll hold your body until it stops shaking. If all you can do is lie here and cry while she naps, then that’s what we do. And I’ll be here for all of it.”

Her tears were quieter now. Not gone, but gentler. Not terror anymore—just release.

“I don’t want to be weak,” she whispered.

“You’re not,” Sylus said, instantly. “You’re soft. There’s a difference. And soft is what raises the kind of child who knows how to be strong and kind. Soft is what she’ll remember when she falls asleep against your chest. Soft is how she’ll learn to love.”

She nodded against him. Silent. Breathing a little easier.

He ran his knuckles down her arm, slow, rhythmic, anchoring.

“You’re the safest place she’ll ever know,” he said. “And I’ll be the one who makes sure you feel safe.”

Her voice was a breath when it came.

“Even at 3 a.m.?”

He smiled into her hair.

“Especially at 3 a.m. Even if I’m covered in spit-up and only half-conscious. Even if you’re yelling at the breast pump or cursing the pediatrician or crying over a diaper blowout. I’ll be here. With you. For you.”

She curled in tighter, her breathing finally syncing with his.

“And if I forget how to breathe?”

“I’ll breathe for both of us,” he said. “Until you remember.”

And when she finally drifted off, held in his arms as their daughter slept inches away, Sylus stayed awake just a little longer. Watching both of them. Guarding. Loving. Silent and unmovable.

The protector of two hearts now. And never more certain of his purpose.

[livef1sh]

You don’t know how you didn’t notice him before, close as you’ve been to him the entire time. With as many times as he’s likely seen you, potentially even watching you from where you’ve been standing in his periphery. 

Somehow, though, it’s not until you’re passing by the merch stall for the second time, on your way back from the concessions, drink in hand, that you actually see him.

You notice a large, fuschia shape out of the corner of your left eye, and when you turn to look, fear already creeping into your veins… you freeze.

That’s fucking DJ Octavio. Sitting in the coddamn merch booth.

You continue to stand completely motionless, as if by staying still you’ll avoid detection. Obviously, he’s not that stupid.

You thank any deity that exists that you’re wearing your visor, keeping your wide, terrified gaze hidden from his, having paused his wasabi grinding to study you like a cell under a microscope.

First, he looks confused, but as recognition seems to dawn on him-- how does he recognize you how does he recognize you how does he recognize you-- something akin to concern, possibly even horror, crosses his features.

To your own horror, he raises a tentacle in greeting, but before he can say a thing, the squid next to him speaks up.

“Well hey there, squiddo! You lookin’ to buy somethin’?”

Is that--

Marina’s met him, she says he’s nice, but you’ve kept your distance. Because the second-to-last person you’d ever want to meet is the very squid who drove your people underground in the first place.

Before you can even begin to ponder why DJ Octavio would be selling merch with former Captain Craig Cuttlefish of the Squidbeak Splatoon, of all the fish on the planet, your body moves without your input, darting across the clearing back to the safety of the tent you’ve been hiding under all day.

“Hey--!” you hear your ex-leader call as you flee, and then, his voice fading, “Cuttlefish, you old coot! You scared them off…”

You don’t catch Cuttlefish’s reply, huddling in the corner of the tent. You can’t even focus on the concert, it’s too loud, everything’s too coddamn loud-- you put your headphones back on, and let them muffle the noise enough for you to breathe.

After a while, you can finally think again.

…Damn, you dropped your soda in your flight from the DJ. A janitor’s already cleaning up the spill. Whoops. 

Oh, well. It’s not like you were actually thirsty anyway.

More importantly, though…

As stealthily as you can, you press yourself against the wall of the tent and peek out in the direction of the merch stand, not caring how ridiculous you look.

Yep, he’s still there. Grinding wasabi. Selling merch. Arguing with Cuttlefish. What the actual hell.

As you’re about to slink back into the safety of the tent, left with still more questions, his eyes lock onto you once again, as if he has a sixth sense for you, specifically. What the fuck does he want from you?

He beckons you over, but before your body can freeze on you again, you duck back into the tent.

Obviously, he wouldn’t be here if all the idols weren’t okay with it. So he’s not about to go throwing wasabi in defectors’ eyes or something. Probably. And he doesn’t seem to be pursuing you, easy as it would be to trap you here, so at least he’s not angry with you. Probably.

…You’ll ask Marina about him later.

For now, you’ll just cower in the tent until Off the Hook is done with their set, pretending the two fish you fear most on the planet aren’t just a stone’s throw away from your hiding place. 

It’s fine. You're fine. Probably.

[justletmewritepls]

Memories (Tokyo Revengers Mikey x Reader)

Chapter 14

The air outside the hospital was crisp, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the parking lot. I clutched the discharge papers tightly in my hand, the doctor’s words replaying over and over in my mind. 

"Your panic attack was severe," he had said, his expression kind but serious. "The hyperventilation caused a temporary drop in oxygen levels, which can lead to fainting. You were lucky your friends brought you in when they did." 

I had nodded numbly, barely hearing the rest of his advice as he continued: "Avoid triggers if you can, but more importantly, find a healthy outlet for your emotions. Music seems to be a big part of your life—use it. And don’t neglect sleep, hydration, and proper nutrition. We’ve prescribed some medication to help regulate your anxiety, but remember, healing takes time. Don’t rush it." 

Healing takes time. Those words felt like they were crushing my chest. How much time had I already wasted running from my past, from the people I once called family? 

I exhaled slowly, pulling out my phone as I made my way to the curb. My bandmates’ numbers stared back at me, their names glowing on the screen. Without thinking twice, I started dialing, calling each of them in turn. 

"Emergency jam session," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "My place. Now." 

### At the Studio 

The studio smelled like wood and faintly of coffee, a comforting familiarity that grounded me as I set up my equipment. My bandmates started to arrive, one by one, their concern evident despite my efforts to act fine. 

Shindou was the first to show up. His usual grin was nowhere to be found as he stepped inside. "Hey, you okay? You scared us, you know." He brushed a strand of hair back, lingering close like he was afraid I might collapse again. 

Bakugo came next, his expression stormy as ever. "You better not push yourself too hard," he muttered. "If you pass out on us again, I’m not carrying you." His words were gruff, but I caught the worry in his eyes. 

Yamada arrived not long after, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "You could’ve at least explained what was going on before calling us in like this," he said, his usual bluntness intact. 

Finally, Kamado walked in, glancing nervously between everyone before approaching me. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked softly. "I mean, we’re happy to jam, but shouldn’t you be resting?" 

I shook my head and set my guitar strap over my shoulder. "I need this. Please, just… trust me." 

They exchanged glances, but in the end, they all nodded and started setting up their instruments.   

The moment the first chord struck, the tension in the room began to melt away. Music had always been my escape, a place where words didn’t matter and only raw emotion remained. 

"We’ll start with something new," I said, strumming a few tentative notes before breaking into a melody that had been stuck in my head for days. "Follow my lead." 

My voice cracked slightly as I started to sing la di die. (By Nessa Barret ft Jaden Hossler)

"Does it rain in California? 

Only dream I’ve ever known…" 

Shindou picked up on the rhythm quickly, adding his own flourishes to the melody. His voice joined mine during the chorus, steady and supportive. 

Bakugo followed with sharp, aggressive beats that added depth to the song’s raw energy. Kamado chimed in with soft, almost hesitant notes on the piano, smoothing the edges. Yamada’s deep, steady bass gave the song its heartbeat, grounding everything. 

I poured everything into the lyrics, tears threatening to spill as the words scraped against old wounds. When the final notes faded, the room was silent except for my ragged breathing. 

"What’s next?" Bakugo asked, his usual irritation softened by something gentler. 

I wiped my face quickly and nodded. "11 Minutes."  (By Halsey, YUNGBLUD, Travis Baker)

They didn’t ask questions. They just followed as I led them through the haunting, desperate tones of the song. Each note felt like it was peeling back another layer of pain I’d been holding onto for far too long. 

By the time we reached the final song, Who Knew, (By P!nk) my voice was breaking, but I didn’t care. The lyrics felt like a letter to the ghosts of my past, to my brother, to Mikey, and maybe even to myself. 

"If someone said three years from now, 

You’d be long gone…" 

Shindou improvised a heartfelt solo midway through, his fingers moving effortlessly as he glanced at me, his concern evident. Bakugo’s beat softened, matching the somber mood, while Kamado added delicate, melancholic chords. Yamada’s steady rhythm never faltered, anchoring me even as my voice cracked on the final line. 

When the song ended, the room was silent again, save for my ragged breathing. 

"Okay," Kamado began softly, "are you going to tell us what this was really about?" 

I hesitated, gripping the neck of my guitar tightly. "There’s… a lot I haven’t told you guys." 

Shindou tilted his head, his teasing tone replaced by sincerity. "We’re not going anywhere, you know. Whatever it is, we’ve got you." 

I smiled weakly, exhaustion settling in. "I’ll tell you. Just… not yet. For now, I just needed to let it out. And… I needed you all here for that." 

They didn’t push further, but their concern lingered in the way they stayed close as I packed up, their silent support reminding me of why they had become my second family. 

As everyone left the studio that night, I felt lighter—not entirely healed, but ready to face what lay ahead. 

[actual-changeling]

if you do not follow/haven't seen my recent posts, i really recommend you read this one and this one before continuing, just to make it hit the right way.

also reminder that i have an ao3 right here (and it's not all pain, promise!)

sorry in advance :)

-

the more time passes, the easier it is for joel to talk about sarah. it still hurts, always will, an old bullet buried in his heart surrounded by scar tissue, but except for a few memories, words don't make him bleed anymore. tommy tentatively starts bringing her up once he notices that joel no longer flinches when he mentions her name, and it feels good to breathe life into their shared experiences, his brother the only one who comes close to understanding his pain but also the joy that colored their years.

ellie asks, too, just as hesitantly as tommy at first, but soon her curiosity takes over and not a day passes by without a question in-between sentences about his past. joel answers all of them, stories spilling from his lips and spinning themselves into a sarah-shaped web that he can share with her.

"she played soccer, right? when did she win her first competition?"

there's a few sports teams in jackson, and of course the soccer one caught her eye, making joel dread all the twisted ankles and bruised shins he was going to have to tend to. getting grass stains out of sarah's uniforms had always been a task and a half, and eventually they both stopped caring about it and just watched them pile up, turning white fabric a greenish-brown.

joel opens his mouth, the coffee cup in his hand hovering above the kitchen table, and then he stills, every muscle in his body turning to ice.

ellie's joel? is drowned out by the ringing in his hears, knuckles turning white and gripping the porcelain so tightly he can feel it crack in his palm, and he must have stopped breathing because his vision is growing fuzzy, black dots scurrying in his periphery.

joel lets the cup fall more than he sets it down, stomach turning, bile rising in his throat, because ellie asked him a question about sarah, his sarah, and he doesn't remember the answer.

it can't be, right? just a small gap in his memory, nothing big, it'll come back to him in an hour and he'll tell ellie about it later. but the panic squeezing his chest is real, terror slithering up his neck and curling around his ear whispering what else did you forget?

more than ever before, he tries to think back to all of it, from the first time he held her in his arms to the moment he buried her, and something odd happens to him when he finds that so much of it is. blurry. frayed at the edges, burned holes and white blotches obscuring important and unimportant details alike, memory an old role of film decomposing in the back of his mind.

the color of her baby blanket (blue, it had to be blue, he can't see), the first movie he watched with her, her favorite book in primary school, the way he did her hair on the first day of kindergarten, the friendship bracelets they made together, the posters on her wall, the dress she wore to her first dance (purple right? right?), memories surfacing as his panic cracks him open like an earthquake, and joel tries to cling to them, nails scratching at the parts that should be there but aren't until he tastes blood, desperation growing and growing because he is forgetting her.

"joel you're scaring the fuck out of me right now what's wrong?"

ellie's voice is distant, and he hates worrying her, hates the almost hysteric edge beneath it when she repeats herself, hands squeezing his shoulders, softly, first, then harder when he doesn't respond. all of the years that he didn't even know she existed, memories she has that he never will, all the firsts and buts and what ifs and failures that define a childhood, their innocent light fractured into vivid fantasies by the stained glass window of life. he has had all that and more with sarah, clung to it in the after to remind himself that she is real, that he is still a father even with his daughter buried by a nameless river.

it is all he has left of her, the childhood she never got to outgrow, and it's fading in a mind that has mourned her for longer than she got exist.

not for the first time, joel wishes he hadn't flinched, his brain worthless if it allowed sarah to fade away. without ellie bound to his heart, he would have tempted fate again for that alone.

-

"who hurt you" too many people to count and luckily tumblr lets me make it everyones problem

[rocorambles]

Know Your Place

Pairing: Naoya x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Misogyny, Abuse, Rape/Non-Con, Humiliation, Degradation, Feet Stepping

Summary: You should have known better than to believe that Toji could protect you from the Zenin forever. Once a Zenin woman, always a Zenin woman and Naoya intends to make sure you fully understand that.

Growing up as a female in the Zenin clan means you’re always expected to serve, to look beautiful. Never speak unless requested to. Never look any of the men in the eyes. Obey. Be submissive and demure.

There are thousands of rules and dozens of leering eyes ready to punish you for a single minor infraction. So as much as you hate the life you’ve been born into, you know better than to act out and bring attention to yourself, knowing full well especially now as an adult woman that the price of transgressions are too high to pay.

You’d be incredibly fortunate for the usual heavy backhands Naobito and Ogi Zenin would grace your face with when you were still a minor, for the cruel condescending words Naoya would sneer at you. Those were child’s play compared to what’s in store for you now and you shudder when you remember the images of fellow female servants who had attempted to escape only to be easily captured, clothes stripped and body laid bare for the entire clan to see. You remember the fear that would make you tremble as the men howled in laughter and jeers as they took turns smacking their victim’s ass, pawing and groping her body. You remember sobbing when you were forced to watch as fists, cocks, objects that you thought were far too large were shoved between flailing legs.

But nothing keeps you in line more than the cold dread you’d feel heavy in your chest when you’d be forced to clean out the room of one of your ex-maids, preparing the room for the next poor soul born into a never ending life of servitude. As much as you hate this life, it’s still better than being tied up and forced to be nothing more than a Zenin sex doll, used by every man in the clan until there’s nothing left but an empty husk of skin.

So you keep your head down, ignoring the cruel words and predatory gazes that follow you. You enjoy the few moments you have in the servant quarters alone with your fellow maids, giggling and whispering to each other, pretending that you’re just normal women. Those friendships you form warm your heart and you take solace in the sympathetic glances and warm brief squeezes of hands when a Zenin man is particularly harsh in their treatment of you.

Maybe that’s why you can’t keep your body still when the woman who shares the same room as you accidentally spills hot tea all over Zenin Toji. And despite how terrified you are of Toji’s hulking figure and blood-stained reputation, you throw your body in between him and your friend, creating a feeble physical shield for her from his wrath.

A part of you is together enough to vaguely acknowledge how strange it is that Toji hasn’t roared a single word yet, hasn’t laid a hand on you. But you’re not foolish enough to think this is over and you throw yourself to the floor in a degrading groveling bow, begging him to forgive your friend, to have mercy on the both of you.

You know exactly who Zenin Toji is and you prepare yourself for the feeling of his infamous sword slicing through your neck. What you aren’t prepared for is the way he lets out a boisterous laugh, green eyes glimmering in amusement when he sees the bewildered look on your face as you tentatively peek up at him.

“You’ve got guts. Tell you what. I’ll forgive you and your clumsy friend if you become my personal maid. Deal?”

It’s a rhetorical question and you stiffly nod your head, tears forming in your eyes as you imagine the rest of your life chained to Toji’s bed, stuck in the lair of a beast.

Except your life isn’t anything like you had imagined and you’re stunned when Toji barks at you to go retire to your own room and get some rest so you’re ready to keep up with tomorrow.

Life is...surprisingly normal. Well as normal as it can be in the household of one of the top Jujutsu sorcerer clans in the world. You scowl at Toji as he teasingly throws a pile of sweat stained clothes and towels on top of your head as he walks out of the bath.

“You’re getting a little stronger, little lady. I almost even felt the punch you threw at me in training today.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the slight quirk of your lips and swell of pride at his backhanded compliment.

Toji isn’t anything like the rest of his clan and it goes deeper than just his lack of cursed energy or his supernatural strength. He’s kind. Okay, maybe that’s a stretch, but you genuinely believe he has a good heart. Not once has he ever spoken maliciously to you. Not once has he ever laid a hand even borderline inappropriate or suggestive on you. And sure, you don’t necessarily enjoy doing his dirty laundry, cleaning his room, and making his bed every day and night, but he makes it easy to forget that you’re just a lowly maid.

He talks to you as if you’re his equal, carefully listening to you, acknowledging your points (even if he mocks you when you do say something silly or that he disagrees with). He invites you to eat meals with him. He trains you deeming you too wimpy to last long without at least some basic defense skills. Your time with Toji is one of the few moments of happiness you know and you greedily indulge.

But unknown to you, your new proximity to the black wolf of the Zenin clan has more than one eye looking at you in interest and above all, Zenin Naoya can’t stop fixating on you.

Naoya has always had a strange mix of respect, disdain, and jealousy towards the older man and he can’t help himself from wanting what Toji has, especially when the both of you look so irritatingly happy chattering away with each other as if you have no cares in the world. How dare a lowly Zenin servant look so carefree. How dare curse-less Toji make a mockery of the rest of the clan by living a shame-free life despite how hard they try to humiliate him for it.

Has Naoya ever been happy? Ever been relaxed?

He can’t remember ever laughing as hard as Toji is now in response to something you’ve said or done. He can’t remember smiling so freely like you are as you playfully slap Toji and try to get him to stop teasing you. A green eyed monster slithers inside of him and before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s making his way towards the both of you.

“Aren’t you two as unseemly as usual. I know you don’t care for our clan’s reputation or rules, but really? Parading your slut around so shamelessly? That’s a new low even for you.”

It’s adorable how you scurry away, cowering behind Toji’s broad figure, fear written all over your face. And although Naoya had done this to get under Toji’s skin, he can’t help but wish the older man would storm off and leave you behind in his clutches. He wonders if you’d be this scared and docile underneath him, wonders how tight you’d be while you tremble in fear while he sinks inside of you…

His thoughts are abruptly interrupted as Toji snorts, slinging a muscular arm over your shoulder and dragging you off with him, subtly tucking you safely into his side and away from Naoya’s hungry gaze.

Usually being ignored and dismissed would rile him up more, but as he watches the two of you amble away and sees your innocent and confused face, unsure what had just happened and what’s causing Toji’s strangely touchy behavior, his appetite is whetted and you’re what he’s craving.

What he hadn’t accounted for is how protective Toji is of you. So strange for a man who doesn’t seem to care about anyone except himself. But Naoya supposes that’s just a testament for how good you must be in bed. He can’t think of any other reason why Toji would waste his time and efforts on an insignificant woman like you.

You’re never left alone long enough for him to corner. Just when he sees you by yourself and swoops in to shove you in a spare room, Toji suddenly looms beside you, green eyes sternly pinning Naoya down with a warning. And as much as Naoya would love to rise to the challenge, he knows that he doesn’t stand a chance against Toji, so he slinks away in defeat, again and again.

It only makes him want you more and he grits his teeth as he slams into one of the whores in his bed who vaguely reminded him of you if he squints in just the right way.

He supposes he should be more remorseful as the news of Toji’s death spreads like wildfire through the Zenin household. But all he can see is a light at the end of the tunnel. It takes every last bit of restraint in him not to immediately hunt you down and devour you, but he bides his time. After all the teasing and taunting you’ve put him through just one taste isn’t going to satisfy him anymore.

No, he won’t just ruin you and throw you away after a single night. He plans on dragging this out, using you, tasting you until it fully sinks in that this is all you’re good for, that he owns every part of you inside and out.

His cock twitches at your swollen face covered in salty tear streaks. You look so pathetic, so scared when he takes his time strolling into your room, kicking your roommate out and locking the door behind him. It’s just the two of you and he feels the rush of power thrumming through his veins at how you tremble and cower before him. If only you were naked and not in those dreary mourning clothes…

But he has ample time for that and he wants to enjoy corrupting you, take his time watching your downfall.

“You’re my maid starting now.”

