#they even discuss “promising each other that we will never marry but be nice old maids and live together forever” and then anne cries at

[queeringclassiclit]

congratulations to Anne Shirley and Diana Barry who now hold the top three highest 'no' votes this blog has ever seen. a rare win for the straights <3

[starsofjewels]

*slides over* heyaaaa how you doin? hope your doin great:], could i possibly ask for a gregor c fic maybe a smut maybe a fluff(possibly a continuation of the fic with the kids), okkkk now bye bye love ya!!❤

Warm Embraces and Warmer Beds

NSFW!!

Any and all characters depicted in NSFW pieces are of legal age. All characters are also consenting (Unless specificed by piece)

CONTENT: SMUT (underneath cut)- dub!con, Fingering, PinV, reunion! sex- Language, vague mentions of war + blood (it’s Westeros), discussions of SW

Big Greg… You know what you’re getting in to.

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Hey my pookies. Another day, another request, more regrets. Mistakes have been made, but I will do anything for my self-indulgent fics about a big ass man who’d probably turn me into a pavement pancake if we met irl (🤤)

Anyway…

Live long, prosper… I guess.

P.S. Als at some point (over) 50 of you silly geeses decided to drop a follow, so thank you sm my babies. I love you all.

I really need a Masterlist…

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

To be married to a knight- Especially one who boasts his own keep- Is something most ladies of your standing can only dream of. Most low, noble girls are thrown off to a favoured squire, to old men and their older books, who couldn’t be bothered to find themselves a wife until it was much too late. But you? You are lucky. Your husband is feared, truly feared, you have no jealous lordlings come to take your land, and no threat to you, or your boys. Gregor Clegane is a name known across the Kingdoms, and you, as sweet Lady Clegane, are his responsibility. Not even the Lannister bannermen ask for voluntary contribution when they come for the tithes. You need nothing, and you are asked for even less.

But there are always sacrifices to be made. It is part of womanhood; the men hunt and drink and fuck as they see fit, and you are left to pick up the pieces, and tend to their wounds. You have never minded, though, Gregor is a sweetheart when he returns, like a kicked puppy, demanding a hot meal and a kiss to his cuts. His duty is to guard, and yours is to nurture, that is how it has always been.

It is not uncommon for he, Tywin’s greatest weapon, to spend months away from you. He is a knight, and that is how knights serve their lords. He leaves you with everything you could need and more in his absence: control over his land, his keep and, his prized possessions, your boys. Ronan and Finny are old enough to understand their expectations as the heir, and the spare, to the Clegane household. Armed with wooden swords and a promise to protect their lady mother, and the small, pink sack of flesh they call a baby brother. Something in you is glad they still idolise their father’s profession, that their heads are still filled with the notions of saving princesses and slaying dragons.

Still, even excitable little boys grow restless after so long without their father. There is a hush over the keep, and the land, and it is almost peaceful; not that it could truly manage it, with Gregor at its helm, but it is nice to see the pheasants running about, when the men are too busy fighting to hunt them down. One runs past, chased by a kitchen cat, in turn chased by Ronan. You grab him before he can reach the animals, he has a habit of staging races, and annoying the gamekeeper with the scratches across the lawns. The boy squeals, as he always does, caught in the act.

“Mama?”

Ronan is placated with a book and one of the very old, very fat cats he has no interest in racing. The thing, titled ‘lazy arse’ by Gregor, affectionately or not, sits across your son, with the bored expression you’d expect from the child himself. He, with his pages open at an illustration of the Valyrian dragons burning each other, is enjoying himself immensely. At least, you think, his studies are partially educational.

“Mh?"

“When’s Daddy coming back?”

You sigh, looking out the window as though the mustard banners would appear at any moment. You don’t know, in truth, Gregor could be a mile away, or halfway across the world, and it wouldn’t make that much of a difference. Dead, or alive, or turned into a beast of cool flesh and ice, the distance is about the same no matter how you think about it, and double so for your boys. 

“I don’t know, sweet boy,” That’s all you can find yourself able to tell him. He looks at you, shrugs, and goes back to his book. You are glad he is not a girl, a girl would ask more questions, Ronan has always been happy with the simple. 

It is relatively calm, it always is on nights like these. Finny is beyond himself, refusing to go to bed, as always, and the babe is unreasonably fussy for no particular reason. Still, it is near surreally quiet. You do not know much about war, but you know what it sounds like, and in your world, it sounds like silence. Something in you tells you to let the boys sleep in your bed, instead of forcing them into the room the clearly do not want to go in. Finny is light, easy enough for you to lift up and plop on Gregor’s side, Ronan, with slightly more stamina, follows along beside you. 

The night has no major disasters, the babe is taken off by the nursemaids, and you wake to the sunlight streaming in through the window, you must have forgotten to pull the curtains, the staff would not have come in this early. Or perhaps they did; there is a bundle of daffodils upon your dresser, which you are certain were not there when you retired for the evening. Erra, one of your few handmaidens, enjoys making little displays, you assume she has snuck in some time before dawn to place them.

And then you hear it, those footsteps. No man alive can imitate the heavy, dull thud of them, you know it all too well. It stirs the boys, or, more likely, they were already awake, you aren’t particularly sure. You see the shadows change as the door opens, and you can recognise from the size of it alone who stands before you. 

“You awake?”

The response you give is somewhere between a hum and a groan, not quite aware enough to answer him, yet enough to know he’s there. You can hardly move, both for sleep, and the fact that Finny has clambered across your chest at some point in the night, but he still knows. He always knows.

Gregor trundles in, washed and dressed in his nightshirt. You wonder where he slept, surely not beside you, you are certain he would have woken you, or the boys, getting himself into bed. The light blocks most of his face, but he moves with such power you assume he has no injuries. If he does, he is good at hiding them. When he reaches the bed, he pulls the quilts away from you, and you make a noise of complaint for the cold, even if the day itself is reasonably warm. Gregor pulls Finny from your chest, and Ronan from your side, and lifts them up, into his arms, and you are quickly reunited with your warm blankets. You hear one of the boys stir, though unsure which, and he is shushed by Gregor as they leave. For once, they may sleep in their own beds.

Your husband, your Mountain, returns to your side, and climbs into your bed. He is as warm as he left you, and just as willing to wrap you in his embraces. You feel the urge to go back to sleep, to rest in his arms as though he had never gone in the first place, and it is wonderful.

But of course, it is never that simple.

Big hands find your sides, sliding under your nightdress and scraping your bare thighs underneath. Gregor lifts you just slightly, enough so that when he bends his legs, you sit directly upon his lap. You make some sort of noise, some demonstration of complaint, but he has never listened, and he will not start now. 

The first kiss you receive, after months of doing without, goes softly to the plumped skin of your cheek. Warm, and smooth and uncharacteristically delicate, like something you would dream of. Part of you wonders if this is, truly, a dream, as Gregor rocks you back and forth, hands seeking grip on the flat surface of the meat of your thighs. And he does not stop there, he hasn’t stopped a day in his life. 

He grazes you, cool, rugged hands taking their place against soft, fattened skin. You wonder how many nights he has spent alone with his hands in the past months, just as you have. He would never take a whore, he tells you, he can’t be bothered with the effort. But you are no whore, you are soft, and delicate, and willing. 

It doesn’t much matter if the noise you make is of protest or of enjoyment. You are tired, and growing increasingly wet, and this seems to spur him even more. 

“Missed this…”

He murmurs against your skin, pinching fingers pulling up the skirts of your nightdress, so your bare arse rests upon those heavy, muscled thighs, sharp with a thousand tiny, black hairs. It shocks you, just enough for you to register it, but not so that you are fully awake.

You feel his cock immediately, of course you do. Its length, its width. He is a big man, and he has no lack of knowledge towards its usage. Even from within the confines of his nightshirt its outline is visible, and you are almost ashamed of the sudden desire which washes over you. At any other point you would feign shame, you would blush and whimper. But here, and now, there is only so much longing you can hold back. 

Gregor’s great hands come up to caress your face, and he almost laughs,

“You’re drooling, love,” His thumb swipes at your bottom lip, and you resist the urge to bite, to show him you are in no mood for teasing, but you are certain your reward will come soon.

And it does, as always. In his usual fashion, the hands come first. Pinches become long, deliberate waves of touch, and there is the understanding that all of his play, his teasing, has ceased. He wants what he wants, and he wants your cunt.