You mutely nod, but make no move and Naoya scoffs.

“I know Toji was soft with you, but let me set expectations straight. I’m nothing like him. Now get moving.”

“But this is my room-”

You yelp in fright as Naoya’s hand grips the front of your shirt and hauls your body until you’re forced to press against his body, feeling his breath against your face as he sneers at you.

“Sluts don’t get the luxury of their own room or bed. Toji spoiled you. Now move your stuff to my quarters. The only place you’ll be sleeping from now on is my floor or my bed. Understood?”

It’s a rhetorical question and all you can do is crumple to the ground when he lets go, staring unseeingly at Naoya’s retreating back as he exits your room, the weight of your new reality crashing down on you.

Sleeping on the floor is humiliating and uncomfortable. Naoya makes it a point to “accidentally” step on you when he gets on and off the bed, rudely nudging you awake with his feet, resting his soles on your face until you’re flailing around to breathe. But it isn’t as bad as wondering when the worst is to come.

At least you’re clothed. At least your innocence is still intact. So as much as you feel like nothing more than a dog, you take it. After all, your new life isn’t so different from your life before Toji aside from your new sleeping arrangements and the headache of being in close proximity to Zenin Naoya.

It’s entertaining enough in the beginning, watching you curl up on the floor like an obedient puppy, admiring how you never talk or lash out when he literally walks all over you. He even buys you a pretty new collar with his name engraved on it linked to a leash he holds in his hand or leaves tied to his bed.

But unlike a real pet you never warm up to him, always looking at him warily, body tense and nervous in his presence. Not once do you look at him with even the slightest hint of affection or fondness you used to stare at Toji with. He supposes that can’t be helped and he doesn’t care for anything disgusting like your love. But you don’t even seem remotely attracted to him as a man and that’s something his ego won’t allow for.

He knows women can’t stand his attitude. But he also knows that at their base, all women are sluts easily swayed by his good looks. He can’t even count the number of women who’ve insulted him to his face only to end up in his bed, moaning and screaming his name and their love for his cock.

You were supposed to be no different. But your continued disinterest in him infuriates him to the point where petty humiliation isn’t enough to sate his hurt pride.

“Strip and get in bed.”

You’re frozen stiff and he sneers at you while you’re on the verge of terrified tears.

“What? I’m not good enough for you? Don’t act like you aren’t used to this. I’m sure your old master had you warming his bed all the time-”

“Toji would never!”

Even he’s stunned by the weight of his backhand hit as it makes contact with your face, by the venom in his voice as he spits out his next words.

“Don’t you ever say that name in my presence again.”

He takes a few seconds to calm his breath, the crimson of the blood trickling from your nose grounding him as he finds his center once more. But then a thought crosses his mind as that red river finds its way to your lips.

“As punishment, let’s make sure you know what your mouth’s purpose is from now on. Words are wasted on a dumb whore like you anyway. Kneel and open wide.”

It’s oddly arousing watching your tears and blood stream down your face as you choke on his cock. Your efforts are half-hearted at best, but he doesn’t mind. Not when the instinctual way your throat flutters around him as he roughly thrusts his hips into your tight mouth suffices. He can see why Toji kept you around and he groans as his hand slips behind your head and pushes you until your face is squished against his abdomen.

Your mouth feels amazing and your muffled screams for air only add to the vibrations around his shaft. It’s enough to have him spilling down your throat and he keeps you tightly pressed against him, forcing you to drink every last drop he gifts you with. And only when your throat finally stops its forced swallowing does he release you, leering down at your pitiful form heaving for breath.

The bitter taste of his seed is all you can taste, all you can focus on as you greedily inhale much needed oxygen. You pray that he’s done, but you whimper when a strong hand easily pulls you up and begins to pull off your clothing. Instinctively you try to push the invasive appendages away from you, but you freeze at Naoya’s growled threat.

“Don’t make me hurt you any more than I have to.”

You know it’s not an empty threat. You’ve seen the quite literally broken bodies of women who had resisted too much against the Zenin men, against Naoya specifically. So you limply drop your arms to your side and stay still as he humiliatingly gropes and examines you like merchandise.

All you can do is clench your eyes shut as Naoya’s hands grab your breasts, kneading and weighing them in his hands, cruelly prodding and pinching your nipples to see your reactions. All you can do is bite back a muffled yelp when he forces you onto your knees and forearms on the bed, squeezing and smacking your ass, spreading apart your cheeks to closely look at your fluttering holes. All you can do is cry into the sheets as he fingers you open, breaching both untouched openings, his thick digits stretching your tight walls apart and taking their time to thoroughly defile you, using your own slick to loosen your ass.

You try to disassociate, try to imagine that this is just a medical examination. But your fantasies are shattered when something hard and thick slaps against your inner thigh as Naoya rearranges himself behind you, rubbing the head of his cock back and forth against your dripping entrance, coating his shaft with your juices.

“Naoya! Sir, please. I’ve never...You can’t-”

Your pleas are cut short as his hand painfully strikes your ass.

“Shut the fuck up. You’re ruining the mood with your sniveling voice. Remember what I taught you? Sluts don’t get to speak freely. They only get to moan and thank their masters.”

You don’t even know if you can speak even if you wanted to, not when his cock is forced into you in one go, the thick and lengthy shaft ruthlessly tearing you apart. It fills you, stuffing you full, and you don’t think there’s even room left in your body for words. The only thing you can release is a strangled scream, eyes and mouth blown wide open, fingers clawing at the sheets as you try to remotely ground yourself as the foreign sensation overwhelms you.

But Naoya has never been a patient man and there’s a certain sense of entertainment from watching you struggle and writhe underneath him. He begins a relentless pace before you can adjust to the feeling of him inside of you, hips slamming in and out of you, heavy balls bouncing against you.

You’re so tight, so hot, so wet and he can feel a rush of power from the confusion he begins to see setting on your face as forced pleasure begins to mix in with your fear and pain. Moans and high-pitched keens are finding their way in between distressed cries and he smirks at the way your eyes begin to roll back in your head, the way your hips begin to meet him halfway, greedily pushing back against him when he teasingly slows down his pace.

He laughs at the humiliation and embarrassment running rampant on your face when you whine as he abruptly stops

“Wow you really are a slut. You fucking love my cock, don’t you?”

He rolls his eyes as you adamantly shake your head in denial, bored by your playing hard to get act. But as he admires the way your pussy lips obscenely envelop his cock, your pretty puckered hole beckons to him.

“You’re fucking filthy, clamping down on me like a bitch in heat from just a thumb in your ass. You like that? Like having all your holes filled? Maybe when I break you in, I’ll share you with the rest of the clan. Bet you’d love that. Love having cocks in every hole, using every inch of you.”

Your orgasm takes the both of you by surprise in its speed and intensity and Naoya howls in laughter as he resumes fucking you, chasing his own high with his thumb still lodged in your ass, groaning in pleasure at how he can feel the tremors of your orgasm, the way your body convulses in the aftershocks of pleasure and onset of overstimulation.

You’re breathtaking like this, fucked silly, delirious, just a warm body and toy for him to do with as he pleases and it doesn’t take long for him to join you over the edge and add to the sticky mess already inside of you.

With a lewd pop he retracts his thumb from your now lewdly fluttering hole, shoving it into your mouth for you to clean and he smiles at how mindlessly obedient you are as you suck and lick the digit clean like it's your favorite lollipop.

You grimace when he finally pulls out, already feeling his cum beginning to leak out of you and you try and find the strength in your trembling and used body to push yourself off the bed. It’s time to retreat with your tail between your legs and you want nothing more than to spend the rest of the evening in the shower, harshly scrubbing every evidence of your utter defeat and conquest under boiling hot water.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You open your mouth to speak, only to quickly clamp it back shut, remembering how your words only seemed to dig you deeper and deeper into trouble.

“You’re going to wash me and yourself and once we’re clean, you’re going to remain naked and in my bed until I’m ready to use you again. Think of it as a promotion. No more worrying your stupid little head about cleaning and laundry anymore. You’re being upgraded to my personal sex slave and bed warmer. Come on, I don’t have all day.”

You wonder if this is what it feels like to walk the plank, to approach your own death sentence as you robotically trail after Naoya’s figure towards his lavish bathroom. And as you lay in his bed that night, pristine and bare like a glorified sex doll, his broad arm possessively slung around your waist and forcing your bodies to mold together, you bid farewell to your past life, dreading what the future has in store for you.

[witch-hazels-musings]

Harbinger Diluc - Match 4 - Knowledge

Synopsis: One day, the Harbinger meets someone who ignites something different in him – and all he knows is to keep what he wants close, that’s all that matters

Harbinger!Diluc x FM Reader | Anthology      

Match 1 - Introductions  |  Match 2 - New Normal  |  Match 3 - Trust

Warnings (will be specific to each chapter) - > being held by the wrist, touching (cheek, wrist)(reader collides with someone's back, reader slaps Tartaglia), flashbacks, feelings of longing) - special appearance: Tartaglia* | wc: 5,014

a-n: this is not canon Diluc* - his behaviors have been changed based on his character as a Harbinger - creative liberties have been taken - enjoy!

The sound of birds singing in the safety of the distant trees, from posts high enough to watch what unraveled below them pulled you from sleep. There was a warmth enveloping you, a strange sensation pulsating down your spine that invited you to turn onto your back and investigate. 

“Did I say you could …” The words died in your throat when you realized the bed was empty - was it just your imagination that concocted a vision of what you wanted? Embarrassing. The sheets were cool against your burning cheeks and muffled the groan that rumbled in your chest. “What in the world is wrong with you.” You fussed, pressing the fabric further against your face, shaking your head back and forth in an attempt to purge your mind of its imagination. 

Once properly adjusted, you flung the sheets away and began your morning routine without any interruption. Those charged with your care meant you never had to hold a conversation even in the best of moods but today, today you had questions you wanted an answer to. 

“Pardon me, do you know if Di- the Harbinger is around.” You asked the attendant as they set out your meager breakfast. A few slices of bread and an egg. The standard. 

“I’m unaware.” 

“Oh, well could you …" They turned their back and were beyond the tent entrance before you could utter another word. "Ah … never mind then.” With a heavy sigh, you watched a strand of your hair dance in the puff of air you created, eyes scanning the room as you decided on your next move. 

Memories began to slip in unwarranted until you become lost in them. 

He appeared from the back of the tent, hair still wet, unclasped with fresh clothes clinging to his arms and chest. You turned your head but found yourself glancing at him anyway - what else was there to look at in this dreary, empty, lifeless tent to begin with. The red strands of hair dribbled water in his wake. His bare, scared hands helped pile it all up into a low ponytail and you uncomfortably shifted in the chair. 

“Do you have to do that when I’m here?” You mumbled knowing there wasn’t any way of circumventing this type of thing in a place meant for one person. 

“This is my space. I didn’t think I needed your permission.” The tone of his voice, the arrogance of it was laced with indifference as he tightened the ribbon in his hair. 

“And I didn’t ask –” You nearly choked when he turned to face you. It was like he intentionally meant to throw you off guard or, maybe, he really was so utterly indifferent to you being here that showing his chest meant nothing to him. Drifting eyes fell onto his abs until they became hidden by the very slow progress he made with buttoning his shirt. 

“Are you having trouble breathing?” 

“What … no.” 

“Ah, well, your mouth is open.” Crossing his arms, he flashed what looked to be a smirk with raised eyebrows your way and the feeling of embarrassment, anger, denial spilled through the actions you gave in reply. 

“S-screw you …” It took you only a second to grab your items and dash into the only private space in the whole tent. You swore you could hear him laugh even through the muffled screams you made into your clothes. 

There were so many quick moments the two of you shared here that, looking back on them, you began to realize he never once acted like the ruthless, heartless, bloodthirsty monster you thought all Harbingers were … the Fatui were your enemy, they were the direct cause of everything bad in your life but every moment with this man was … different. 

The thoughts of the night before flooded your mind. The awkward way he approached you, how flustered he acted at the closeness the two of you shared. The feeling of his thumb against your lips, hot breath spreading over your face, hand against your cheek with a gentleness you’d never expect from someone like him. It made your chest flare up until the only way to put out the fire was to move. By the time you were done getting ready, the food on your plate had been left untouched.

The morning air filled your lungs, and the dew on the grass collected on the hem of your pant leg but you had one thing on your mind today. Now, where was that tent again?

Quickly, you made your way through the campsite and toward the place he might be. It was always filled with people so, normally, you didn’t dare get close to but today you were far braver. A flash of red caught your attention. With pep in your step, you made your way toward it. 

“What other intel have we gathered?” 

“None, other than what was given to us last night.” 

The voices just beyond the canvas were harsh, almost as if they were in a hurry. You weren’t sure what it was but something made you uneasy. Slowing your pace, you moved to perch yourself just beyond their line of sight but close enough to hear what was being said. 

“… He should be able to handle it.” 

“The arrogance, he should have waited until we got more information from the scouts.” 

“There wasn’t time for that!” One of the voices grew more agitated as the conversation continued. You were certain you’d heard that voice before, perhaps during another happenstance eavesdropping you did from inside the tent when you first arrived?

“Listen, Charles, you may be loyal to Diluc -” 

“Master Diluc.” He corrected, followed by the sound of something colliding with a table.

“Master Diluc, but our mission is to serve the Tsaritsa. If he fails to uphold his loyalty …” 

“That would never happen, he’s out there right now …!” 

“I’m aware, but do not question me when it comes to seeing this through to the end.” 

“Then it would serve you well to not question him either.” There was an uncomfortable, tense silence. It was apparent that Charles and whoever was in discussion with him was not on good terms. You tried to move just enough to catch a peek at their faces when another voice joined the mix, one you’d never heard before. 

“Now, now gentleman. Things will be resolved one way or another, let’s take a moment.” Their tone was calm, reassuring, and seemed quick to ease the energy in the tent. “We all have work to attend to, let’s not let it waiver due to unexpected circumstances.” 

“Yes sir.” A unanimous agreement spilled from the tent and you heard several boots shuffle through the grass. When they dissipated, you turned to leave when something caught you. 

“Now what do we have here?” Shooting up from your crouched position, you stumbled backward over one of the ropes but were saved by a strong, commanding grip. “How bold of you to spy on us.” 

“I wasn’t spying …” Your gaze traveled up the arm of the man who held you, grey clothes and a red scarf resting over the chest of a man you’d never seen before. His face gave the impression he was young, it seemed that was a common trend of the Fatui. So where did they steal this one from, you wondered. 

“Really now, then do tell me what it was you were doing?” His blue eyes were striking in the sun, and the small freckles that spread over the bridge of his nose looked almost painted on, but there was no faking the intimidation hidden in the sea of his irises.

“I was looking for Diluc.”

“Were you now? … Curious.”

“If he isn’t here, I’ll be on my way. Please let me go.” Your hand moved to push his from your arm, the grip he maintained was beginning to cause you discomfort but not near as much as the way he looked at you; why did all these Fatui have such ravenous eyes?

“Are you an initiate?”

“No …”

“An attendant?”

“No!” You tugged again but he held strong.

“What’s your name, Comrade?”

“What?”

“If you tell me your name, I’ll let you go.”

You hesitated, unsure if giving him your name was the best option but the way he held you, the way he watched your every move, his eyes never once leaving your face, you knew it was hopeless to deny him. “Y/N.” You whispered it but he heard it all the same.

“Y/N …” The sound of it on his tongue made you shiver as if you were suddenly surrounded by cold water. “I’ll be sure to let him know you’re looking for him.”

“Th-thanks.” He let you go and you took several steps to create distance. You wanted to run away, to turn on your heels and find the nearest place to hide but your curiosity and drilled-in politeness made you stay a moment longer. “What do I call –”

“Tartaglia, or, if you’d like, you can call me Childe.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you … Childe.” He nodded and gave you a smile you knew not to trust. Either way, he seemed willing to let you go. So, as quickly as you could, you turned to walk away but swore you could feel his eyes on you even when you were certain he couldn’t see you anymore.

–

Days went by and there wasn’t any word from Diluc. On the fifth day, you decided to bravely approach Charles - now that you’d seen his face - and asked him if there was anything new to share. The expression he gave you was one of the most honest ones you’d received in a long time but it certainly didn’t bring any comfort. 

“There hasn’t been any news.” He let his head lean in his hands as he gazed at the countless correspondence letters before him. You knew even if you pressed he’d be unable to share more than that. Somehow you knew he wasn’t lying to you. Not when the sigh that rumbled through his chest was the same one you’d had for days. Thanking him, you went on your way toward something, anything that would occupy your time. 

It was a first, you missing him like this. You weren’t sure what the root cause was but you knew the feeling in the pit of your stomach was telling you something wasn’t right. It was the same feeling you got when you were little and gathered up those strangely colored apples from the village orchard, it was the same feeling when watching your friend jump from stone to stone in the river, it was the same when fighting all those months ago in the scorched field - if you hadn’t listened then, the events to follow would have been catastrophic. So you had learned to trust this feeling as if your life depended on it. 

“Honing your skill on the apple I see.” A familiar voice pulled you from your thoughts. Squinting against the sun, you saw the color orange and blue in your vision. Swallowing, you did your best to hold steady as your gut began to whisper words of caution. 

“Huh?” 

“You’re doing a real number on that.” He pointed at the fruit in your hand and that’s when you noticed how close the blade had gotten to your palm. Beneath your feet was a pile of demolished apple bits you must have let fall as soon as they were cut from the fruit. 

“Oh …” 

“Something on your mind, Comrade?” 

Lobbing the apple as hard as you could over the wooden fence surrounding the camp, you wiped the knife off on your leg before sliding it back into the hidden holster of your boot. It took you weeks to sneak this small utility knife into your wardrobe but it was worth it, even if you got caught. 

“No-nothing.” It was still strange for anyone in the camp to talk to you, let alone notice you. Most of the time they kept to themselves and you preferred it that way, but that commonality wasn't apparent in him. This wasn’t the first time Childe came to check on you, and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last. 

“You ready for that spar then?” Ah, there it was.

“You ask me that every day -” 

“And I’ll keep asking until you say yes.” He crossed his arms and even with the sun shining brightly against his back, you could make out the devious grin he wore. 

“Fine, but I’m not - hey!” Childe didn’t wait for you to finish, his hand was already grabbing your wrist, a very common behavior of his: touchy. “Slow down!” You shouted but he was far too hyped up to hear anything at the moment. 

The Fatui foot soldiers caught sight of you being dragged toward the fighting ground. Some were already headed that way which made you wonder if they knew more about this person than you did. Scanning the campsite and doing your best to keep up pace with the ginger’s long strides, you noticed an operative dashing in through the front gates and heading straight toward the commander’s tent. 

“Hey, ho-hold on!” The heels of your boot dug into the ground, your hand moved to pry his away but instead of stumbling from his grip, you collided with his back instead. 

“So forward.” Childe’s voice was muffled but you sensed him looking at you. Even if he was shouting, you wouldn’t have heard him because every bit of your attention was on the operative waving their hands and pointing toward the front gate … was that … blood on their … 

A hand gripped your chin forcing you to look away and when you saw the face of its owner the frustration in your chest exploded through your hands. “Leave me alone!” 

There was a heavy silence that fell over this area of the camp. Interested onlookers shifted to hushed whispers, the wind blew across the field and rattled the dangling artifacts hanging from the tents, causing the canvas to flutter. You scowled at the man who held your chin and breathed out the irritation in your lungs. 

The force of your attack wasn't enough to loosen the grip he had on your chin. “Well, that’s a very appealing expression.” 

“I don’t have time for this today, I have to … I have other things.” Slapping his hand away you glanced back at the commander’s tent but the operative was gone. Where did they go? In an effort to see better, you gathered your hair over your shoulder, fingers clenching the strands to hold them in place, and started to scan the area again.  

“What other things would a Harbingers plaything have to do than entertain them?” His comment settled in your stomach, the sudden sensation of him to you set off your screaming gut but it was the feeling of his thumb and fingers against your neck that made you shiver uncomfortably the most. 

“What did you …” 

“Every Harbinger has their own vice; war, revenge, power, lust …” When you didn't respond he offered more, "Mine, for instance, is power. I don't mind acting on it, in fact, it's quite a thrill. But I never thought he would act on his." 

“He’s not like that.” 