In your sleep-addled state, and probably in his fully lucid reality, it is gentle and sweeter than usual. Perhaps he is being deliberately gentle to aid your fragile mind, or, more likely, he knows you have forgotten just how big he truly is, and a broken wife is just about as good as no wife at all.

One hand keeps itself firmly upon your hip, in case you slip and slide away from him, as the other caresses your inner thighs, and, when he is satisfied you can handle it, to the true purpose of his invasions. 

He has never let you enjoy his hands solely for long, and this shall be no different. For such a big man, Gregor is shockingly agile in this regard, fumbling steps and harsh palms becoming light touches against your clit. At this time, in this situation, he doesn’t dare venture any further than the surface. From his grunts and, dare you say it, his whines, you can tell he may not last particularly long, the consequence of months away from you, you suppose. 

“Hey, hey- Sleepy girl,”

Gregor’s hands leave your body, and you find yourself pressed once again to the soft, inviting flesh of the mattress, still warm. The semi-shock you experience as your arse touches the cool air is dulled, instantly, as the big man pats it gently. Your hips are lifted, and he puts his own pillow beneath you, warm.

“Have you just the way you like, yeah?”

You affirm, face pushed into your own cushion. You can hardly breathe, but with the delicious tension, it doesn’t really matter. 

And it comes, just as you expected it, perhaps more than you expected it. You see only darkness, but you feel so much more. He moves with poorly veiled desire, a necessity to touch you as only he can. You are his and, more importantly, he is yours, all yours. After all, who else is he taking with such delicate fervour?

You are kissed, you are held, and you are loved. Gregor’s cock finds its way, with simple instinct, to your cunt, and you wince and whine. He had expected it, of course, and gets no more than the tip into you before he has to stop. Not the desired reaction, but the realistic one.

“Shh, shh…” It seems a foreign sound for such a harsh creature. To hush, to comfort, “That’s my girl…”

You keen, your hips shift upwards and you let him in further, despite the uncomfortable stretching. You have always loved his praise, always loved to be his sweet, good, wife. 

Gregor’s movements are gentle. When he takes you like this, after months apart, he allows himself to be gentle. He is your returned knight, your handsome, precious husband, and there is a time and a place for him to be the Mountain. Now, here, is not that place.

When he is certain you are comfortable, that it is not too much, he helps you sit yourself between his cock and your hand. Big fingers return to your clit, and he almost laughs as you squeal, the sudden stimulation, apparently, a shock to the system.

And, naturally, it does not take particularly long for him to reap the rewards of this uncharacteristic gentleness, as you let out your long, low moans, muffled by your face pressed into the cushions, and he feels you clench around him. It is something he has longed for, there is nothing quite like it, and it always brings forth his own finish.

So he does. Thick and hot, everything you might expect from a man of that stature, with such a glorious cock. The world does not give you many pleasures, nor does it anyone, but to be here, warm and filled, is certainly a pleasure worth noting. 

Gregor stays in you, he likes to stay in you. In his brooding moments he likes to say it helps a child come forth, but you aren’t quite sure of the legitimacy to that claim. Not that it matters. You see the sunlight again, staring out your bedroom window with a wall of flesh at your back. And it is beautiful. 

He has killed men, you know that, he will have rampaged through the Vale, or wherever it was he had been sent, destroying everything in his path and laughing as he did it. You see his great breastplate stained with blood, and the image turns you in some, not entirely unpleasant way. But you say nothing, you are too tired for a second round, and your Mountain seems to have spent his energy.

Later, once you are suitably cleaned of all remnants of your adventures, and Gregor is both awake and dressed, you sit around the table, the boys clinging to their father and desperate for tales of their father’s quests around Westeros. Not much of it is suitable for children, you gather.

They spend all day play-fighting, with their swords, and insist that you must watch, to referee, and you must give your favours to both of them, because every knight has their favours. They, as little knights-to-be, are satisfied by leaves you pick from the ground.

Finny wins, to everyone’s amazement, and as his reward is given first pick of pudding. Not substantial by any means, but enough to satisfy a small boy with a love of blackberries. Everyone is happy, all is content, and Gregor fits back into the family with no trouble, making your boys cringe as he kisses you before supper is served. You deserve your rewards too, after all.

[transformarium]

Name calling is never a good idea

Liam (on the left) and Reece (on the right) watched Saturday evening football together, as was their habit. Both were dressed in their favourite football uniforms and were totally immersed in the telly. They didn’t hear the sound of breaking glass and thus didn’t hear a loud zap sound.