Tartaglia laughed, his hand wrapping further around your neck as he stepped toward you, “He’s exactly like that.” Tartaglia seemed to tower over you even as he leaned toward your ear. In bravery or stupidity, you stood your ground. “Where did you come from, little fox? Did you follow him here or did he take you?” The question shot through your chest like an arrow. The lack of response and the quiver of your eyes told him the answer even if your heart couldn’t bear to speak it. “Ah, so typical of him.” 

“Stop.” 

“I’m curious. How far has he gone? I bet you've shared a bed with him but is that it? A pretty thing like you, I’m sure it’s addicting -“ Every inch of your body was electrified. Your hands tingled, lungs burned as you heaved through partially parted lips and gazed furiously at the face of the man you just slapped. When he looked down at you, thumb pressing against the corner of his lip and hand palming his raw cheek, there was an energy in his eyes as if he got off on this.

“I see. So you’re in love with him.” His words hung in the air for so long that you were sure they would turn to stone and fall before your feet if you didn’t refute them outright. 

“I don’t lo-”

“Master Tartaglia!” His attention turned at the sound of his name but yours lingered on his face, still feeling the shock of his statement through every bone in your body. “There’s been news about Master Diluc, you’re needed.”

The sound of the Harbinger's name captured all your attention. The action didn’t go unnoticed by the ginger. “Let us be on our way then.” He glanced at you but you barely registered anything until a hand found your shoulder and pushed you in the opposite direction of the information you desperately wanted to hear. “You, take her back to her tent. Don’t let her out until I say so.”

“What! Hey, let me … T-Tartaglia!” You were already being dragged in the opposite direction when the last thing you saw was a smirk on his face before he turned his back on you.

When you finally were ‘escorted’ back to your tent, it felt like the first day all over again. The confusion, the anxiety, it all compiled in your chest until it felt like you were suffocating.

“I’ll bring you something to eat, there are guards just outside so don’t get any funny ideas.” The attendant turned but you kept them still with your shaking hands.

“Wait, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything. Now, let me go this instant.” Multiple smacks on your arms didn’t deter you from holding steady. If they wouldn’t give you what you wanted, maybe you would be satisfied with another.

“Fine, then who is Tartaglia? Why did they call him here?”

The pressure of their nails eased up, and the shock on their face seeped into their eyes as they told you the one thing you didn’t want to hear. “He’s a Harbinger.” Your hands loosened just enough for them to slip free and while they shoved the tent entrance out of their way, you collapsed onto the floor and wished you’d never asked the question in the first place.

Replaying the events in your head, you scolded yourself for the stupidity of your actions. It all made sense now, everything that you’d seen him do. It was so obvious. It wasn’t like they pinned a piece of parchment to their clothes saying who or what they were, but it should have clicked with you sooner.

Every Harbinger has a vice … you recalled him telling you. Did Diluc have one too? You learned in one sentence just how little you knew about the man who took you from your home. 

So you’re in love with him …  Hiding in your hands, you shook until the word didn’t hold any more meaning. Love? Love! There was no way. You hated him … couldn’t stand how overbearing he was, how controlling he was. 

The irritating way he asked you if you had enough to eat, if you liked what was prepared, to let him know if there was something you’d prefer. You hated how observant he was. If there was something you gave even a hint of displeasure at, he’d send someone in to adjust it. Of course, he never did let you alleviate the biggest discomfort of them all - being trapped in this camp - but as you thought back on your days here, you couldn’t help but recognize all he did to make you feel comfortable. 

How he gave you space, never asking for much. 

How he tended to you in the smallest of ways. 

When he was here and you’d wake up from a nightmare … 

“Bad dream?” Diluc’s voice cut through the darkness. As your eyes adjusted to the shadows, you saw him sitting at the table covered in scribbled parchment. He glanced at you but mostly kept to his work. You found it hard to ignore the fact that his long, black robe was undone, giving view of his skin each time he shifted or grabbed a new document from the pile. 

“I’m fine.” You replied, now wishing you had complained a little bit more about the nightgown he provided for you. Even though this one had real sleeves, you still felt exposed to him even when he wasn’t looking at you. 

“Alright, try to sleep. I’ll be here if you need anything.” He pushed his long red hair out of his face and you leaned back on the bed but kept your eyes fixated on him. If he wasn’t a Harbinger, if he wasn’t your enemy perhaps things could be different but as the distrust rested in your heart, you found the only way you could sleep was to watch him and listen to the sound of his pen moving across the page. 

Or those mornings when you woke up and found him at your side ...

There was an intense heat at your back, even when you moved away from it it was like your entire spine was on fire. Reluctantly, you turned to see what it was only to find a pile of unkempt red hair directly in your face. It made your heart stop, caused you to freeze as the sudden realization and overwhelming scent of him filled you completely. 

Carefully, you moved away but as you did, you were able to see more of his sleeping form. The relaxed expression on his face, slightly parted lips, and long lashes were hidden under the fiery shade of his hair. Hands resting peacefully on the sheets he’s pushed down his body, unintentionally exposing his chest. It was starting to get annoying the number of times you’d seen him without his shirt on but even more annoying that your eyes wouldn’t stop looking at him. 

In this position, he seemed far more innocent than you’d ever consider him to be. 

The quiet of the morning allowed you to hear his breath, gave you time to take in the beating of your heart as you scanned the muscles of his arm and wondered about the scars that covered it. Instinctually you lifted your hand to trail across one in particular. It stretched over his bicep, your finger followed the path of it making him stir at the contact. Embarrassed, anxious, you yanked your hand back and turned your head into the pillow. 

The sound of his deep, just-waking-up sigh made your heart flutter. The creaking of the bed gave you a smidgen of relief knowing he’d be gone soon but when you felt his fingers against your cheek, the way they traveled to your ear and gently pushed your hair from your face, you swore your heart was going to explode. It wasn’t until the sound of splashing water from the back room filled your ears that you’re ‘still sleeping form’ stifled a scream. 

The memories started to flood in. Each moment, each gesture, every reserved closeness the two of you shared was like a display of his intentions. He wasn’t anything like Tartaglia, he wasn’t anything like anyone … he was Diluc. Behind the title he wore there was a man hidden with values contradictory to everything you knew about the Fatui. 

So, as your mind began to settle on the understanding your heart knew long ago, you lifted your head at the sound of voices coming from beyond the tent and focused. 

“Ah, sir, I’m sorry but I’ve been instructed to not let anyone inside.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Master Tartaglia …” 

“I don’t work for Master Tartaglia now let me through.” 

“I can’t do that sir.” There was irritation in both of their voices but you were sure the other was someone you could trust, and you were certain they held information you desperately wanted to hear. 

“Fine, I’m sure you’d be the last to know so if you haven’t heard, reports from the domain Master Diluc was sent to investigate, somewhere beyond Brightcrow Mountains, have been cut off. We can’t get in contact with them. Master Tartaglia will be heading up an investigation and I fear he will take drastic measures to get the answers the Tsaritsa wants.” 

“… okay? I’m just supposed to gua-” 

“Yes, you’re right … please see to it that she is comfortable. Most of the units will be busy preparing so this is a delicate time until they head out.” 

Thank you, Charles. 

The two of them wrapped up their conversation but you were already preparing. Quickly, you changed your clothes to something darker, and harder to see, and found a bag that held items you never once cared about. Dumping them on the ground, you set off to refill it. A change of clothes, several items that might be useful as make-shift tools. There was a ribbon he left on the table which you used to tie back your hair. Now it would keep it free from your face so you could see everything you needed to. 

The sound of soldiers moving outside told you things were going to be hectic but you didn’t care; there was only one thing on your mind, there was only one thing ever on your mind anymore. 

Patiently you waited, hand hovering over the canvas, knife prepped and ready to slice your way free. You knew it would be hours until they checked on you again, habits built up from your time locked in here meant you knew everything and had all the necessary knowledge to make your escape. From the routes of the guards to the sections of the camp that would be less occupied at this time of day, you’d been practicing, waiting, preparing for this moment since the very beginning and now you were going to enact your plan. 

Now. 

The knife cut smoothly along the canvas tent. When it was just long enough for you to squeeze through, you made sure the coast was clear before slipping into the dwindling sunlight. Like a sparrow swooping through the air, you dashed from shadow to shadow until you eventually made it to the edge of the camp. This was your second hurdle.

The last time you had to climb something like this was when you were young and one of the village kids tossed a stolen doll onto a roof. Just like then, you analyzed the obstacle with careful eyes before detecting the best path. It was only slightly more challenging considering there was barely enough room for your fingers to slip in between this post and the next, but even if they screamed at the pressure and roughness of the wood, what lay just beyond was enough to keep your center.

The ground came much quicker than you anticipated, the heavy drop into the grass made you tumble forward. There was no time to catch yourself. Instead, you bolted as fast as you could toward the tree line and didn’t stop until you were deep in the thick of it.

The smell of fresh air, thick, lush evergreens, and spruce trees sent out wave after wave of clarifying scent and soon the warmth of your legs began to fill your body even after you slowed to a steady trot. The bag on your back was comforting, the energized oxygen in your lungs made you feel alive but it was the freedom of being beyond those walls that made you lift your hands to the chattering birds and sun-speckled treetops.

“I missed you.” You whispered, smiling at the feeling of being untethered. The sound of a hawk echoed in the thicket and, with a knowing nod, you looked for the best candidate to gather your bearings.

Climbing the tree made you feel at home. The skill of jumping, launching, and slinking around each branch felt so familiar to you that there was no way you’d ever forget this connection. When you finally reached the top, or at least high enough to see the surrounding area, you took a moment before gathering your Intel. Off in the distance, you saw the peak of Dragonspine, the City of Freedom perched on its rock in the middle of the lake, Stormterrors lair, and in between, the mountains of Brightcrow. You were about to climb back down when your heart called to you.

Past the snowy mountains, beyond the grand lake were some of the landmarks of the wonderful land of Liyue. How many times had you climbed its mountains and landscapes, how often had you run through the fields and streams? It was your home, your real home and it called your name so powerfully it nearly drowned everything out.

The sound of laughing children, the rejuvenating beat of countless feet dashing through the woods bounding from tree to tree, stone to stone, one adventure to the next. Helping hands and smiling faces, a trade for hard work. It all was so tempting and heart-shattering at the same time. It was right there, home was closer than you thought possible. The battle taking place in your heart begged you to submit. You were conflicted. Rubbing the water from your eyes, you pulled your hand away only to see through the starlight in the darkness, the campsite nestled in the open field.

– 

The tree supported you until your feet hit the ground. The leaves you disturbed in your climb fell around you like decisions you had to make before they would point you in the right direction. Closing your eyes, you let out a sigh before feeling the ground give way to your feet. While the leaves seemed to speak in one voice as they drifted toward your home, your legs carried you toward the unshakable red that spoke in another.

Match 5

tag list: 

@nightlywallows

@vibe-chess​

@theresapancakes​

[queenxxxsupreme]

Arthur Morgan request where just the reader being there when Arthur comes back after being tortured and caring for him?

A/N: I know I already did one like this (Goodbye Kisses) but I really love this whole mission/scene in the game so I did another one :) I hope you like it babe!

Warnings: nothing out of game canon, mentions of Arthur’s wound, potential spoilers for chapter 3, spoilers for Blessed Are the Peacemakers

***

“How long are you gonna stand out here?”

You turned your head to see Hosea approaching you. You stood where the hitching posts for the horses were, your eyes scanning the trail commonly used to enter camp. Your arms were crossed and your shoulders were tense. Your jaw had been locked until Hosea spoke to you.

You let out a small breath through your mouth. 

“Until he comes back.”

“You know him, Y/N. Always out and traveling.” Hosea came to stand beside you. 

“But he didn’t tell me he would be going anywhere after meeting with Colm, Hosea. He would’ve told me if he had plans to go somewhere else.” 

“Oh I’m sure Morgan don’t tell you everything, sweetheart.”

You looked over your shoulder at Micah. 

“He’s a grown man. He doesn’t need a woman breathing down his neck the way you do.”

“This is none of your concern, Micah.” Hosea told him, glaring at the man. 

“I’m just trying to calm Miss Y/N’s nerves, Hosea.” Micah put his hands up as he came to stand next to you. “We don’t want her worryin’ her pretty little self to death now, do we?”

You cringed at his words, your stomach churning.

“Come get something to eat, Y/N.” Hosea turned his attention back to you. “It’s been a long day. In the morning if he’s not back, I’ll send Charles and John out for him.”

“I will in a minute.” You nodded, giving him a little smile.

“I’ll get you a bowl. Better not let it get cold.”

He walked away, leaving you alone with Micah Bell.

“You know, I don’t think he’s coming back.” Micah took a swig out of the liquor bottle in his hand.

“Excuse me?” 

“It’s a dangerous world out there, sweetheart. Wouldn’t expect a little filly like you to understand.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Moving on is probably what’s best for you.”

You gritted your teeth together, your eyes falling on the trailhead. Your nails dug into your bicep as your mind raced with endless scenarios. 

“Arthur would want that for you. He’d want you to be happy.” Micah reached out to brush his fingers over your hair. 

You swatted his hand away, turning to face him in the same instant. 

“Don’t put your goddamn hands on me, Micah Bell.”

“You’re a feisty one.” He smirked. “I like that.”

“What’s that in the woods?” Mary-Beth’s voice caught your attention. 

Your head snapped in the direction of the woods, eyes almost frantically finding the trailhead. 

Arthur’s horse moved along the trail at a walking pace. Something- or someone -was on its back hunched over. The horse stopped and Arthur’s body slipped off, hitting the ground with a thud. 

Time slowed down. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears. You could barely hear Mary-Beth and Karen shout Arthur’s name. You weren’t sure when Dutch had come to stand next to you, but even his voice sounded distant when he yelled. 

Soon, there was a small crowd of people gathered around Arthur. 

You couldn’t move, too afraid to find the man dead on the ground. Your heart was in your throat and you felt light headed. But then Arthur spoke and you could suddenly breathe again. 

“I told you it was a setup, Dutch.”

You found yourself sprinting to him, roughly shoving Bill to the side. 

“Move! Move!” Your voice was weak at first but then it became more demanding and almost hostile. “Back up! Give him some space!”

“Do what the woman said!” Dutch’s voice resonated better than yours and the crowd listened better to his words rather than your aggressive pushes and shoves. 

You finally got to the center of the circle, finding Mrs. Grimshaw looking down at him.Your eyes met Arthur’s and tears blurred your vision. You forced them back. You didn’t even get a chance to say anything to Arthur before Dutch was shouting orders at Grimshaw, Pearson, and Swanson. 

You were still trying to process what you had just seen, to process the state that you had seen Arthur in. 

Pearson and Dutch took Arthur to his tent while Swanson and Grimshaw followed. 

Once again, you were stuck in place, left alone, and unable to move. 

The lump in your chest was expanding, pushing its way into your throat. Your hands hurt so bad from how tight you were curling your fingers into fists. 

A hand on your shoulder made you jolt. It was Charles. 

“Are you okay?”

You couldn’t find your voice immediately. 

“I-I’m…. He’s- Arthur-He’s-,”

“He’s here now.” Charles cut you off, his quiet baritone soothing. “Go see him. I’m sure he’d rather see your face than Swanson’s.”

You nodded, forcing your legs into motion. 

Swanson was just stepping out of Arthur’s tent when you arrived. He whispered something incoherent to Dutch and Hosea. Then their eyes fell on you. 

“Y/N.” Hosea said your name as if to announce your presence to everyone else. 

“Can I go in?” You gestured to the tent. 

“Of course, of course. You need anything at all, give us a holler.”

As they left the tent to go to a nearby fire, you slipped into the tent. 

Mrs. Grimshaw looked at you, offering you a little smile. 

“How-How is he?” You made sure to keep your eyes on her. You couldn’t look at Arthur, not yet. You weren’t ready to look at how hurt he was in the oil lamp light. 

“It’s hard to tell right now, darlin.’” She whispered, though Arthur could hear her. “He’s got a bad wound to his shoulder. Needs cleaned. There might be more but he’s stubborn. Didn’t want to talk about what hurt. Just kept askin’ for you.”

You nodded. 

“I can clean him up. Just-Just get me what I need.”

“I’ll get it to you right away.”

You watched Grimshaw leave, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. Your stomach was twisting up into knots. Your palms were clammy as you made fists by your sides. The only thing you could hear was the sound of your heart thumping in your chest and ears. 

“Pumpkin.” Arthur’s voice was raspy. 

Instinctually, you turned your head to look at him. The second your eyes fell on him, the tears you had been so desperately fighting escaped. 

“Oh, pumpkin.” He tried to sit up but winced, his face contorted with pain. 

“Don’t you dare try to get up, Arthur Morgan.” Though you meant to sound stern, your voice quivered. 

“Don’t cry, pumpkin.” Arthur patted the bed next to him. 

You moved to his side, carefully sitting down on the mattress next to him. You placed your hand on his chest, needing to feel him, to know for sure that he was okay. 

His skin was so pale and his shoulder wound looked awful. He didn’t look like he should’ve been alive. 

Arthur took your hand from his chest and kissed your knuckles. 

“I-Arthur, I thought-,”

“I know.” He stopped you, giving your hand a little squeeze. “M’sorry for worryin’ ya.”

You shook your head, bringing your free hand up to wipe your cheeks. 

“Arthur, I was scared I was never going to see you again.”

“That’s silly talk. Ain’t nothin’ gonna keep me from you. You know that.”

“Y/N?” Grimshaw said your name, wanting to announce her arrival before entering. 

“Come in, Susan.” You turned your attention to her. 

She walked in with a bowl of water, a few towels over her shoulder, and a couple other bottles tucked under her arm. 

“Are you gonna let Miss Y/N help you get cleaned up so you can get better for us, Mr. Morgan?”

“M’gonna try, Mrs. Grimshaw.” He let out a little sigh. 

“Well you better try real hard. We need you to get better. This camp can’t operate properly without you.”

“That’s mighty kind of you to say.”

“Only speakin’ the truth.” She placed the items down on the end table and placed her hand on your shoulder. “You let me know if you need a hand with him.”

“Thank you.” You watched her leave.

“Hey, pumpkin?”

“Yes, Arthur?” You looked back at him. His eyes were slowly closing but he seemed to be fighting the urge to fall asleep. “Arthur Morgan, you can’t sleep just yet.”

“I know, I know.” He brought his right hand up to rub his eyes, wincing when he accidentally bumped the cut below his eye. “M’not trying to.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up then so you can get to bed.” You pulled the knife off of your hip and moved to the side of the bed. Arthur watched you, trusting you enough to know you wouldn’t hurt him. 

“Just gonna get your union suit off of you.”

“Guess I’m lucky you know how to use a knife.”

“Don’t move and we’ll be fine.” You teased a little.

You unbuttoned the chest of his union suit, then used the knife to cut the arms.

In the dim light provided by the oil lamps, you could see dark blue and purple bruises on his sides and along his ribcage. You’d have to check on those later. For now, you needed to tend to his shoulder wound. 

“Already took the bullet out. You don’t gotta dig around in there.”

“Good. You’re still not gonna like this.” You picked up a bottle of liquor that rested on the ground next to the bed. 

“Shit.” Arthur mumbled. 

“I’m sorry.” You murmured.

“It’s fine, pumpkin. You gotta do it.”

You picked up a towel Grimshaw had brought and began to pour a decent amount of the liquor on to the wound. Arthur tensed up, his fingers curling around the bedding beneath him. 

“Ah, fuck!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, darlin’.” You repeated softly, gently wiping away the excess liquor that spilled down his arm. It broke your heart to know it was hurting him, but this would clean the wound and hopefully keep it from getting infected. 

You moved towards the chest at the foot of the bed. Arthur’s eyes followed you.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

You said nothing. 

“Usually you’re always askin’ me questions about where I been and who I met on my travels. What animals I ran into.”

“I know what animals you ran into.” You pulled a roll of clean bandages from the chest then returned to his side. “I-I don’t know that I can handle it tonight, Arthur.”

“Pumpkin, everything’s fine-,”

“Everything is not fine, Arthur!” You cut him off, raising your voice as you looked down at him. “You are not fine! You don’t sound fine! You sound half fucking dead and you look worse than that! All because Micah thought there was some sort of rekindling this fucking fued between Dutch and Colm!”