Two Pakistani immigrant youngsters had decided to get revenge on Liam and Reece. They had called Ansar and Hasan less than flattering names around the neighbourhood. The last drop had been this morning when Liam and Reece had called them fairy Paki dwarves in front of their mothers and sisters at a bus stop. They decided that those two needed to answer for all humiliation that Ansar and Hasan had suffered from Liam and Reece. Earlier, Ansar had gotten into his hands a weird gizmo which, according to its proprietor, reduces the target into clothes. Although the proprietor did not go into detail about what would happen when the clothes were worn, something interesting should happen.

Ansar and Hasan dressed as burglars and went to Liam and Reese’s house as their Saturday schedule was well known to the whole neighbourhood. After getting in, Ansar fired the gizmo, reducing Liam and Reese to their favourite footie uniforms. Hasan was hesitant to dress in his former bully’s clothes, but Ansar talked him into overcoming the hesitancy. They took the uniforms so that Ansar dressed into Liam’s and Hasan Reece’s. They went into separate rooms to change. Once they had dressed up, both started groaning in pain as they grew in height from 5’ 1” to 6’ and gained muscles.

Ansar (left) and Hasan (right) staggered into the living room and fell into the sofa. The growth after dressing had sapped their energy, and they were confused about what had just happened. While they watched the match, they started to come to their senses. Ansar laughed. “The proprietor truly delivered what he promised,” he said. “We got rid of our bullies, and something interesting did happen. I do wonder how our families will react when we go back with big white bodies.” Hasan protested, “We don’t have to go back as we have a nice flat here without all the nosiness and questions from our mothers when we are going to get married and give them grandchildren.”

After a long discussion, we decided to give it a try and see what it would be living without our nagging mothers. We discovered that our new bodies are fantastic. All sorts of after-effects came from us getting Liam and Reese’s bodies. Without our mothers’ nosiness, we experienced an epiphany in our lives. We are free of our parents’ cultural background, allowing us to experiment with our sexuality for the first time. Initially, we tried to score women in the local pub with some success. The sex with women left us empty as there just was no connection, no spark. We wondered if our transformation had messed with our minds as Liam and Reece were known womanisers with their fans.

Approximately six months after the transformation, our hair colours changed. Ansar’s hair turned ginger, and Hasan’s blonde. At this point, we had moved to experiment with men. We had visited some gay bars farther away from our flat and had some one night stands. We began to feel drawn toward each other, culminating after two weeks of hemming and hawing into our first sex together while drunk. We don't remember much of the night, only that we agreed that we are a couple from now onwards, and the night was fantastic. During our next time, we were sober and experimented with being top and bottom. Based on our experience, Hasan with Reece’s body is natural bottom and Ansar with Liam’s is the top.

We agreed that moving out of our old neighbourhood would be the best option in the long run as we did not want to run into our families. The few times we had seen them, they did not recognise us as their sons. It was like we had never existed. It seems that we took Liam and Reece’s place at the same time, erasing our past.

We ended up moving to New Orleans and changed our official names to Liam Ansar Knowles and Reece Hasan Wheelock, retaining our former names as middle names to remind us of our past. We joined a gym and gained some notoriety among fellow gym-goers on how easily we gained muscle as a consequence of getting our bullies’ bodies and combining them with ours. Our dicks and balls doubled in size over the year after the transformation while doubling in sensitivity, making our sex life very healthy. As old Liam and Reece or us did not have formal qualifications or experience we had to think our future very carefully. We concluded that owning a business is the best option. Currently, we are studying business at the University of New Orleans.

It has been ten years since our acquisition of Liam and Reece. We have a successfull business in the import side. We both studied until we got doctoral degrees in business administration for Reece Hasan and science for Liam Ansar. We utilise our degrees with great prosperity Liam Ansar being the CEO and Reece, the secretary. Our afternoon can be steamy when the business is slow. We also married after obtaining our final degrees. We felt that it was the right moment. Liam still has the gizmo and we have talked about “adopting” a son.