Arthur stayed silent. 

You unraveled the bandages, calming down just a little so you no longer yelled at him. 

“I swear, Arthur. I’ve never seen Dutch make more stupid decisions than he has since we’ve taken in Micah Bell.”

“Micah’s got that effect on people.”

“It’s funny you think this is some joke, Arthur.” You shook your head, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him. “You think this is some joke when you almost didn’t make it home-,”

“Hey.” He firmly stopped you, brows drawing together. “Nothin’ was gonna stop me from makin’ it home to you. I already said that. I know you were scared and I know no matter how much I tell you you had no reason to be scared it won’t make a difference. But I’m here now aren’t I?”

“Barely.” You murmured.

“Well I ain’t leavin’ this camp until I’m a hundred and ten percent better. That could be weeks.” He paused for a moment to let the words sink in. “Weeks of me not leavin’ your side for jobs or for travelin’ days away.”

A little smile began to form on your lips. 

“Weeks of me followin’ you around like a lost dog.”

“That sounds pleasant.”

Arthur chuckled.

You began to wrap his shoulder, the smile still lingering on your lips. 

“I like that idea.”

“Maybe I’ll have to get hurt more often.”

“Arthur.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Just jokin’ with you, pumpkin.”

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If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[brockadoodles]

Snow doesn’t fall in scottsdale - a. matthews

AN: Uhh just ignore the text in the gif since it’s obviously not relevant to the story. (even though Ema is the best) But here’s what might be the last Christmas fic in my eight weeks of Christmas series. I’ve been finding myself inspired for other stuff, and there’s so much wonderful Christmas content out there that I’m sure you don’t need 47837584 more from me. So enjoy this one, a nice anon requested more Auston content, so that’s why I wrote it. But, I really liked it and hope you do too. 

This is also for @broadstbroskis​ who I love to send things at absolutely inappropriate times for her so, I hope this hits you at a bad time ;) 

Word Count: 4628

Warnings: None, it’s floofy. 

Auston felt himself sigh as he looked at you. You were sitting out on the roof and holding an old mug of tea. He noticed the way you held the mug close to your chest and looked out at the skyline. The sun was just beginning to set, the deep orange and purple hues and the hot dry air  were some of his favorite things about where he was from and lived during the offseason. But as he carefully looked at the somber expression coming from his limited view of your face, he could tell that you missed Toronto.

You were the type of person who had a firm belief that Christmas wasn’t really Christmas without the snow, and Scottsdale, Arizona might have felt cold at 20 degrees celsius to those that lived there, but to you all it was, was a dry desert with fake Christmas trees and a painful lack of snow covering the ground. Your favorite memories included carrying a small sled down the street while holding your mom’s hand, or sitting on your dad’s shoulders at the Christmas market every year, snow piling onto your beanie as you stuck your tongue out hoping to catch flakes. Those were your favorite memories of the holiday and even if the view was stunning, the palm trees simply didn’t hold a match to the thick, evergreens covered in snow. But you were thankful to have Auston, and his family, who had been nothing but accommodating to you. So you kept your homesickness away from them, plastering on a smile that faded as soon as you came out to the roof to take a moment to yourself. 

You didn’t want to complain, because you were genuinely grateful that Auston had invited you to spend the holiday with him. Before you could contemplate the weight of the question, or think about how spending Christmas with your friend who always felt like something more would only entangle your heart further into the mess of feelings that it was already nestled in, you said yes. The decision didn’t phase you until you were waiting for a flight, your thigh brushing his and his head resting on your shoulder, that maybe this was only going to end up hurting you in the long run because of your own harbored feelings for one of your closest friends.

You’d liked Auston for almost as long as you’ve known him, having met in a chance run in when he bumped into you on a night out with your friends, spilling your drink all down your dress. He offered you a new one, and soon you found yourself tumbling into a dangerous friendship with him that your heart always wanted to pull more out of. It was a bad idea, going home with him. It was something that was debatably far too intimate for two people who were supposed to be just friends. But you didn’t know that Auston harbored feelings of his own, and you didn’t know just how much he’d do to make your Christmas special. 

Auston watched carefully as you set the mug down and snapped a picture, one that would later end up on Instagram for the world to see, captioned “there’s no snow but the view is great.” You flipped your phone back over, presumably hiding any potential interruptions from your time up on the roof. He took your pause as his moment to make his presence known, and he carefully opened the tall glass sliding door and stepped out onto the roof. You looked over at him before curling your feet underneath your legs to make space for him to sit. 

“Are you okay?” He tentatively asked. You simply nodded and leaned your head on his shoulder, causing him to instinctively pull you closer into his body. It was almost terrifying how well he knew your mannerisms, each breath you took or movement gave away everything about how you were feeling. It scared him how well he could read you, but he paid attention because he cared. Auston knew this was about Christmas, and while didn’t know how to pull any of it off, he'd drive to Colorado and back if it meant bringing you a dusting of snow to the desert in December.

----------

The following afternoon, your mood had improved and the melancholic moment shared between you was nearly forgotten as you sat across from him at the small coffee shop. Auston had this ability to know your every emotion. He knew when you wanted to talk about what was bothering you and when you didn’t, and you appreciated that when you woke up the next day, he offered nothing other than a soft smile and asked if you’d like to check out this new small coffee place with him. 

“I can’t believe you managed to get this much time off this season, normally you don’t even go home.” You hummed as you sipped on your drink. Auston held the door open for you as you walked out, the heat hitting your skin almost instantly as the loss of air conditioning from the shop became more apparent. 

“I know, but it’s good.” He shrugged, offering no indication that there was any deeper meaning to that statement as he followed you out of the shop. The truth was that the extra time was much needed, as it gave him the perfect opportunity for an impulsive trip out of town that just might lift the mood you were so desperately trying to conceal. 

You handed Auston your iced coffee for a moment so that you could toss up your hair. The sun was starting to beat down, heating up your skin and causing a light sweat. 

“It’s too hot, how can you even be wearing that?” You gestured to his outfit, which in contrast to some of the clothes he normally wore, was relatively relaxed and normal. He was wearing black joggers and a dark t-shirt, with a light flannel on top. You were sweating just looking at it in comparison to the oversized Nike t-shirt you had stolen from him that morning, and your soft shorts. You couldn’t deny that it looked good on him though, and if it wasn’t so hot and you lived in a reality where you could act on your feelings, you wouldn’t mind tucking yourself right into his chest.   

“Ah well, that’s because we’re not staying here.” He shrugged, shaking you out of your daydream and tugging you back toward his car. He laced his fingers in yours and it sent fluttering right to your chest. The simple display of affection was something that you were likely reading entirely too much into. But you didn’t care, because your brain was communicating chemicals of fondness that were being sent straight to your heart with the simple gesture, and you were going to let yourself enjoy it even if it ultimately didn’t actually mean anything substantial. 

“What? Where are we going?” You asked. Auston just smiled nervously at you as he unlocked the car. He untangled his fingers from yours and walked to the driver’s side door, a sensation that you subtly frowned at. 

“Uh, well I hope you don’t mind but…” His voice was muffled as he got into the driver's seat. 

“But what, Auston?” You pressed. 

“We may be going on a road trip.” He bit his lip slightly as your eyes went wide. He knew this was spontaneous, and maybe too much. But all he wanted was to see a smile on your face and if he had to spend all night looking up weather reports and finding a town that had a substantial amount of snow and drive you there, that was a task he was more than willing to do. 

“To where? And why?” You laughed. Auston smirked at you as he started the car.

“This small town in the mountains in Colorado. We have a cabin, we’re bringing Felix, and there’s a ton of snow right now.” He smiled at you, watching out of the corner of his eye to see your reaction as you took in what he was saying. Your eyes widened and your heart rate quickened. You reached over the center console and grabbed his hand and slid your fingers through his once more.

“Thank you.” You whispered, hoping that the simple words could accurately depict just how appreciative you were of him. He pulled your hand up to his mouth, pressing a light kiss to the back of it and smiling at you once again. The adoration in his eyes was more than what a friend should show, but this entire trip was more than friendly, and you didn’t really care that you were setting your heart up for the inevitable disappointment you might face by the end of it, because you at least somewhat had Auston. He may have not been your boyfriend, you couldn’t kiss him whenever you wanted, or hold him beyond small gestures but he cared about you, probably more than he cared about most of his friends, and that was enough. So you packed a bag, loaded Felix into the car, and drove just over eight hours with him to spend a few days in the snow before Christmas.

----------

The first night you got there, the two of you were exhausted. You were so tired that you couldn’t even register the lines you were crossing as you climbed into bed next to him, Felix tucked securely under your feet. You were so tired that you didn’t question it when his arm came around your waist and slid just underneath the waist of the sweatshirt you were wearing. He was warm, and you felt safe, so you let yourself drift off to sleep without thinking of the emotional consequences of the romanticization of all of this. 

The second night, Auston had insisted on another surprise for you. One that he was tight lipped about, but swore that you would love. All he told you was that you needed to dress warm and be ready to walk around. So, you threw on more layers than was probably necessary and let him lead you into town. 

You grabbed onto his arm to not lose him. The crowd was larger than you’d expect for the small mountain town he had brought you to. Auston just pulled you in closer, wrapping an arm around you to tuck you safe and secure into his side. It was another simple gesture, adding to the annoying list in the back of your mind of things that Auston Matthews could do that caused a flutter in your stomach and slight heartache in your chest. But it was cold, and the gesture was one that made you feel calm and content as he led you further into the town. 

The small town was quant, and reminded you of some picturesque stereotypical German town that went all out for the holidays. The Bavarian style cottages and buildings were all decorated with lights, and the snow on the roofs was a sight that made you smile even more as you kept walking. You were about to ask Auston where you were headed when suddenly the lights came into view. Your eyes went wide as you looked at the giant tree in the center of the town square, it was lit up with white lights and shiny, multicolored ornaments. Snow was settled into the branches and littered on the ground. You nearly cried when you realized where he had brought you. 

“I can’t make it snow in Arizona, I can’t replicate the tree, but I found this place and thought it was pretty close.” He looked down as you with a subtle smile on his lips. You reached a hand up to his cheek, running your thumb along the stubble from where his beard was growing in, feeling his cheeks shift into a larger smile. He wrapped an arm further around your waist and pulled you into his chest. Auston looked at you like you were his entire world and his heart lurched in his chest at yet another grip you were securing on it. He wanted to lean down and kiss you. He wanted to walk through the door to your soul that he had been waiting behind for so long because for the first time, standing there with your hand on his cheek and you looking at him the way that you were, it felt like it was finally opening for him. 

But the moment was fleeting and as your eyes scattered away from his and you stepped back, his heart dropped. Because in that moment he could almost see the intricate parts of your mind racing, probably regretting getting so close to him in the first place. He didn’t get to kiss you that night, but as you threw on his sweatshirt and crawled into bed next to him, letting your head fall onto his chest, he let himself wander back to the idea of your feelings being reciprocated. It was that feeling that left him softly smiling as he fell asleep. 

----------

“I have one last surprise for this trip.” Auston came out into the kitchen. He stood behind you and reached an arm around to grab a mug, resting his other hand on your waist as he did so. You were growing almost too accustomed to the subtle touches shared on this trip, to falling asleep in his arms. You were in your own almost blissful world, and there was a part of you that had been thinking about taking the leap and kissing him. Because in this blissful world, reality didn’t exist. You weren’t going back to Arizona tomorrow, and you weren’t ultimately going back to Toronto to your separate apartments. In this reality, you could stay with Auston forever, without the pressures of everything that real life brought both of you. 

“Do enlighten me on the latest Auston Matthews surprise experience, because I must say that I am enjoying it.” You teased, passing him the coffee pot that was in front of you. You spun around to face him and his smile grew. There was a soft glow to his smile and his eyes that had your heart racing even faster than it already was previously, and you bit your lip as you waited for a response. 

“We’re going skating.” He grinned, a satisfactory laugh coming from him as he watched your eyes go wide and mouth hang open just slightly. You had only skated once in your life, and it was when you were seven. Your older brother had shoved you onto the ice and you tumbled, breaking your arm in the process. Ever since then, skating was the one fear you had, which was slightly ironic considering the person you were essentially in love with did it for a living. 

“Auston… you know I don’t know how to skate.” You glanced over at him, his hand reassuringly came to rest on your hip, a soft squeeze that sent shivers running through your body at the contact. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and you nearly fell over. The line that the two of you were balancing on felt like it had been crossed with the intimacy of the kiss. It was a simple, quick, but tender kiss to the forehead, and it was rushing into your heart, causing it to react and demand more from him. 

“Time to learn, babe.” He patted your hip and walked out of the kitchen. The disconnect from his body no longer pressed almost against yours was almost excruciating. You stood there in the kitchen for what felt like hours just replaying the moment in your mind. You were so focussed on how badly you wanted him that you didn’t even register the fear that you normally felt when it came to the idea of skating. 

Later that afternoon, after resolving yourself to the fact that you were definitely not getting out of this surprise, and realizing that he even bought new skates for you, Auston led you through a snow-covered pathway on your way to the frozen lake. The walk was quiet, the only sounds coming from your feet crunching in the snow. As you got closer and the lake came into view, you were regretting leaving Felix at the cabin because he could have been a great excuse to use to get out of this. 

Auston spotted a small bench and instructed you to sit down on it. He sat down beside you and lifted a leg into your lap, sliding the skate on and beginning to tie it securely for you. You watched as his hands moved, tightening the laces. When he was done with both skates, his hand slid up your shin, a soft reassuring smile on his face as he tapped your leg indicating that you needed to move so he could put on his own skates. You were starting to get more and more nervous as he finished lacing his up and grabbed your hands, helping you stand on the edge of the lake. Auston took a few steps backwards, guiding you to the very edge of the frozen lake. Your stomach dropped when he stepped out, the sound of skates hitting the ice shocking you back into the reality of what you were doing. 

“No railing baby, you’ve got to hold onto me or accept that you might fall.” Auston teased as you stood at the edge of the lake. This felt like a disaster waiting to happen, a tragic ending to what would have been the cute cheesy skating scene in one of those terrible lifetime Christmas movies. You felt slightly ridiculous out there, but Auston didn’t see it that way. He saw this as another opportunity to help you have the best possible Christmas even if you were away from your family. 

“You know.. what if I just sit here and watch you?” You offered, biting your lip as he skated to the edge of the lake. He positioned himself right in front of you and took your gloves hands in his, guiding you slowly onto the ice. 

“I’ve got you, I won’t let you fall, okay?” He reassured you. If only he knew that falling on the ice was the least of your concerns when it came to the meaning of that word. Auston reached for your hand, silently lacing his fingers with yours as he guided you into taking your first step. You crashed into him, hands flailing into his chest as he laughed softly at you. 

“It’s not funny!” You whined, grasping onto him as tightly as you could. Auston didn’t mind the contact, he wanted to be with you all the time, his heart carefully locked in your possession to keep, whether you knew it or not. If anyone told him that he’d have gone through all of this for a person who he wasn’t even dating, he would have laughed in their face. But you were different, and no matter how hard he tried to pretend you were just a friend, he knew he was potentially setting himself up for a shattered soul if you didn’t feel the same way that he did. 

You let Auston guide you around the ice, his hands secure on your body to prevent you from falling. When he guided you off the ice, you sat straight down onto the same bench you had previously. Auston leaned in front of you, grabbing the back of the bench with his hands on either side of you. For a moment you let your mind drift, thinking about what it would be like to reach out and grab the strings tauntingly hanging from his sweatshirt and pulling him into you from where he was standing. You thought about how you could press your lips softly to his, reaching your hand through his hair to pull him closer into you. You felt your stomach in knots as you thought about kissing him, something you’d been wanting to do for a while, but never had the courage to, and it wasn’t until he waved a hand in front of your face that you realized you weren’t kissing him, it was just an image projected from your imagination as you sat there, wishing your feelings away so that you wouldn’t constantly be rejected in your own head. 

----------

The two of you set off on the drive back to Scottsdale the next day, leaving behind the bliss of being unplugged and away from everyone for just a few days. The whole experience almost felt like a melatonin induced dream, the last three days spent with him. But as you settled back into the guest room in his Arizona house on Christmas Eve, your bed felt cold and empty without him. 

Christmas day had come and was nearly over, and you smiled more than you thought that you would. It was weird how the short trip had changed your perspective over the whole holiday. You weren’t nearly as homesick as you had been. You were genuinely enjoying yourself, and felt like you belonged right where you were as you helped Ema in the kitchen with Christmas dinner. You felt a sense of ease finally about Auston, clarity slowly drifting from your heart to your brain about how you felt about him. 

You had excused yourself after dinner to go up to the roof once more, just taking some time to let all of your feelings settle. The reality of going back to Toronto was starting to creep back in. Soon you would be home and back in the routine of the second half of the hockey season. Auston would go back to being gone all of the time, and you would go back to work, the fleeting feelings you were experiencing would pass, and you’d get back to the place that you had been before where you were content with him just being your friend. 

Auston however, had different hopes for the last few hours of this short escape from Toronto. He loved his job, he loved his teammates and the city, but he’d be lying to everyone and himself if he didn’t admit that you were one of his favorite parts of the whole thing. He lit up whenever he’d see you in the crowd, the same old Maple Leafs beanie you had since your high school days adorned on your head. You fit seamlessly into his life in every single way except for the most important one, and he had enough of it. This week spent with you had shown him that he needed to be honest. He needed to release his heart from the weight of his own growing feelings for you, and there were moments where he truly thought that you were going to catch it. He needed to take the chance, he might explode if he didn’t. 

The gift was entirely too much, it was too sentimental, too heartfelt, too every other adjective in the dictionary for the word much, and Auston knew that. He knew that this gift sealed any chance at keeping his feelings opaque, the transparency of the glass felt like a metaphor for a window into his own heart. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care that it was too much, all he wanted was for the horribly wrapped confession to somehow be enough for you. Auston took a deep breath as he held the box, the one that Bre had helped him wrap just the night previously. You were up on the roof, sitting peacefully as you watched the sunset over the skyline. The palm trees and dry terrain are vastly different than what you were used to in December. It was almost like you had a sixth sense he was behind you because he swore he felt his heart drop into his stomach when you turned your head just enough, showing a warm and soft smile as he tentatively stepped toward you. 

You were in one of his sweatshirts and your hair was up, a look that in all your years of knowing each other he never got tired of. You were everything to him, and he had been so sure about how he felt about you right from the beginning. But, you weren’t ready. At the time you had just had a bad breakup, your heart was tucked in a locked box in your chest, no hope of it being unlocked by anyone else for a long time. But, a long time had been coming, and now that you were here, in Arizona, in his sweatshirt, smiling at him, he could only hope that you would at least consider giving your heart to him. 

Auston stepped out onto the roof again, a familiar feeling settling into his chest from just a few days prior. You lifted your eyes up to meet his, this time a genuine smile adorning your lips as the moon and small patio light lit up your face. He sat down next to you once again, handing you the small, wrapped gift that he had been holding.

“I have one last surprise for you.” He quietly spoke. 

You took the box in your hands and you slowly unwrapped the gift.  You set the paper down under your thigh and pulled out the small snow globe, letting it feel heavy in your hands. Your fingers traced over the details, the fetched mountains in the glass and the hint of green pointing through the white snow. It was a simple gift, something plucked straight out of a bad holiday movie, but you didn’t care because it came from him, and the thought behind it was better than any tangible gift he could have bought for you.

“Turns out, snow is very hard to come by around here.” He smiled down at you. You looked at Auston with a new perspective filling your mind, you noticed all of the things about him that you were blissfully ignoring before for the sake of guarding your own heart and hiding your own feelings. You knew his eyes softened when he looked at you, you just chose not to see it until now. 

“Auston-“ you started, but his eyes shifted as he spoke. His entire speech was tossed off the side of the roof, he was going with his gut here. He was going to tell you how he felt, because he simply couldn’t hold it in any longer. 

“This is probably the worst time for this. And you deserve better than some shitty rooftop confession on Christmas. But, I like you. I like you so much, I have probably since shortly after we met, and I know I didn’t make snow fall like I promised, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you. How badly I want to kiss you, how badly I want to just say that I love you all the time.”

“Auston, you talk too much.” You smiled at him. Everything felt warm, and it wasn’t just because of the slight heat in the air, or his body closely hovering above yours. You were warm because you loved him, a concept that you weren’t expecting yet somehow ended up prepared for. 

“Well, I’ll shut up and kiss you, then.” He teased, smiling into a soft kiss. Your hand tangled in his hair, and your eyes fluttered closed as you melted into him. 

“Oh, and I love you too.” You smiled as you leaned in to kiss him once more. Sure it wasn’t Toronto. It wasn’t that blissful three days in the mountains. There weren’t lights or trees or snow or anything that you’d traditionally associate with December 25th, but you had Auston in exactly the way that you had wanted him for a long time, and somehow that was better than all of it combined. 

[pollyrepents]

skin to skin

Warnings: Descriptions of OCD-like tendencies including food and aftermath and miscarriage.

Summary: Michael’s wife is dodging him and fretting over more than one loss.

Word Count: 2k (I got a little carried away)

A/N: There’s no real moment in time this is set. Michael’s just old enough to be married to the reader and having a child wouldn’t have completely ruined their plans.

He had seen it in Polly first. The rituals, the lighting and blowing out candles, the tablets and the drinking to slow it all down. He was young when it happened the first time, right after his father passed. She was coping, he supposed now as he thought back, with the loss and the idea of two kids on her own added to her brother’s litter as extra being her responsibility. It had scared her and she needed control and peace any way she could get it. John and Arthur would take him out onto the lane when her fits would become worrisome, they would kick a ball around with him and the other neighborhood kids until Tommy came to get them, their Uncle Charlie having helped settle his mother with strong whiskey and a shouting match the kids were better off not hearing.

He understood the want of control, the craving for power over something too big for the palms of his hands.

He had no reason to think you’d be the same.

That night in the bar, your dress hugging your curves and glittering in the poor lighting of the pub, he had fallen head over heels. He hadn’t shown it—Isiah assumed it was lust and he was bringing you back to his apartment for stress relief that never failed him and would bring you back with a little blue glass vial of snow in your purse—but he had fallen swiftly and freely and wanted just you in that bar and everyone else out on the street.

It was a game of cat and mouse. You knew he was a Shelby although he introduced himself as a Gray, and you knew any wrong move or sharp words could have you cut. You strung him along but Michael refused to relent, countering every one of your wise cracks with quick retorts of his own. Only when he took you out for a smoke, did you notice his freckles in the shining street light and his self assured smirk slipped into a boyish smile without his permission. You fell faster than you would have liked, in honesty.

Now, as he stood at the doorway of your shared bathroom, he listened to you whimper as you worked the soap in your hands up into a lather. He could smell the lavender and peppermint in the air the same way he smelt it on you when he would lift your hand to kiss your knuckles. 

“Are you nearly done?” 

You started at the sound of his voice, turning your head back for a brief moment before rinsing off your hands. 

“I didn’t know you were home.” You tugged the towel off the rack, rubbing the soft cotton over your painted fingernails first. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

Michael nodded, blowing a breath out through his nose slowly. “I thought you were in the bath.” 

“I had one earlier.”

“A soak to relax?” He hummed as you passed him by, your path to the vanity quick and with intention. “One of your lavish baths with hot water and bubbles like a child?”

“After all you put me through today I deserve one.”  He watched your two fingers unscrew the cap to the small lotion bottle, capping the glass with your thumb before twisting your wrist, swirling the lotion. Four turns around and you pull your manicured thumb away, turning your hand over to spill out a thin line of product onto the back of it to the tip of your middle finger, a small line crossing over the back from right to left.

“Let me,”He offered abruptly, a hand reaching out for yours. “After all I put you through today, I could help you relax.” The way you only glanced up at him before shaking your head and rubbing your hands together stuck with him. 

“You’ll only smell like me. What businessman should smell like lavender?” You scolded quietly as you worked the lotion into your skin with your hands low close to your lap, paying special care to your knuckles. They had become tender with the heat of the water, the small splits over your knuckles and the sides of your palms surely burned with the product and the added attention from Michael.

“One that loves his wife.” He placed his hands on your shoulders as you worked the lotion in, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles, “A kept man.”

You laughed lightly and Michael felt the corner of his lips turn upward. “A kept man?”

“I’ve come back here night after night, I think that’s qualified me as kept if all else hasn’t.”

“A ring qualifies me as kept.” 

He stopped himself from rolling his eyes at your reminder, placing his hands on the vanity on each side of you, caging you in. The way your shoulders regained the tension he thought he pushed away made him want to question you, break apart every fear or stressor you had and throw them into the Cut, never to be seen again. 

“I’ve told you I’ll replace the ring as soon as I can find a jeweler who knows what he’s doing.” He tilted his head down slightly to rest his forehead against yours. “I won’t have you wearing a shit ring. Not from me, not my love. Even if you lost the first one like a teenager.” 

You closed your eyes—to avoid his gaze, he was sure of it, and took a deep breath. “I’m starting to think you don’t want me wearing a ring of yours again—”

“We took vows.” Michael’s voice was soft when he cut you off, his words were certain. “Every morning too. I love you, I tell you every morning, don’t I?”

“I’m never sure you’ll come home at night.” You muttered, turning your head away from him. “So you-”

“I promise you every morning.”He spoke softly as you did, moving to press his lips to yours. His lips met your cheek when you turned your head again but he took it in stride, placing delicate kisses from your cheek to your ear. “I will get you the ring. I just hope you don’t let this one slip off.”

Michael leaned back again, testing the waters and leaning forward to kiss you. He stopped as he felt your hip bump against his hand, lifting his hand from the wood of your vanity to let you slip away. Your hands stayed planted on your chest, your palms flat against your collar bones as you walked over to the window. He turned his head only slightly, pushing one of your perfume bottles out of the neat line they were arranged in. From the corner of his vision in the reflection of the mirror he watched you tilt your head to the side, wiping where he had placed kisses onto your skin away as if it soiled your skin.

The pretending stopped in that moment. “What was that?”

“What was what?” You sounded oblivious to his question, he noted the ways your fingers twitched against your skin, imagining you craved the water washing the little bit of him off of you as soon as he had touched you.

“You react to your own lies, my love.” His gaze did not waver, trying to persuade you to meet his eyes. “Don’t ever play cards with Isiah. It won’t end in your favor.”

Your eyes shifted from the window to his for a brief second and he quirked an eyebrow when you looked past him to analyze the perfumes again. “Don’t move my things, Michael. I’ve asked you a hundred times to leave them alone.”

“It’s just a bottle.” He pushed it back to its almost rightful position, although still slightly off from where you had it. 

“It was mine, I had it in the right place.” The sharpness to your tone made Michael brace himself, waiting to be pushed aside. 

 Michael stood his ground as you marched over, your fingers etched with narrow slits where your skin had broken twisting the bottle back to its rightful place. “It shouldn’t bother you that terribly.”

“It was in its place, Michael.” Your fingers curled and uncurled around nothing and you brought your hands in front of you, making a steeple of your fingers and holding your wrists against your stomach, pressing into the softness there. 

Tentative, Michael reached his hands toward yours. He saw the beginnings of an objection, your eyebrows raising and your lips parting, he refused to hear it. He linked your fingers, pulling you close in front of him until your fronts were pressed together. He knew you wanted to squirm the way you always did when he looked at you closely “too fucking close to be normal” in your words, your toes wriggling against your stockings and jaw tensing as you stared at his eyebrows.

“I know every part of you.”

“Michael-”

“Every part. You think you’re still hiding things. Keep thinking that if it helps you, Y/N.” Michael’s hands came up to gently cup your face, holding you with the care he would use for Polly’s china. “But all of this, the constant washing, and the straightening and the picking at food only comes after big stuff. You never let me touch you after the big stuff. You haven’t let me kiss you in ages.”

“Talk to me, my love.” You bit your lips together and Michael’s thumb came down softly to push against your chin. “Talk to your husband, please.”

You cleared your throat once, twice, three times, and your voice still broke as you whispered to him. “I bled last week, Michael. It was heavy.”

Michael nodded once in almost understanding, knowing how your aversion then strong desire for his touch towards the beginning and end of your bleeding, especially the particularly bad ones. You tore your eyes from his and Michael ducked his head slightly to pull your gaze back to him. “That’s not it. What’s got you like this? What is it?”

“No.” You looked at him again and your eyes were wet with tears. “Polly-- your mum-”

“My mum caused this?” His eyebrows pulled together and he looked toward the ground, a thousand things running through his head at what Polly could have snapped at you with in a moment of misplaced rage. “What did she say?”

Your hands came up to hold his face this time, Michael’s dropping to your waist. Instinctively, he began to rub gentle lines down the marks he knew decorated your skin under the fabric of your slip. 

“My bleed wasn’t-” You choked on your words and Michael let you tuck yourself into his chest, his arms coming around to hold you to him. “It was a child, Michael. Polly told me I was with child.” Your words began to rush out as the blood in his veins ran cold. 

“I was with child, and then I wasn’t, and I couldn’t find a moment to tell you that I was or wasn’t and now-”

“It’s alright,” His hands stroked down your hair, stopping to play with the tight curls at the nape of your neck. “It’s alright, my love.”

“She said it was-”

“It’s not.” He forced the words out, bile stinging the back of his throat. “It’s gone now. It’s alright, just us. We’re alright, Y/N.”

“I just-I feel like I’m still dirty from it.” You whimpered, twisting your fingers at the knuckle with your thumb and forefinger. “I can’t get clean from it. If I can’t get clean from it, you might find another woman.”

“You weren’t dirty from anything.” He pressed his lips against the crown of your head as he spoke, doing his best to take in your scent. “You’ll never be dirty, my love.”

“She-she sai-”A hiccup cut you off and his hold tightened, bringing one of his hands down to find yours and bring it up to his chest while you stammered. “She said it was-was a b-boy. A son, M-Mi-Michael.”

He took a deep breath, squeezing your trembling hand as he did so. “We’ll have a son. We’ll have another son.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat, trying his best to blink back tears.

You pulled back, placing your trembling hands on either side of his face. He cupped the back of your head, pulling your forehead to his and shutting his eyes as the tears began to fall.  His voice trembled as your hands did against his skin, “We’re alright, my love. We’re alright.”

[fistsandfangs]

ooooh okay 11 recovering from an illness/injury + T secret relationship + 34 “Is that blood?” pretty please ❤❤❤❤

i was immediately inspired by this and i hope it does your request justice! thank you lovely! x

READ ON AO3

If Alec were a different person, he wouldn’t be in this situation at all. It didn’t do any good to think such things, but he did.

If it weren’t for his secret relationship with Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn, he wouldn’t have been on his way to a clandestine dinner date on the other side of town. If he hadn’t been on his way across town for dinner, he wouldn’t have come across the pack of rabid hellhounds. And if he hadn’t come across the pack of rabid hellhounds, he would never have ended up leaning against the locked doors of Nightingale Towers bleeding profusely from a particularly deep wound in his side.

Fumbling for the call button with a blood-slick hand, he managed to press the one emblazoned with “PH1” in delicate gold print. For a few seconds, there was silence.

“Fuck,” Alec exhaled, swaying on his feet from the horrible combination of exhaustion and dizziness washing over him.

He hadn’t actually thought about what he would do if Magnus couldn’t help him; now it seemed totally idiotic not to have come up with a plan B. After all, to Magnus it must have appeared that Alec had stood him up only a week after an argument in which Magnus had accused him of being unwilling to make time for their relationship. If he ended up having to drag himself to the subway, he would only have thirty minutes to come up with a believable explanation as to why he had snuck out late in the evening without telling a soul to go to some dive in Queens.

Suddenly, Magnus’ voice crackled through the speaker. “Who is it?”

“Magnus, it’s me.”

A terse sigh echoed in the vestibule. “Is there something you want, shadowhunter?”

Even just shifting his weight to make for the door made Alec feel as though he very well might pass out. “Look, I know you’re pissed at me and maybe in a way I deserve it, but I—” The low whoosh of a portal opening interrupted him, materializing next to him. With the little bit of strength he could muster, Alec half-stepped, half-fell through it. His legs buckled beneath him when he landed on the pristine carpet of the loft, and he errantly hoped he hadn’t stained it.

“You couldn’t be bothered to call, yet you—” Magnus trailed off abruptly, and Alec forced himself to look up at him even as his vision swam. He looked disappointed. And angry. But once their eyes met, both dissipated to be replaced by shock. “Is that blood?”

Alec tried to answer but all that came out was some kind of incoherent murmur, and he felt his body tipping forward as the floor rushed up to meet him.

When next he opened his eyes, Magnus was leaning over him with a look of consternation as pale blue pulses of magic emanated from his palms. His necklaces spilled over Alec’s chest, a cold brush along his now bare sternum. “Hey,” he managed to rasp.

“Shh.” Magnus spared him only a glance, his gaze soft with sympathy that Alec almost felt guilty to be the intended recipient of. “You need to lie still for me, Alexander.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but ultimately held his tongue until Magnus had secured gauze over the raw but healing skin. “I’m sorry I missed our date. It wasn’t intentional; I swear on the Angel, Magnus.”

Pursing his lips, Magnus finally sat back and looked at him. Alec couldn’t swallow down the lump that rose in his throat at the sadness that softened his eyes and turned down the corners of his mouth.

From the first time he laid eyes on Brooklyn’s esteemed high warlock, Alec was enchanted. At first, it didn’t occur to him to be concerned that the man in question was a downworlder, that he was a man at all. It didn’t occur to him that this was someone with a reputation that preceded him, and spanned lifetimes. It didn’t even occur to him that he was the furthest thing from qualified to speak about feelings. All he knew was that his heart was beating hard enough that it might break his rib cage apart and he couldn’t care less so long as he didn’t have to look away just yet.

He should have known better than to think he could endeavor to have anything so exquisite.

“I was on my way to meet you when I got ambushed by rabid hellhounds. I tried to call you but the battery was dead, so it was all I could do to get here, to you. I’m sorry, Magnus, I didn’t know what else to do. Maybe I should have just—”

“I’m not mad that you missed dinner tonight,” Magnus cut him off softly. “I’m very glad you made it here in one piece. It certainly made my job easier. With some rest and being responsible about your activity, you’ll be good as new in a few days.” Standing up, he made for the drinks cart and skimmed his hands, caked in dried blood, over a few glass decanters before choosing one.

Alec hesitated for a moment, sitting up against the arm of the couch gingerly. “But you’re upset.” Magnus made no move to reply, instead downing three fingers of whiskey in one swallow and leaving the ice to clink against the bottom of the glass. “We don’t have to do this to each other, Magnus. I know that I started it, so maybe it’s my job to be the hypocrite. You take a step forward and I take a step back; you move to follow and I walk away. It…it fucking sucks.”

“God help me, I care for you. Very deeply, Alexander,” Magnus exhaled shakily.

“But I’m—”

“For better or worse, I lo—I feel inexorably connected to you,” he continued as though Alec hadn’t spoken at all. The taught lines of Magnus’ back made appear as a man made of marble. And he felt just as unreachable to Alec. “And this is what you are. Being a shadowhunter will always be your priority, and I respect that you have made your decision to continue down that path, but it’s not one where I can follow alongside you. I can’t be happy only seeing you when a lie is convenient and buys you some time, or when you’re beaten half to death and I’m left with your blood on my hands. I very well might love you, angel, and in another life maybe it would be enough, but we don’t have the luxury of a simple solution.”

Feeling his throat start to close as he fought back tears, Alec forced himself to his feet and took a few steps towards Magnus. His hands, always so steady whether they wielded a blade or an arrow, or grew mottled with bruises blooming dark beneath his skin, were now trembling and there was nothing he could do to stop. It felt as though he were walking towards the precipice of a vast chasm that was ready to swallow him whole, and the longer Magnus’ words hung over them like a dark cloud, the closer he got to falling in head first.

“I was scared,” Alec blurted out. It wasn’t exactly where he had intended to start, but at this point, it hardly mattered. “I was scared that if I made room for someone in my life, in my…in my heart too, that then what I’ve been running from for so long would catch up to ruin everything. I’ve never been as close to happy as I am with you, and I know the minute I let this become anything more than some kind of stupidly perfect life I’ve built up in my head, it wouldn’t be safe anymore. That’s something I should have been honest with you about, though, and I see that now. I—I’m sorry.”

“Alec—”

Holding up a hand, he continued. “If I don’t say all of this now, I’m going to lose my nerve and I don’t know if I could live with the consequences. Look, Magnus, you were right to be frustrated with me, and I’m mad at myself too. But if it’s not too late, if you can still find it in your heart to give me a chance to make this right, I would do anything to deserve it.”

For a few agonizing moments, Magnus expression was unreadable. And then he spoke.

“I hear relationships take effort.”

Alec inclined his head slightly, a tentative smile starting to play at his lips. “I’m all for effort.”

>> PROMPT LIST

[viledreamer420]

Matt asked if i would stay the night and i told him I'd my moon said i could i would. The rest of the day we ran around being boys we was going inside seeing what nicole was up to now than normal.

We rode our bikes across the little country town to my house so i could ask if i could stay. My mom said it was ok because it was Friday so no school. I gave her a hug and we both rode as fast as we could back to matts.

Nicole was still there and informed us mr. Johnson would be late from work, and dinner was almost done so we needed to entertain matts sister.

We went upstairs and into Beth's room i was first in the door and was a bit turned on as Beth was currently completely naked as she was removing a one piece bathing suit to try on another.

I was feeling lucky soaking in Beth's tanned body seemingly void of any lines! She was a petite girl she had just begun growing and as such her tits were flat though her nipples were puffy, her body was so sexy though her tummy flat and toned her legs skinny and thus created a thigh gap i could clearly view her smooth pussy through.

I was only a second before she yelled and quickly covered herself but I'll never forget how she looked, Matt came in while my jaw was dropped as i stared away at Beth he laughed at her telling her to pick one out already!

Beth looked at me as she asked "which one do you like best?" In a girly tone. I looked at her swimsuits on her bed occasionally scanning there one she held as she covered herself. I spotted a purple and black once piece i remembered her once wearing like 2 years ago "this one i really think you would look perfect in it" i smiled handing it to her.

She smiled at me before dropping the suit in her hands and slowly stepping into the purple one. I felt myself start to twitch as she pulled the swimsuit on i was 3 sizes to small for her but she managed to pull it on.

I smiled as i looked her up and down! Her suit clung to her pussy and dove into her little ass. Her hard nips poked her suit up making then look so perky and nice.

"I'm going to the river to cool off" Beth told us as she grabbed a towel and asked us to come too. Beth lead the way to Nichole in the kitchen Beth talked for a minute before she said "let's go to the river then"

I fell a few steps back just to admire Beth's tiny ass walking inches from reach. Before long Matt had marched ahead barely to be seen now that dark was closer. Beth however slowed down allowing me to catch up beside her.

She would brush her hand along mine or skim my leg as we walked allways excusing herself when she did. I started timing her arm and before she hit my hand i held onto hers Ann's wer walked holding hands until we got to where the woods were

We still had to walk on the trails through the woods fore about half a mile before even seeing the river. The forest was real dark as we made our way through the winding pathways that intertwined like a maze in the dark woods.

I felt her hand tighten as night time animals scurried around slightly scaring Beth! She almost pulled me over as an owl swooped past her and she jumped into my arms. I grabbed her and scooped her petite body up holding her tight to me.

I laughed a little from her reaction and said something about safety in my arms squeezing her again. I walked a fair distance holding her like a baby in my arms.

She was light to hold and my hand was perfectly cupped onto her ass cheek and i felt when she wiggled her ass into my palm. I got to a small clearing in there woods that had a fire pit and an old tent us kids would use when we stayed out for a night or two.

I set Beth on her feet in front of me. "River is getting closer give me a second to catch my breath" i said acting winded. I remembered there was a blanket in the old tent and I went over top grab it i was happy someone left a sleeping bag as well.

I laid out the sleeping bag and blanket making a soft area to sit or lay back, I once finished laid back looking up at the stars and flashing back through the day as i did i felt my cock twitch as i got hard.

Beth continued asking her seemingly innocent questions occasionally asking about her bathing suit or something in regards to seeing her naked in her room.

Then she got bolder! Asking about Nicole and if I'd seen her naked, what were we doing in her dad's room? Why Nicole was moaning then yelling? I was straight up about all of it then i asked my own questions.