We found our “son” being bullied near our business. What looked like a high school freshman was given wedges by a senior. Liam fired the gizmo on the senior and reduced him into clothes. We asked the freshman what this was about. He told us that he actually was also a senior and was being bullied for being tiny, being neglected by foster parents, Asian, gay, or the school cafeteria didn’t have pizza that day, take your pick. He thanked us for getting rid of his bully. We told him that we wanted to adopt him, and on the top, he would get his bully’s body. He said immediately yes, and we proceeded to our home. He went to the guest bedroom and dressed in the bully’s clothes. We heard groaning and a body falling on the floor. We checked in, and he told us that everything was ok but that there was a lot to take in.

Our son took a new name, Oliver Rafiq Knowles, to honour us and avert attention from his bully’s disappearance. He went to college with a wrestling scholarship. He even went to win a state championship. He studied logistics as he wanted to join our family business. He didn’t join us immediately after college as he joined the army. And we have to say that it did our son good. There, his hair became blonde, and we like to joke that he takes after his dad, Reece, with his hair and his father, Liam, with his body. Now he has joined our business and takes excellent care of the logistics side.

[talesofstyles]

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain. 

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder. 

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment. 

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car. 

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.” 

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later. 

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald. 

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.” 

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later. 

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks. 

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off. 

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.” 

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors. 

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve. 

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING. 

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head. 

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her. 

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals. 

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom. 

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife. 

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process. 

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop. 

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache. 

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink. 

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers. 

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest. 

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room. 

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward. 

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket. 

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages. 

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side. 

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket. 

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door. 

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.” 

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going. 

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him. 

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear. 

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat. 

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes. 

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt. 

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige. 

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down. 

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.” 

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching. 

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

[parkersroses]

champagne problems. | harry styles.

summary: Harry and Y/N meet again after things fell out for them.

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

word count: 7.3k words

trigger warnings: mentions of mental health issues and attempt of self harm, angst. if these are triggering to you, pls do not read this.

a/n: (gif credits to @letsmakesomeonehappytoday) i’m super nervous about this, also this is definitely the longest i’ve written. i began writing this last december bc i absolutely love the context of the song and i felt like writing something that touches important issues like mental health. i read and did research on how i could write this properly without having it look like i was romanticising the topic. if you do find it that way, pls feel free to leave constructive criticism so i can further improve and amend on my writing. don’t feel obligated to read this if it is triggering to you. here is a link to some mental health hotlines, i might add some more in another if i find any that are reliable. don’t be afraid to ask for help or even help others if you know they might be struggling.

reblog, comment if you like it or not, or even start a conversation. donate to my kofi if you’d like to support me further. i love you all.

The relaxing and sensual sound of jazz music filled the room. The chandeliers hanging above casted a golden glow over it, making the room more elegant than it did. People were dressed in nice clothing for the new year celebration. 

Harry was not one for New Year’s eve parties, having to prefer sitting in the comfort of his home, sipping on some champagne as he tries to ignore the loud fireworks going off. But considering it was one of his old friends that was hosting this particular party, there was no way he would deny it. He enjoyed having to see his old friends again after a busy year of filming a movie for the world to see one day. 

He stands with his friend, Jake, as he holds a champagne flute in one hand. Talia, his recently girlfriend-turned-fiancée, standing next to him with an arm wrapped around his waist. It had been two weeks since he proposed and two weeks since she said yes to marrying him. It was a joyous time for them after nearly a year of dating. Some might think they rushed but Harry ignored them. He knew if the time was right, then it would be bound to happen eventually. 

Harry’s eyes scan through the sea of people while Jake and Talia are discussing animatedly about something he probably isn’t paying attention to all that much. His eyes wander around until they fall on a familiar figure. He blinks his eyes hard enough to make sure they aren’t playing tricks on him, and they aren’t. The person who he knew and loved before. The person whom he intended to spend the rest of his life with. The person who left him, not giving him a reason as to why. 

Y/N stands with Natalia, occasionally sipping on her champagne as they talk. He should have known that their group of friends would stay in touch with her, even after they broke up years ago. She wears her casual dark jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt and heeled boots. A contrast to those around them, wearing fancy dresses and suits. She always stood out in her own way. It was why he loved her then. 

Harry let out a breath, seemingly couldn’t believe that his ex lover is here in the same room as him. Talia notices this and questions, “Babe, you alright?” Harry breaks away his gaze from Y/N before smiling at his dear fiancée. “Yeah, m’fine. Just saw an old friend, s’all,” he assures her as he sips on his drink. 