I asked her about boys she saw, I asked her if she liked me seeing her naked body, I told her I had seen Nichole nude as well. Beth looked into my eyes and asked who i liked seeing best. I admitted that i wasn't sure as i had a much closer and longer look at Nicole's body than hers.

I honestly spilled everything about what went on in her dad's room. I felt Beth's hands slide over my body rubbing my cock through my shorts. She gasped as my cock swelled in her hands. "Can I well ummm you know see what it looks like? " she asked as her fingers danced all over it.

I shook my head yes in excitement as I puked my shorts off one leg at a time. I pulled my briefs down slowly exposing my 7 inch cock to my friends little sister! Her face was showing how excited she was to see my cock up close.

She instinctively grabbed it tight in her small hand looking at me for input I placed my hand over hers slowly beginning to stroke myself with her hand. I let go of her hand moaning as she continued without guidance.

"Kiss me please Beth, I want to feel you're lips on mine" I pleaded licking my lips, Beth smiled leaning in to kiss my lips never stopping her stroking hand. Her lips touched mine making me moan again.

Her lips were so soft and her lip gloss tasted like strawberries, i felt her lips open slightly, i slipped my tongue through her open lips into her mouth and felt more aroused as her tongue rubbed in synch with mine.

My hand rubbed her back gently tracing along the to small swimsuit gliding down her sides then up on to her small ass squeezing them before giving her a backside a slap.

"Ohh yes what else can I do?" Beth cooed in between kisses. "You should kiss my cock Beth! That's what your wanting isn't it?" I whispered into her ear. I stripped the swimsuit off of her tiny body kissing her all over stopping at her mouth i licked her lips and guided her head down until i felt her breath surround my dick.

Again instinct took over as she licked around my cock like a melting popsicle! I spun her body until her pussy was before my eyes as she worked my cock into her mouth, I inhaled deep smelling the aroma she made before my tongue lapped away at her perfect tasty pussy.

I heard her start moaning how good i was making her feel, that she didn't want me to stop. Then i felt her swallow my cock as her hips buckled down on my face, she was cumming hard abs she tasted Devine.

I told her to stop sucking me off. She looked confused and hesitated as she wanted me to cum for her. I had another idea, I laid her back in the makeshift bed I got between her legs holding her open i dropped my cock onto her puffy mound coating it with her juices as i rocked my hips making my cock slide between her lips.

Once i felt her legs spread further I pushed the head of my cock inside her pumping her tight hole deeper inch by inch. "Oww it hurts but feels so good!" Beth moaned out loud.

I went harder deeper faster, Beth was bucking her hips telling me to fuck her like Nicole, telling me how she watched through the crack in the door as i hammered the babysitter, and now she needed it too.

I grabbed her tiny ankles holding them high and apart as I fucked Beth's petite body like I did Nicole's earlier. Beth was better tighter tastier smoother and Beth would cum lots more.

We laid there and we fucked once more before we finally went to the river. Matt hadn't even noticed we were missing as he was catching up with two girls abs a boy we'd all gone to school with.

We jumped in cooling off Beth would swim between my legs to touch me or she would be resting beside me holding my hand inside her tight suit as I fingered her to orgasm.

Before long we headed back to Matt's to stay in for the night. His dad's truck was parked in the driveway as we got there.

Next: night at Matts house

[parkerlyn]

how would the ROs react if MC showed up at their bedroom door in the middle of the night hugging a pillow and looking for comfort after a nasty nightmare? bonus if MC's normally tough and doesn't scare easily ❤️ please bless us with some fluff 💕

Nightmares you say? 👀

(tw for brief blood and death because this got away from me and turned into drabbles. Written in the who-will-admit-to-the-feelings-first stage, and as if everyone’s uhhh staying at the same inn? Sleepover at The Lucky Albatross for [insert reason here]? haha. And thank you both for the ask! ❤️This really helped me kickstart my writing again after hitting a bit of a block 💖💖)

Sweat clings to your forehead as your eyes snap open, clammy cold jittering from the base of your skull and slamming down between your shoulder blades. Pressing your eyes closed again, you narrow your consciousness to your breaths, mind solely focused on the rising of your chest. 

In. Out.

Blood gurgling from swollen lips, a hand clutching at dirt with a shiver. They look to you, pleading, wanting, no strength left to form the words you know would be their last.

In.

You stare helplessly as they collapse into the red already soaking into the ground, finally succumbing to the wound that’s pierced through their ribs.

You watch their body deflate in an exhale before stillness takes over.

Out.

Back in your bed, your fingers grip at the sheets around you in frustration and you sit up with a scoff. 

No paradise and verdant fields tonight it seems, only nightmares. And in a cruel twist of fate of course, nightmares about someone who’s taken up more of your thoughts than you’re comfortable admitting.

You know you’re all safe. Your magic is strong enough to reach out and feel the comforting (comforting?) presence of all the people you expect in the rooms around you. 

But you’re already up, securing the glamor, watching your mortalis form take shape.

You need to know for sure. Need to know that this isn’t some cruel illusion. Need to know their heart still beats, can beat, will beat in time with yours.

You find yourself...

---

The Healer:

...at the Healer’s door, hand hovering over the wood before you let your knuckles fall against it with a faint knock. There’s no response at first, and you curse under your breath for this moment of weakness, before you hear shuffling on the other side. 

It goes quiet, and despite your self-chastising, you find your hand has already knocked again. Another magic reaches out cautiously before you can feel their guard drop, the door opening soon after. 

Guilt flickers in your thoughts when you see them, golden eyes darkened with sleep above the disheveled open neckline of their nightshirt, warmth radiating from their exposed skin. They blink a few times before they fully come to terms with the fact that it’s you standing in front of them, the realization apparent when their eyes widen with clarity.

“I had a nightmare,” you explain, the words spilling out into the silence. “You...you died.”

The statement takes a few more seconds than usual for them to process, before their eyes soften and they step to the side to invite you into their room. The smell of cedarwood grazes against you as you pass, and you have to resist the urge to turn towards the source along their bare neck.

Once the Healer pinches fire alight on a couple candles, they ease you over to a chair near their bed.

“Ah- wherever you want to sit.” They murmur, voice laced with sleep. “I know the inn’s chairs aren’t exactly built for comfort.” They scratch at the back of their head and stay standing. 

Watching their reaction for a moment, you decide to sit at the foot of the bed, where the covers are only mildly disturbed.  The mattress sinks under your weight as you leave your legs hanging over the side, the balls of your feet pressed into the floor. Soon after making sure you seem settled enough, the Healer makes to sit in the chair instead. 

But your body reacts first, reaching out without thinking to grab at their wrist, to stop them from moving farther away. To be able to feel them, tangible and real.

They swing their face to you when your hands connect, and you know they’ve felt the shiver run through your fingers. Whether from the lingering sight of their blood staining the ground, or from the static in the touch between you, you’re not sure. 

Judging from the worry lining their brow, you’d guess they’re reading the former.

Within the space of a few seconds, their arms are around you with a hand firmly planted at the back of your neck, enveloping you in an embrace.

“I’m here,” says the voice in your ear, the vibration in their chest grounding you through their body. 

It’s only then that you can feel what they’ve seen, your body shaking and swaying in the terror that crept into your limbs.

Fabric twists between your knuckles as you clutch at their back and bury your face into the crook of their neck while they squeeze tighter. The warm earthy scents from before fill your senses completely.

“I’m here.”

---

The Magesmith:

...at the Magesmith’s door, but you can’t quite bring yourself to knock. There’s a faint light trickling out from the loose parts of the door’s frame, and you can tell that they’re still awake. That should be enough, you can feel their magic through the door, clearly alive, clearly still there. It should be enough.

But it’s not.

You register the sound of the knock before you realize that you’re responsible for the echo in the hall, followed by the realization that it’s too late to retreat as the Magesmith opens the door. 

With their headband discarded and the glowing light of the hearth’s fire, their dark auburn hair falls against their face in a gentle, haloed wave.

“You-” they start with a cocked eyebrow, before seeing the sheen of sweat across your forehead. “What are you doing here? What’s going on?” 

You stare at them for another moment, reassuring your senses that it is in fact them. No illusion, just them in all their slightly sour-faced glory.

“Nightmare,” you respond softly, the Magesmith leaning in just a hair to hear you.

“Nightmare?” 

The question comes across more tenderly than you would have expected from them, a sudden shift from the previous questions. It’s the first time the two of you have been alone in a long while, and the sudden awareness of this leads your gaze over their barely parted lips and across their sleeveless arms, the various smithing burns and scars writing shimmering stories over their skin. 

“I, uh...” You sigh. “Nevermind, it’s fine,” you finally spit out, turning towards your room again.

“No, wait, please-” The Magesmith reaches for you but pulls their hand back at the last second. They smother the desperation in their voice and instead try to read your features for an answer to the questions they don’t want to admit they’re thinking. 

Why me? Why did you come to me?

You watch them swallow the thoughts, lips pressed together as they look away.

“You...” Deep brown eyes snap back to your face at the sound of your voice, waiting for you to form the words. “You died. I watched you die and I wanted...I don’t know what I wanted. To see if you were alright?” You cringe at the words as they flow out and turn from the Magesmith’s scrutiny again.

Though you’re looking at the floor, you see them bring their hand to scratch idly above their prosthetic arm.

“Did I at least put up a fight?”

Jerking your head up in disbelief, you level them with a stare only to be met with genuine interest, and the faintest smile tugging at the corner of their mouth. In the odd situation, you can’t help but let out a short, crisp laugh.

“You can come in, if you want,” they whisper tentatively, as you feel the unease evaporating off of you. “Waiting for the fire to die down anyway.”

It takes you a moment to respond, the silhouette of flames dancing between you and them. 

“I’d like that.”

---

The Sage:

...at the Sage’s door, clenching and unclenching your fists as you still try to shake off the residual images ingrained into your vision. Eventually you steel your nerves to knock, the sound as loud as thunder along the still hallway.

You hear a quiet hum on the other side of the door, followed by a soft “Just a minute,” and what you can assume is the Sage stumbling from the comfort of their bed to greet you.

This was stupid, that’s plenty of confirmation, you shouldn’t- but they’re already at the door, easing it open while gently rubbing a knuckle into the corner of their eye.

Worry shapes their face almost instantly when they register that it’s you, and they immediately survey the hall for a sign of any dangers. Content that there isn’t anything threatening your safety, they turn their entire focus back.

“Are you alright?” Their hand twitches as if it wants to reach out to you but they restrain themself. Looking into their eyes, the flecks of topaz in hazel are brilliant even in the dim night lighting, and you force yourself to rein in your staring before you fall in further.

“Just...just a nightmare,” you eventually respond, matching their hushed tones. You can feel them exploring your features, unsure of what to do. 

They decide though, as you feel fingertips barely float above your shoulder, before their hand commits to giving you a light squeeze.

“Please come in?” they ask, easily reading what you’re hoping for. You nod and follow them inside.

With ease, they charge the crystal lantern into a faint golden glow, and let the fire curl off their fingers as the spell politely moves around you to swirl into the hearth. A healthy fire builds in the small fireplace and they take a seat down at the bench in front of it, offering the space next to them. Gladly, you take it, pressing your palms into the edge of the wood while watching the flames grow.

They’re happy enough sitting in silence, turning from the fire to you and then back. But it drags on longer than intended and you give a small sigh.

“It was you. I watched you die, and I couldn’t do anything.” 

You hear the sharp intake of breath from beside you, and know that their eyes are focused on you now. You wring your hands together, still trying to shake off the icy grip of the hellscape you awoke from.

Carefully,  gingerly, their hands come into view as they surround yours with theirs, the cold of your fingers sending small goosebumps racing up their arm. But they hold fast, letting the warmth of a small muted spell ease into your skin. Their palms glow as they run their hands over your wrists and your fingers, the heat reeling you fully into the present.

The motion continues, and you can feel the strain melting off as the heat inches up your arm. Sensing you relax, if only just slightly, they smile.

“Better?”

“Better.”

They keep a hold of your hands even when the spell ends.

---

Oisein:

...at Oisein’s door, and you barely rap your knuckles against the wood before it’s already open, lavender mortalis irises staring at you with concern. In the haze of your fervor to find them you missed that their magic was already reaching out to you, because of course it was, reading your nerves and your fear.

They give a tentative half smile. “I’d say you’re going to cause a scandal sneaking around like this, but...” They stop, deciding whether or not to gauge you again before you feel their pathos magic retreat. “You okay?”

“I had a nightmare,” you say, avoiding their gaze. 

“What, really?” Some of the tension disappears from their face and they sigh with relief, a teasing smirk on their lips. “Well I can't complain if it sent you running to me for a late-night rendezvous-”

“I watched you die,” you interrupt, and their smirk shatters when they see you shudder. “I had to make sure-”

Their hand is already wrapped around your forearm, trying to move their face back into your sight. “Hey, no wait, I’m sorry- hey-” they start, and when you still won’t meet their eyes, they move their hands to gently cup your cheeks, guiding your face back up. 

"No nightmare can get rid of me that easy, yeah?Sorry 'bout your luck, but you're still stuck with me," they whisper, a quiet chuckle following close behind.

Their face holds a smile, until you both realize you’ve drawn closer together. Their palms surge warmth through either side of your face, fingers lightly traced over the cool soft skin beneath your ears. There’s a flicker in their eyes down to your lips, and they try to nonchalantly draw their hands away from you, coughing in embarrassment and hiding behind the golden hair falling over their face.

Spreading their lithe fingers against their room door, they open it wider.

“Want to stay for a little? I’ll behave, really,” they offer without a single shred of their usual sarcasm.

You nod and walk in past them, and they tentatively place a hand on the small of your back as they close the door, walking you over to sit at the corner table. 

As you lower into the chair, their hand ghosts up over your shoulder and down your arm, trying to maintain contact while they sit opposite to you. They let their fingers hold yours, thumb smoothing over your knuckles.

With an exhale through their nose, they look from your hands up to your eyes with almost a tinge of defiance.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

You believe them.

[topazy]

The Fierce And Broken

1.06

Masterlist

You woke to the mumbling noise of others talking. With a groan you sat up, whining at the pain you felt in your stomach.

You recognized the voices as Clarke, Bellamy, Raven and Octavia. You couldn’t make everything they were saying out, but Octavia was angry. Slowly you spun your legs around so they were dangling off the edge of the table, crouching slightly so you could hear better. A couple of words stood out more than others ‘bomb’ ‘Lincoln’ ‘Anya’ Who were these people? You could hear Raven’s voice getting louder.

“I’m not having this conversation again. I did what I had to.”

The moment your feet touched the ground you instantly regretted trying to stand up. You stumbled forward with a loud thumb, alerting the others to your presence. The hitch to the room opened, and you saw a head of black hair moving quickly. It was Octavia. She wrapped her arms around and squeezed tightly. “Oh my god Alba, you gave me such a fright.”

You hugged her back. “O, I’m okay. I promise.”

She pulled back from the hug, and you could see the tears in her eyes. “I thought you were going to die...I really did.”

You opened your mouth to ask Octavia about the grounder that stabbed you, but quickly closed it when Clarke came up the ladder.

With a frown she helped you stand up. “Hey, I don’t want you bursting those stitches.”

“Nice to see you as well Clarke.”

Clarke’s frown softened, “how do you feel?”

You paused before answering her question, because you honestly had no idea what you felt. The memory of what happened to you was hazy. You remembered being stabbed, because you pushed Finn out of the way. Finn. “How’s Finn?”

Clarke glanced over at Octavia before answering. “He’s fine, now.”

“What do you mean now? Did he get stabbed as well?”

Octavia stood by you and squeezed your hand. “You are both okay now, that’s what matters. The blade was poisoned. It caused you and Finn to both have seizures.”

Clarke sighed, “Finn didn’t get stabbed, but he had a cut on his hand and somehow got the poison in it.”

This didn’t make any sense. If you and Finn were fine, why did they both look miserable? “How long have I been out for?”

“Long enough.” Clarke shook her head, “After I check your stitches, I’m sure Octavia will fill you in what’s been going on.”

______

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head with the information Octavia had told you. Finn and Lincoln had set up a peace meeting that resulted in a war starting. Bellamy and Clarke had found weapons. Raven had managed to communicate with the ark. Murphy was back. Octavia explained how the grounders used him as a weapon to spread a virus around the camp, and they had blown up the bridge to try and give them more time. Something else had gone, your friend was holding back.

“O, I need to ask you something. You might think I’m crazy, but I’m so sure of it.”

Octavia stared at you nervously, she nodded her head. “Yeah?”

You spoke quietly so nobody else could hear what you were about to say. “The grounder that stabbed me...I don’t think he wanted to hurt me.”

“He didn’t.” Octavia let out a deep sigh, “I need to tell you something, so please don’t hate me. I let the Lincoln...the grounder who stabbed you escape.”

You were confused. “Escape from where?”

“Here.” She said waving her arms around the room. It suddenly occurred to you that they wouldn’t have carried you to the top floor of the drop-ship straight away. “Bellamy and his gang of thugs brought him back here for information. When Lincoln didn’t talk they began torturing him. I was afraid they would kill him...so once I got what I needed I helped him go.”

Octavia pulled up her sleeve to reveal the cut on her arm, you leaned in closer to inspect it. “O, what did you do?”

“Lincoln wasn’t going to give us the antidote, but I trusted he wouldn’t let me die so I cut my arm with the same blade he stabbed you with.” She paused, “Lincoln saved my life before. He blew the fog horn that stopped the other grounders from killing you.” Of course, it was starting to make sense. “He never wanted to hurt you. He asks me all the time if you are awake, he wants to apologize.” You had no words. Nobody had ever done anything like that for you before. You pulled Octavia into a hug that surprised her. “I thought you would be mad at me.”

You shook your head. “I’m not mad Octavia, I’m really proud of you.” You pulled back from the hug to point at her arm. “You did that to save me and Finn. And I’m glad you helped him escape.”

Octavia smiled at you. “I was so scared you’d hate me Al, I dunno what I do if I’d lose you.”

You shook your head with a slight chuckle, “is there anything else I need to know?”

Octavia shrugged, “probably. But my mind has gone blank.”

You looked out the window into the camp below. Everything looked normal, as if nothing ever happened. “Fancy helping me get down them ladders? I know Clarke said I should stay up there until she gets back from hunting, but I’m so bored.”

“Pissing off the princess? Now that I can help you with.”

______

After a while Octavia went off to see Lincoln, and you promised to cover for her if anybody asked. You spoke to Monty and Jasper briefly, who filled you in on the whole camp getting high after eating some nuts.

“Y/N!”

You turned to see Raven stepping out of her tent. She had a wide smile on her face as she hugged you. “I’m so glad you are okay!”

“Thanks Raven.” You stepped back, “I told you I’d keep your boy safe.”

A look of sadness washed over Raven’s face, something was wrong. She must have sensed you were going to ask because she shook her head. “I’m fine honestly. I just can’t thank you enough, Finn probably would have died if it wasn’t for you.”

Raven blinked away the tears in her eyes, “I better get back to work.”

“Are you sure? Whatever is going on you can tell me.”

She nodded. “Thanks, I just-” you followed her gaze to Finn, who was standing laughing with Clarke. Oh. “I just need to get back to making more bullets.”

You felt guilty for not following her, but the best thing to do was let her have time to herself. It couldn’t have been easy watching the person you love loving someone else. The feeling of a pair of arms wrapping around you from behind took you off guard. All the hugging was starting to hurt.

You chuckled, “who’s squeezing me now?”

The person spun you around to face them. Murphy. Tears started to spill from the corners of your eyes. You never thought you’d see him again. In typical Murphy fashion, he pouted when he saw your tears. “Are you disappointed that I’m back? No need to cry-”

You cut him off by pressing your lips against his, it wasn’t a passionate kiss. It was soft and gentle. Pulling back from him you smiled, “I’m so glad you are alive Murphy, I heard about the grounders.”

He looked down at you, “yeah. I don’t know who hates me more, the people in the camp or outside it.”

You took his hand. “Come on, you can tell me about it while I check you over.”

______

“Ouch!”

“Don’t be a baby, give me your hand.”

You had been pouring leftover alcohol onto Murphy’s fingernails to make sure they weren’t going to get infected. Clarke obviously hadn’t given him the once over because he still had a couple of deep cuts that needed to be stitched up.

“Thanks,” you glanced up at Murphy. “I mean it Alba, nobody else even looks at me. They all think I’m a traitor.”

You frowned, “I’m glad you told them. If not they would have killed you.”

“Maybe I’d be better-”

“No!” You snapped, knowing where he was going with this. “Don’t say that! Don’t even think about it! I’d be lost without you Murphy, and you might not think it now but things will get better someday. For all of us.”

Murphy tilted his head to the side and brushed a stay tear that had fallen down your cheek. He had made some really bad judgment calls since landing on the ground, but you knew Murphy was a good guy. He just had a tough start in life.

“So, did you have a welcome party waiting for you to wake up?”

You appreciated Murphy changing the subject, a small smile pulled at the corner of your lips. “I...I fell off the bed,” you laughed. “I tried to stand up but it didn’t work. Octavia rushed up to see me, then Clarke came to check on my stitches...oh and I spoke to Raven.” Murphy pulled a face at your comment. “What?”

“I’m guessing your new BFF didn’t tell you how things went down with the grounder? I mean...I know I wasn’t here but I’ve heard things. And shit, she got dark.”

“Octavia already told me about Bellamy torturing Lincoln...I...wait, when you said ‘she’ do you mean Raven?” Murphy nodded. “Raven helped torture the grounder?”

“I heard she shocked him with wires.”

You were lost for words. You didn’t know Raven that well, but you assumed she wouldn’t have stooped to that level. Wait...Finn. She did it for somebody she loved. “No, O never mentioned it.”

Murphy suddenly stood up, “what was that?” You turned to look in his direction to the flaps of the tent, and shrugged. “I thought I saw somebody was standing there.”

“Probably just the wind.”

______

When night fell most of the delinquents gathered around the fire. A few couples strayed to have some privacy, while others stayed and got drunk. You twiddled with a piece of thread that was coming from your top. Trying to process so many things at once was hard, and it was starting to give you a headache.

Sighing, you said goodnight to Monty, Jasper and Octavia, and headed towards your tent. As you approached your tent you noticed movement inside it. Shit. Gulping down you reached for the gun tucked into the back of your trousers. Bellamy would no doubt freak if he saw you with it, but having it close made you feel safe. You slowly pushed open the flaps to the tent with one hand, while clicking the safety off with the other. The light was dim but you could make out the figure of someone sitting on your bed.

“Raven?” She jumped to her feet, and gave you an alarmed look when noticed the gun in your hand. “What are you doing in the dark? I could have shot you.”

“Sorry...I Just needed to talk to you, and I didn’t know where you were.”

You sighed, “it’s fine.” You tucked the gun underneath your bed and flung some dirty clothes on top of it. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

“I came by to see how you were feeling earlier when I heard you and Murphy talking. I-he told you what I did.”

You sat down on the bed, and kicked off your boots. “Raven, I don’t agree with it. But I’m also not judging.”

“You don’t think I’m a monster?” Raven’s voice broke as she spoke, it was the first time you had ever seen her so vulnerable. You shook your head. “How can you be so nice all the time? Isn’t it exhausting?”

You let out a snort of laughter at her comment. “I’m not, trust me. I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation.”

Raven joined you on the bed, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just trying to enjoy my freedom until the rest of the ark comes down. I imagine many of us won’t be pardoned of our crimes and will either get floated or locked up again.”

Even in the dark you could see the brunette’s eyebrows coming together in a frown. “Well the ark would just need to get through me first.”

“I’m sure Jaha will be shaking.” You chuckled, before noticing the look on Raven’s face. “Is there anything else going on?”

“From the moment I landed I knew something was different. Finn...he doesn’t look at me the way he used to, he looks at her like that instead.” her? It took you a few seconds to catch on to what she was talking about. “They had sex not long after they came down here.”

You knew Finn had feelings for Clarke, but never realised how far they had taken things.“I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

Raven began to sob. “I feel so stupid! I risked my life to come down here to be with Finn, and the whole time he was sleeping with somebody else. What makes it worse is he hid it from me.”

You admired Raven for being so strong, she was heartbroken but still used her amazing brain to help the rest of the camp out.

She turned to face you, “I’d hate to impose...but I really don’t want to see him right now.”

You smiled at her, “you can stay in here whenever you want.”

Raven thanked you before you both got comfortable in the bed. You spent the rest of the night talking before falling asleep.

[mikrowrites]

lost

John B x sister!reader, JJ Maybank x reader

summary: Y/N Routledge looses everything to the sea.

warnings: angst, major character death (but not really *wink*)

a/n: how dare outer banks steal my heart like this!

Y/N had once been scared of the ocean.

When she was five years old John B was so excited to teach her how to surf. The six year old boy was a natural, and had convinced their father to allow him to teach Y/N.

They both sat on a board, the waves bobbing them up and down. John B paddled with her as they dove under a wave together, coming up to stand as he held Y/N’s hand in his. After a steady surf off the wave, they suddenly were flung backwards, off the board and into the churning sea.

Y/N’s lungs burned with salt water, the currents pulling her back under as her limbs flailed, gasping in the seconds she emerged from the surface. She could briefly hear the shouts of her brother and father until they were muffled by the deep blue waters as she screamed.

Suddenly a pair of strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her up and onto a board, Y/N coughing up water as warm hands guided her onto her side.

“That’s it, sweetheart, you’re okay. I’ve got you.” “Big John” Routledge reassured his daughter, pulling her shaking and crying form into his chest.

John B had apologized profusely and cried for hours, but Big John was sure to calm him down and Y/N made sure to show she was fine.

But ocean scared her for some years.

Once the HMS Pogue was acquired when Y/N was 13, she began to warm up to the waters that surrounded her home. JJ Maybank had been an extraordinary surf instructor and John B loved hauling in fish with his sister.

Y/N prided herself on straying from the annoying little sister stereotype. Sure, she and John B would ruffle each other’s feathers from time to time, but they were thick as thieves. Others would assume they were twins without prior knowledge. John B was the brawn and Y/N was the brains. However, a few unlucky kooks learned not to get in a scramble with her.

And Y/N adored her father. He wasn’t always present and was obsessed with the Royal Merchant, but she was a daddy’s girl through and through. She would brew his favorite coffee in the morning, walking into his office where nine times out of ten he was passed out exhausted, his head rested on his desk. Y/N would set the mug on the usual coaster, brush his messy hair aside and kiss his forehead, before closing the door behind her.

Kiera had been a best friend in a time Y/N needed one most. Big John and John B were clueless when it came to “girl stuff”, and Kie was there to be a sister to the girl. How to braid, tame, and cut Y/N’s wild hair, the right amount of mascara needed, a quiet tampon distributer, Kie was there to teach her and pass knowledge onto Y/N’s oblivious brother.

Pope always extended help towards the girl for homework and studying. Y/N made an effort to maintain her grades and would always make Pope smoothies every time he helped her. Y/N would do grocery runs with him to make some spare cash while John B worked on Mr. Cameron’s boat.

And then there was JJ. Ever since the scrappy blonde entered her life, Y/N found herself close to him. He taught her to surf, roll and hit a joint, to ride a dirt bike. JJ was the one who enabled her against John B and Big John’s wishes. Y/N wouldn’t lie that she harbored a crush towards the boy, but would never, ever, admit it.

So of course her heart beat faster as JJ wrapped his arm around Y/N’s shoulders. The girl was shaking, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint if it was the cold stormy air or the fear.

Yes, maybe it was fear.

The fear that ripped through her chest at the sight of John B’s bloodstained hands, how she anxiously hoped for him to evade the police. The fear that squeezed her heart as she embraced her brother so very tight, before he and the Phantom pulled away from the dock.

John B and Sarah Cameron were out there in the storm, and Y/N was so incredibly scared.

The thunder boomed and the tent walls flapped in the wind as the four pogues sat in uncomfortable plastic chairs, waiting to hear what was next. JJ had begun rolling circles on Y/N’s shoulder, whispering sweet assurances in her ear.

“Your brother knows how to sail a storm.”

“They’re probably in Mexico by now!”

“Drinking Piña Coladas on the beach.”

“The Phantom’s gonna get them there, she will.”

Y/N looked up to see three police officers emerge into the tent in neon raincoats, eyeing the teens with a sad look.

She knew that look. She knew it all too well.

Y/N was sitting on the porch strumming her ukulele, looking out at the marshes as the sun rose. John B was out with JJ getting breakfast, and Y/N smiled at the thought of the touristy food at The Wreck.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by a soft knock on the screen door. Y/N turned her head to see Peterkin leaning on the doorway. “You’re getting real good at playing that, Y/N.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Y/N politely responded, smiling nervously. “Is everything okay?”

Peterkin sighed, stepping over to Y/N and sitting in a chair across from her. “No honey, it’s not. Is your brother here?”

Y/N sat up, laying the ukulele aside. “No, he’s... out—why? Did he do something? I swear, if he got into a fight, he was defending himself—“

“No, Y/N. It’s not about your brother.” Peterkin sighed, leaning forward in the chair. “I suggest we wait for him, thought. I don’t want you to hear this alone.”

Luckily John B and JJ turned up about 10 minutes later, the two boys shouting as they ran up the wooden stairs with boxes of food. John B halted in his tracks at the sight of his sister nervously sitting on the couch and Peterkin sitting across from her. The police officer turned over her shoulder. “Hey, John B. Come sit with us.”

The boy nodded, loading all the food into JJ’s arms as he ushered him inside, John B turning and sitting next to his sister.

And Peterkin gave them that look. The glint of the eye, a sagged demeanor, that deep frown.

It was pity.

“Your father has gone missing. He is presumed lost at sea.”

Y/N stood before any of the other pogues could, walked up to the police. She couldn’t force a single world to spill from her lips, she just looked at them desperately.

Officer Shoupe looked a the young girl. Out of the two Routledge kids, Y/N was always the peacemaker. He knew her by that, so much like her gentle father.

Shoupe rested his hand on her shoulder, turning to the three other teens who had now gathered closer. “Did you find them?” Pope questioned.

The officer sighed, squeezing Y/N’s shoulder. “No.”

“So they got away?” Kiara implored them to elaborate, JJ turning to look at Y/N, who kept her gaze fixed on Shoupe.

Shoupe looked to the other two police officers before in a grave voice responded:

“We lost them. I’m sorry.”

Y/N felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. Like the wind had suddenly escaped her lungs. The word “lost” echoing in her head.

“Lost”, like her father had been.

“Lost”, like her brother was.

Her ears began to ring, the noise around her dulling. Y/N’s eyes shifted over Shoupe’s shoulder, staring at the raging sea. The officer was saying something to her, but it fell on deaf ears.

Around her Kie, Pope, and JJ broke down, mourning the loss of their friend, their families entering the tent to help ease their sadness.

Y/N couldn’t hear the sobs, just the words, “lost, lost, lost”. It was when Shoupe removed his hand from her shoulder everything came back like a slap to the face. Her faculties returned and overwhelmed her. The thunder and pounding rain, the hysterical sobs of her friends, Y/N’s own heartbeat.

She noticed JJ attempting to fight the cops, screaming at them and accusing them. Y/N felt a lump rise in her throat, unsure if she needed to throw up or scream.

JJ had been pulled away and brought into an embrace by Pope’s family, and that’s when it clicked to Y/N. She looked at the Heywards, then to the Carreras, and her lips began to tremble. Her chest heaved for air as she watched the families grieve.

Because now, who would be there to grieve with her?

Y/N’s family was dead. Her family was lost.

Her knees connected with the ground, the girl hunched over as the first sob ripped from her throat. Y/N grasped her arms, eyes squeezed shut as tears began to drip down her cheeks.

JJ felt his blood run cold when he heard her scream.

He turned away from the Heywards, immediately running over to Y/N and sliding on the ground, gathering her up in his arms and hugging her so incredibly tight. Fuck, why hadn’t he thought of her? Why hadn’t he comforted her before trying to start a fight with Shoupe?

Y/N screamed into his shirt, gripping the material in her hands. JJ rested his chin on her head, looking up at Kiara and Pope who were still embracing their families.

JJ let himself be selfish for a moment, thinking “lucky for them to have family to cry to”. He was brought back to reality by Y/N sobbing something, the boy looking down at her in confusion. “What was that?”

Y/N heaved a few heavy breaths, her voice heavy with heartache. She repeated the same word over and over, JJ feeling a new bout of tears welling up in his eyes as he pulled her closer.

“Lost.”

[redqueen-hypothesis]

kisses ➳ mlqc

kiro

bold and playful kisses

kiro’s kisses are just like his personality, cheeky, lighthearted and sweet - he likes to keep you anticipating, a back and forth tango that keeps you on your toes and has you watching your steps

his lips are quick, darting about your face, fleeting kisses landing along the soft skin of your cheeks and forehead. you can hear his laughter in your ears with each kiss, successive ones growing softer and softer until he leans in for real

he likes to press his forehead to yours, the two of you swaying back and forth with his arms wrapped around your waist, so close that you can count every eyelash, spun from sunlight, framing summer blue eyes as vibrant and clear as a cloudless sky

his kisses are direct and simple, a firm caress of the lips that translates his affections into something physical you can feel - it’s warm and makes your chest feel so full, almost blissfully so

he tastes sweet, honey and candy melting in your mouth with each stroke of his tongue, fingers gently pressing into your sides. breaks away occasionally for you to catch your breath, both your cheeks dusted pink, and you giggle at each other

sometimes, his kisses deepen, turning into something dark and desperate, teeth catching your bottom lip and tugging it into his mouth. the second you let out the slightest gasp or moan, however, kiro’s frantically backtracking, reining himself in before you can fully lose yourself to his mouth, leaving you aching for more

all of that changes, however, once you learn of who he really is

ferocious and wild kisses

he doesn’t care if his lips land on your mouth or not, thumb pushing down on your chin to part your lips so that he can slip his tongue into your mouth with an almost wild desperation

more teeth and tongue than lips, but it’s impossible to ignore the want in his eyes, the way his fingers bury themselves in your hair to yank your mouth impossibly close, slight pain stinging your scalp but it feels so good

your teeth clack against each other as he kisses you more, hands in your hair angling you better so that he can plunder your mouth for his own pleasure - and for yours - stealing your sanity until your nails are digging into his shoulders

your lips end up bruised but you’re panting uncontrollably into his mouth, completely lost in those tortured blue eyes that lure you into their icy depths with a single glance

gavin

shy, almost timid kisses

gavin’s new to this whole dating and kissing thing - he knows in theory two mouths are supposed to go together and bam! a kiss happens. please be patient with him

he cradles your face in his hands, almost as if you’re made out of glass and would shatter any second, and strokes the pad of his thumb over your cheekbones, your jaw, before it tentatively traces the outline of your lips

the expression he wears is so focused, like he’s trying to commit every feature of your face to memory - as if he hasn’t already

this entire time, his touch is so gentle you could cry, his love for you is so evident with every tender touch, every affectionate caress. you reach up to clasp his hand in yours, press it to your cheek a little more firmly. kiss me.

gavin doesn’t deny you (when has he ever?). shyly, he leans down, amber eyes darting back and forth as he tries to figure out what would be the best angle to kiss you from, but then you’re tugging him down with your hand at the back of your neck and your lips meet in a gentle collision

once his lips are on yours, he’s a little less inhibited, lips slanting and moving against yours, one arm pulling you closer to him and the other at the back of your neck, tilting your head up to meet his

constantly mumbles “is this okay?”, “does this feel good?”, “do you like this?” against your lips all while you’re gasping into his mouth, trying to press as close to him as humanly possible

tongue darts out tentatively to draw a soft stripe across your lips, and when you open your mouth for him he’s still cautious and careful. it takes a while before he brings teeth into the equation

but once he does get more comfortable with kissing? it’s all over for you

earnest and determined kisses

determined to please you, that is. to make you feel good, to make you moan, to make you whimper, gavin wants to hear you make all those noises for him

pulls you to his chest and claims your lips without hesitation, grounding you to him - he’s the eye in the tornado

wants to do all the work. all you need to do is accept the affection he’s giving you. soft, appreciative noises spilling unchecked from your mouth only fuels him more, and he redoubles his efforts to hear more of those sweet sounds

victor

romantic, gallant kisses

he’s not a desperate teenage boy who can’t keep it in his pants, he’s a whole grown man who can resist enough to leave you desperate and craving more

kisses you in a methodical, practiced way that he knows you love, large hands sifting through your hair and drawing you closer to him, but not too close though, because propriety

leaves you a wanting mess, his kisses firm yet so insistent that you can’t help but submit everything to him, losing yourself in the heat of his mouth and the intensity burning low in his eyes that warn you of how much more he wants

each slide of his lips on yours is carefully calculated, designed to pull the most wanting of noises from your lips. he knows what you like, and he will not hesitate to give it to you in full - unless, of course, you’ve done something to tease him during the day and he wants payback

very attentive to your body language, the soft moans you let out and the way you try to move your head to kiss him better. you can be assured that victor will take care of your every need, his own desire taking the back seat as he takes it upon himself to pleasure you with his mouth (yes, we’re still talking about kisses here)

but make him lose control, however, whether it be by attracting unwanted eyes to you at a party, or wearing that backless red silk dress he’d gifted you for his eyes only, and all pretense of self restraint is shredded

fierce, possessive kisses

he’s trying to consume you, you’re sure of it. his mouth takes no prisoners, lips feasting on yours and sucking on your tongue until you let out a whimper that sounds pathetic to even your own ears

does not hesitate to leave your lips red and swollen from the sheer intensity of his kisses, victor wants to let everyone who comes in close enough to see your lips that way know that you’re his and his alone

doesn’t let up for you to breathe, his exhalations becoming your inhalations, until you’re moaning and beating at his chest with a weak fist, head spinning and mind unable to think straight

it’s only then does victor release you, watching you pant for air and a naked blush on your cheeks - that’s when he’s finally satisfied

he doesn’t give you more than a few seconds before he’s taking your lips again, your weak protests about needing to catch your breath dying in the back of your throat again

lucien

teasing, chaste kisses

has the art of seduction down to a science

it’s not so much about the kiss itself, but the sheer intensity in his gaze juxtaposed with the kind, polite smile on his face that makes you wonder if you’re just seeing your own desire reflected in his eyes

the way his knuckles brush your cheekbone gently, dark eyes always fixed on you as if you’re the only thing that exists in the world, the way they drop to fix on your lips as if he wants nothing more than to claim them for his own

take them, you want to say, they’re yours anyway

gathers your hair back with one hand while the other cups your cheek, and he looks into your eyes like he’s trying to find the answers to the universe in them

when he does kiss you, it’s chaste, a simple press of lips to yours, but you can feel the dark desire for more, swimming just beneath his thin veneer of composure and restraint

a push and pull game, he kisses you, you lean in, he pulls away, your lips sliding against each other like magnets, breaths shared between you before he pulls away to give you a lingering kiss

the fire of his mouth burns at the corners of your lips, and he tastes of both unadulterated love and unspoken promises, if you should so agree

you’re on thin ice here

but it’s lucien, so you let yourself go, falling into his arms and kissing back just as desperately as you want to be kissed

terrifyingly all consuming kisses

the way his mouth moves against yours with almost dark possessiveness makes you question if the polite, calm lucien is just a mask for his true nature - he’s consuming every bit of you, mind, body and soul

the more lucien gives you, the more you find yourself wanting, it’s as if you can’t be satisfied

he’s not rough with you, not in the least, but you can feel him holding onto the leash of his restraint, yanking it back in case he scares you away with just how much he wants you

fervently sucking and licking into your mouth until you’re moaning and weak at the knees, holding onto him for support, he drags a hand to the back of your head, finding a way to kiss you harder, deeper

shaw

downright trying to get in your pants kisses

shaw has uhh... much experience in the kissing department, unlike his dear brother (in fact he’s probably done a lot more than just kissing, but let’s skip over that for now)

his kisses are passionate and demanding, coming when and where you least expect it - just like how lightning strikes

you can feel electricity tingling up your spine, his hands wandering everywhere as he pulls you into his lap, slipping up the hem of your shirt, tugging at your waistband, sometimes you have to go whoa slow down there a second

you’re barely catching your breath when he’s kissing you again, and you can feel his smirk against your lips when you yelp at the sensation of his fingers against your bare skin, this little shit-

even the most innocent of kisses turn sexual with this man, he grabs you and just pulls you along with him for the ride, exhilarating, leaving you breathless and laughing

tongue and teeth and wandering fingers

that’s what he’s skilled at, so used to meaningless one night stands and no strings attached arrangements, and he displays his prowess to please you with his mouth at every opportunity you give him (the rest he creates himself)

but there are things shaw doesn’t know how to do

tentative, precious kisses

you tell him one day that not everything needs to be fast paced and charged and he’s a little uncomfortable with this whole idea, but decides to give it a shot

when shaw first starts off, he doesn’t know how to go slow, fingers creeping up your thighs and teeth tugging at your bottom lip until your hands slap them away

begins with awkward, stilted kisses, and he doesn’t know where to put his hands. you laugh and guide them around your neck, before leaning up to place a gentle peck to his lips

he struggles at first, but once he gets used to them, he can’t stop

slow, deep kisses that make him feel lightheaded, he relishes in swallowing your little moans with his mouth

lying in his arms, both of you on the verge of nodding off but not wanting to go to sleep before the other, he turns his head to kiss you, lazily savoring the taste of your lips

[citydreamgrls]

they were roommates - part five

a weasley twins x fem!reader fic

summary: she had nowhere to go, fleeing home to pursue something along the lines of freedom, so being welcomed into the entrepreneurial twins life was a whole world of new experiences waiting to happen.

an: this is crazy that as i’m posting this i’m already past 800 followers, thank you guys so so much !! hope you enjoy this ever growing series <333

words: 4,300

Fred wasn’t being particularly mean with y/n, it was more that he was just avoiding her a lot more than usual. And now she had started noticing, George too, as he started hiding away in his room whenever he got a chance. They had tried asking him to watch a movie after dinner, or go and visit the other shops in the alley, but he would always decline. By now, his claims of tiredness or headaches were getting old and y/n started grilling the other twin about why Freddie wasn’t the same.

“Is he mad about Bill, was it out of line for me to say yes to the date- since i’m living here and all. Oh god, I suppose that would make things awkward if it didn't work out with Bill and I” she rambled on, to which George almost laughed.

He knew it was most likely the opposite. The girl agreeing to date Bill had caused much more tension that she realised. The man knew his twin was just trying to distance himself, if he was hurt by it all, but it was becoming too obvious now.

-

The day before y/n’s date, Ginny had come by to whisk her off to the dress shop, insisting that she must wear something new. George had slipped some money into the girl’s bag when she wasn’t watching, knowing his little sister would try to cover the cost herself.

Fred had been fine, manning the till with his usual cheery persona, almost as if he could only be himself when the girl wasn’t around. George had just about seen enough of it, and decided it was about time they really talked about it.

The last customer had just gone, leaving them in an eerily quiet, as only the sound of people passing by could be heard.

“What’s up with you?” George stated, not wasting any time. His brother barely looked up at him as he tried to busy himself.

“Nothing-” “Leave it out, just tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” He sniffed, rubbing the back of his neck. He wanted to say everything, to spill to his replica about all the pain his own feelings have caused.

But he knew it would end with a harsh, I told you so.

“Then why are you avoiding y/n… if it’s nothing.”

“I’m not avoiding her!” George could see the way his eyes were raw, void of any feeling.

“You refuse to be in the same room as her for more than a few minutes, you don’t even eat with us anymore!”

“I’m just tired a lot, and I’m not really hungry anymore-” He tried to make out that he didn’t understand it either, like he was under some sort of curse.

“I hear you, when you think we’re all asleep, sneak into the kitchen- are you really that desperate to avoid her that you starve yourself until she’s gone.”

Fred hung his head in defeat, finally feeling that blow to his stomach. Because in his mind, yes, he was that desperate to get over her that he would genuinely do anything. Even if it meant hurting himself.

“She’s worried about you Freddie,” George came over, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder, showing more concern than anger. That was all it took for him to crack.

“I can’t stop it, I can’t not want her anymore- I’m trying George, I r-really am.” His voice wavered, like he was tired of keeping it down all this time.

“Then tell her, don’t just-” “I can’t get in their way George, it’s wrong.” He sighed.

“But you cou-”

“If she likes Bill, which she must do to some extent, then who am I to stand in their way?”

The two brothers stood in the dimming shop, the sun’s light going down over the alley outside. Fred was spent of emotion, having had enough nights of crying to last him a lifetime. George knew he was right, that trying to get between Bill and y/n would only make him the bad guy, but it hurt to see him this hurt by a girl.

“This is all I can do, just take a step back and let it happen.”

“And what about you? When do you start being yourself again?” George asked. “When it stops hurting.”

-

As the girl returned to the loft; Fred, on cue, disappeared to his room and didn’t come out until later that night when they were all asleep. It was late, as the girl had been particularly excited about the next day and stayed up chatting with George.

She had gushed over her new dress, exclaiming how her and Ginny’s taste were so similar that the whole day had been perfect.

“I think she wants to teach me how to ride a broom, but I’m not sure I’d have any sort of instincts for it.” The girl had laughed.

“Maybe let us show you how instead, Ginny can get a bit brutal on a broom, and we need you in one piece.” The girl fell back into the sofa, George’s outstretched arms enveloping her in a tight squeeze.

“What’s up chick?” He asked, feeling her sink back a little.

“He’s still mad isn’t he?” Her voice was hushed as she looked up at Freddie’s bedroom door. “That’s why he keeps hiding,” “He’s grumpy- that’s all.” George lied, knowing his brother could look past the insult just this once, for her sake.

“It’s my fault isn’t it?”

“Of course no-” “Has he said anything to you?” She pleaded, her eyes longing to know the truth as she finally turned to look up at him.

The man wasn’t sure what to tell her, and it was hard enough to lie already.

“Yes.” He decided on. “But it’s all gonna be okay, you don’t need to worry.” The girl nodded along, not quite convinced with his answer but satisfied that he wasn’t going to elaborate just yet. So she got up, gave him a quick hug, and excused herself to bed with the reasoning that they had yet another long shift before her date tomorrow.

George just smiled, watching the girl leave, and looked up at Fred’s door when he heard a quiet click. The man stood behind it, warily watching down on the loft.

“She’s gone.” He told her, “You can come down.” Fred nodded, padding down the small set of steps, and stopping in front of his brother awkwardly.

“You want something to eat? I made enough for you, it’s in the fridge.” He asked him, to which the other twin just shook his head, understandably not up for a chat this evening.

“I- I was gonna go for a walk.” He struggled out, with a hoarse voice.

“Now? Isn’t it a bit late?”

“Only around the alley, I won’t be long.”

George just nodded, there was no point stopping him, so he watched him grab a jacket and head out of the loft to the shop floor. His footsteps were careful and quiet, as he tried not to draw the girl’s attention as she laid in her room alone.

-

Fred enjoyed the air, he now realised, more so at night as he wandered through the deserted alley alone. It was cold, freezing almost, which made him shudder even though he’d pulled on the thickest coat he owned.

The loft was becoming like a prison for him, one he’d put himself in, as he confined himself to the four walls of his room every evening. George’s words from earlier that day played through his mind, one bit sticking out uncontrollably, as hard as he tried to ignore it.

She’s worried about you freddie

Was the girl really worried about him? He wanted nothing more than to be fine, even if it was for her, he wanted to reassure her that nothing was wrong. But Freddie didn’t want to lie to the one girl he truly loved.

He couldn’t hear anyone nearby, but the man couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched somehow. He stayed alert, looking down every passageway he followed until he was sure that it was purely paranoia.

By the time he got home, he had been expecting no one awake with the hopes that he could slip back up to bed unnoticed. But her light was on, he could see so the second he stepped back into the shop. The door behind him made a noise as it shut, making him jump.

Fred moved quickly, grabbing his keys and locking it so he could be gone before she came to see what was going on. He heard her voice call out as he passed by her room, a gentle and questioning tone, but he just ignored it and started up the stairs praying that he hadn’t scared her at all.

When he finally got into bed his heart was racing, louder than any faint noise that was made throughout the loft, his eyes staring up at the ceiling as he tried to calm himself down. All the while his head reminded him of how much of a wimp he was being.

The small burst of adrenaline tired him out, the second he closed his eyes all of his worries were forgotten. He forgot about her, he forgot about Bill, he forgot about the shop, but most of all he forgot about the wards that he hadn’t set when he came back in.

-

The jolt scared Fred awake.

“Hey!” George hissed above him, a hand on his shoulder. For a second he thought he’d been woken up in the middle of a nightmare, sweaty and breathing heavily.

A smashing noise from the shop caught both of their attention, the half-asleep man now well awake and reaching for his.

“Someone's downstairs!” George exclaimed, still in a hushed tone, wasting no time heading out into the living room. Fred grabbed a shirt and pulled it on, following his brother without hesitation.

They opened the loft door carefully, moving slowly as not to alert the intruders.

“What about y/n?” Fred asked, the girl momentarily slipping his brother’s mind as they stood at the top of the stairs.

A blood-curdling scream sounded. That was it, before George could even react to the sound, Fred was pushing past him, running down the stairs with reckless abandon. He didn’t care who was down there, or what they were capable of doing. She was alone, she needed them.

“FRED!” George shouted after him, following him down to the shop just in time to see his brother dodge a curse from someone else hiding behind a shelf as he raced to y/n’s bedroom. He brandished his own wand, aiming it at wherever the spark had flown from, and saw movement.

“Locomotor mortis!” He cried out, hearing the stranger’s body slam to the ground as his legs bound together. Another figure rushed past his peripheral vision, leaving it unsure as to how many assailants Fred had left him to deal with.

“Fred come here, there’s more!” He tried, but knew his brother was tied up with the girl.

“Y/n!” Fred shouted as he entered her bedroom, praying he’d made it in time. She sat upon her bed, still dressed in her pyjamas, with a man holding her down. His hand was placed over her mouth, her muffled screams useless as she writhed beneath his hold.

“Let her go!” He demanded, holding his wand out threateningly.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, whatever hex you try will only hurt her more.” The man sneered, pulling her closer to him with a dirty grin. The girl grimaced, and Fred could hear the way she tried to scream out his name. Her eyes begged for him to save her.

The man stood up, dragging her to her feet along with him. But Fred held his ground, refusing to move even a step back from them.

“I know who you are,” He started, his yellow teeth bearing. “All of you Weasleys, really don’t know how to protect the things you love.” Fred knew he meant the shop, but he couldn’t help but stare at the girl in this grotesque man’s arms.

“Let her go, now!” His arm was outstretched, his voice booming with anger. He would have killed him on the spot if he hadn’t heard George cry out for him.

“Fred!” They all jumped at the noise, the girl catching Fred’s eyes quickly and giving him a small nod. He wasn’t sure what she meant, until she pulled hard at the man’s arms, catching him off guard. It wasn’t enough to free herself, but she threw her head back, smacking his nose.

“You bitch!” He groaned, stumbling back and taking her with him. Fred gave up trying to aim hexes and lunged for him, managing to gain control over the man and throwing enough blows to his face that the grip he had on y/n broke and she crawled away.

“Petrificus totalus!” He shouted, stunning the fighting man still and sighing in relief as he froze up beside her bed. She watched him from across the room, cowering against her wardrobe with a hesitant look in her eyes, her eyes that were covered in tears. Silent tears.

“Fred,” She whispered, finally seeing his face again when he turned to look at her. The man saw the way she curled her body up, knees pressed tightly against her chest in fear. It was quiet, every sound louder than it should have been against the silence, as Fred got up and approached her calmly, like she was a scared animal.

George rushed in, out of breath and sporting a few scratches along his forearms. Nothing that couldn’t be ignored when he knew both his brother, and their closest friend, were safe. One glance at the ground, where the other twin sat, told him they needed to be alone.

“I’ll sort this out.” George spoke quietly, dragging the body out as quickly as he could.

“Thanks.” Fred whispered, but y/n kept her mouth shut, stunned into silence by the sight of the vile man.

The silent tears broke into heavy sobs, her whole body shaking in shock as Fred did all he could to hold her crumbling form upright against himself. It broke his heart, just to think about how scared she must have been… or still was. He could hear what it was doing to her, but he would never understand. He wanted to understand, he wanted more than anything to keep her safe. He wanted her.

Neither one of them moved for the better part of an hour, with waves of tears coming and going as the events of that night played over the poor girl’s mind. But no matter what, Freddie never tried to move her, or let go, he could feel the way her hands clung to him as he shielded her face from the room. That beautiful room which was forever tainted with the unsavory memory of screaming and begging.

“Do you want to sleep?” He finally spoke, his voice dry after they’d just held one another all that time. The girl shook her head, still buried in his chest.

“Are they still out there?” She asked.

“I think so, but the aurors will be by to take them away.” “I’ll wait.”

The thought of seeing any of them laying there, on their perfect shop floor, made the girl’s stomach churn. Freddie was safe, he was comforting, he was the only thing holding her in one piece right now.

The little window that sat near the top of her bedroom wall began to let the sunrise in, a small ray of light that reflected onto her bedside table. The man watched it flicker over her few possessions that she kept close to her, some he didn’t recognise. And others were little gifts he and George had given her over the fleeting weeks that the girl had graced them with her bright presence. He wished that would come back.

-

After George came to tell them it was cleared up, Fred took the girl up to the loft, lifting her effortlessly from the ground and letting her curl up against him as he walked. He knew she wouldn’t want to stay in that room much longer, and definitely not alone.

“Here we go,” he let out a sigh, setting her down on the sofa. She seemed out of place now that he wasn’t holding her like a broken child, and Fred could tell. “Do you need a drink?” He asked. The girl shook her head. “Okay, I’m going to make coffee-” Y/n seemed nervous, her eyes tracing the room as if something was going to pop up from beneath the floorboards. “Do you wanna come help?” She nodded, a glimpse of a smile wavering on her face as he held her hand again.

She sat quietly in the kitchen, watching the man move around calmly, making sure his hands were busy the entire time. Still, he would give her a quick look, just to check that she was alright.

“Are you tired?” Fred asked her.

“A little.”

“Come on then?” With a mug in one hand, and hers in the other, he led her up to his room where he had spent all those days hiding away from her.

It was dark, but cosy, covered in deep blues with the occasional moving poster on the walls as the girl gazed around in sedated awe. She had never seen his room, the occasion not having come up until this moment. Then she remembered why she was there in the first place.

“Get comfy.” he smiled, pulling back the covers for her and standing awkwardly as she curled beneath them.

“Can you stay… Please freddie?” the girl’s voice called out, a sound that he had missed, as he went to leave. It took a few seconds for him to react, nodding assuredly and dragging his desk chair to sit beside where she laid down.

Her smile appeared, soft and gentle, and so heartbreaking. There was no need for her to smile, but she still did for him, just for him. One of her hands peeked out of the covers as he watched her silently, tentatively reaching for his, that hung beside him so she could play with his fingers.

That was how she drifted off, her hands interlocked with his with a familiar warmth that reminded Freddie just how perfect she was. Her face was soft, pressed against the pillow, her nose twitching every now and then like she was fighting an itch. The man thought it adorable.

-

When the sleeping angel woke, it was from a nightmare, her screams stopping abruptly when she realised that no one was going to hurt her. Fred had rushed to her aid as soon as she stirred, sitting on the bed and holding her close as she let out a few tears of relief.

He hushed her, one hand stroking her hair. The girl asked if he could keep hugging her, to which he agreed of course, taking place beside her on the bed and letting her fold into his body. Her arms wrapping around him tightly as if he was a teddy bear. He would do anything for her, he thought as she bounced in and out of sleep, mumbling incoherent questions as not to bore him.

“You can sleep if you need darling.” He chuckled deeply, the vibration rippling through his chest and onto her head. She nuzzled deeper, liking the comfort it brought, and shook her head.

“I don’t want to sleep again,” He knew what she really meant, she didn’t want to sleep because she didn’t want to dream.

“Okay then…”

Moments later a small tone began playing on Fred’s beside table, waking them both momentarily. The man scrambled for his wand, flicking it towards the alarm clock and settling back down with a sigh.

“We need to get up.” The girl groaned, trying to move from his hold, unsuccessfully.

“The shop’s closed today.” He reassured her, keeping her body in place. “Just rest up.” The girl giggled at the way he encoppassed her so easily and fell complacent beneath his arms.

“But, surely we should-” “This is all you need to do darling, George has it handled okay?”

Y/n liked the way he spoke to her, his muffled voice like a soothing hum when she could hear it deeper against his chest. The girl blushed at the way he called her darling, used to hearing it from George but never from Fred. After thinking that Fred was pissed off with her, this proved that was far from the truth.

-

“You don’t have to go, I’m sure Bill would understand.” Fred tried to explain casually, not wanting to show how much he disliked the idea. He handed the girl, who sat cross legged on his bed, a plate of toast even after she’d urged him not to.

“Thanks,” She mumbled, taking a mousy bite. “I shouldn’t cancel, not really.”

“You’ve been through a lot, y/n.” He was looking her in the eye, sat on the chair beside the bed again. Fred wanted to say more, try and tell her it was a bad idea, but that was just cruel. It was her decision.

“It would only disappoint him, and I don’t want to do that to Bill.” The girl nodded, as if she had made her mind up. All the man could do was mirror her, finally understanding that maybe things weren’t going to change just because he willed them to.

“That’s fine, but I’ll send him an owl and let him know what’s happened… in fact I should tell everyone at the burrow too.”

He busied himself at his desk, trying to ignore the ever growing pain in his heart as he wrote out both letters. Behind him, y/n just watched his back tense every now and then.

“Are you okay?” She asked him, and his body froze again, as if he was in pain.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He said in an oddly cheery tone. She felt stupid for asking.

“Just a lot going on I suppose…” Her voice trailed off as she got more embarrassed.

“It’ll be okay from now on.” He told her.

But something deep down was wrong. Despite his optimistic words, and the fact that he was actually okay being in the same room as her, y/n could tell that things between her and Fred had changed.

It wasn’t worth bringing up, she told herself over and over, chanting herself to sleep once again as Fred left the room to send off the letters. Her eyes were closed when he returned and he let out a deep sigh.

The girl wanted to wince at how exhausted he sounded. She had done this to him, somehow, and now he had to be nice to her just because of the break-in.

“I’m sorry I never said anything.” The man whispered, a hand reaching to stroke the hairs that fell over her face. He wished she was awake, but he was too much of a coward to ever admit how he felt to her. Especially not when she was so willing to see Bill.

-

The day passed by, filled with plenty of naps, and soon enough nightfall was upon the trio. The girl had gone to shower, leaving Fred to make his bed in her absence. He wanted nothing more than to just sleep through it all, close his eyes and forget all about her. That way he would never feel this heartbreak again.

George stood in the doorway.

“You alright mate?” He asked, making his brother jump a little as he rearranged the pillows.

“Oh- god- yeah I’m fine.”

“Do you um- wanna talk about-” “You know what, I really don’t wanna talk at all.” Fred sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He was too tired to fight about it again. “I just want to ignore it, and let it pass, and get on with my life.” “It’s not too late you know.” “It most definitely is Georgie, she’s out there getting ready to leave.” He hissed, hearing the bathroom door open again.

There was a flash of white, it caught Fred’s attention as he stood in front of his brother. He frowned when she called out for them.

“Where are you guys?” It had been a harmless question, but both twins rushed out of the room. “There you are,” She chuckled nervously, brushing her dress down.

The dress. The one that Fred wanted to look at for hours, but also wished he had never seen at all. The girl stood still, her fingers playing with the hem that stopped at her thighs. It had embroidered flowers all over it, and sleeves that looked like tiny wings on her arms. She was an angel. Fred was speechless, unaware that George had filled the silence with compliments while he just nodded.

The fireplace roared green, all of them turning to see Bill burst into the living room with worry all over his face. He ran to the girl first, engulfing her in a hug as she just laughed.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” He spoke into the top of her head, lovingly.

“That’s okay.”

He gushed over her, making her tell him she was okay about forty times before they even thought about leaving. Only when the girl pointed out that they were gonna be late for their reservation did Bill bid the boys goodbye and take her hand with a proud smile.

This is good, Fred told himself. They’re happy together. She’s happy, and that’s what she deserves. Nothing else matters.