“Oh, d’you want to talk to her?” She asks, and Harry shakes his head because if he did, he wouldn’t know how to act or say to her. “No worries. Maybe later,” he says. 

As time passes, Harry finds himself focused on Y/N numerous times. In his mind, he is already thinking of ways to talk to her. What would he say to her? Would she even want to talk to him? Or were they going to pretend everything was fine before she left him? 

When he looks around for her again, he freezes as he sees her eyes staring right back at her, almost looking in shock as he is there too. There is a glimmer in her eyes that he always noticed. She gives him a small yet timid smile from across the room before breaking away from the eye contact. 

Harry decides to pick up what’s left of his courage in his body to walk over and greet her. He leans into Talia’s ear, whispering to her. “I’m just going to meet an old friend. You’ll be okay here?” He says. Talia looks up at him and nods. She assures him that she’ll be alright, saying that she’ll talk to some other of their friends.

As he leaves her side, he walks through the sea of people to look for the person he hadn’t seen in a long time. Harry finds her grabbing another glass of champagne from a nearby tray and he smiles at this. He always knew she liked champagne. She doesn’t notice him walking up to her until he clears his throat. She turns around and her breath hitches as she sees him. Harry’s mouth dries up instantly as his eyes gazes upon her. Despite years of knowing her, he still found her beautiful. 

The corner of his lips curls up slightly. “Hi,” he says quietly, his breath slightly shaking as he spoke. He isn’t sure whether she heard him, but her reply seems to answer that. “Hi,” she replies, with the same nervousness in her voice. 

“Fancy seeing yeh here,” he chuckles. Y/N smiles at this; while it was awkward to have seen her ex in a long while, he never fails to make the situation comfortable for them. “Y-Yeah, you too,” she stutters. 

She is not going to admit it aloud, but she misses the sound of his voice. How deep and raspy it could get. She misses his voice being the first thing she hears when she wakes up, or the hums she would hear in her ear as they would dance with no music on. She misses his touch whenever he holds her close, warmth and protection radiating from his body onto hers. She misses everything about him despite them not being together anymore for a long time, she admits but never out loud. 

Silence fills the gap between as they both figure out what to say. On one hand, they can pretend everything is alright and converse like old friends. On the other, they can push their fears aside and talk about what is actually in their minds that seem to have an affect on their current relationship. 

“So, how’ve yeh been?” He hesitates to ask. He’s not sure whether she would lie to him or give him the proper answer he needs. The answer he wishes he knew. Y/N doesn’t know how to answer that without making it sound as depressing as it is. There had been many times she wanted to give him a reason why she left him, to give him a little bit of closure that he deserves. Perhaps it is her pride that prevented her from doing so. 

“I’m alright,” she says with a small smile on her lips. Her answer could be a lie or the truth. “And, you?” 

He nods slightly at her answer. “I’ve been alright,” He gives her tight smile back. “Been a while since I last saw you,” he says and she nods. “Y-Yeah, way too long,” she says quietly. It’s hard to ignore how insincere the smile he gave her is. Y/N knows him all too well, even when they were no longer together. She knows by that smile that there’s something on his mind, something he wants to say. But she doesn’t question it. 

Harry is aching to ask her. To ask what happened between them, why she left him without a warning, why she had to break his heart the way she did. 

It’s almost like she senses what he is thinking because she then suggests to him. “Want to go outside for a bit?” She gestures to the backyard with her head. 

“Yeah, absolutely,” Harry breathes out. He almost cringes at how desperate he sounds. “Um, after you,” he says, gesturing his hand towards the door. She softly thanks him and Harry follows right behind her outside. 

“So-”

“I-”

The pair speak simultaneously as they walk and they both laugh at it. “Sorry,” she says. Harry dismisses this. “No worries.” 

“You look great, by the way,” she says. Harry smiles at her compliment. “Thank you. You look amazing too,” he returns the compliment. She blushes a bit before muttering a soft ‘thank you’ under her breath.

The cold air wraps around the two bodies that once knew each other’s intimately. The stars look brighter that night and Y/N takes a deep breath as she stares up at the sky. She doesn’t realise how Harry looks at the small breath she let out, or how he admires her side profile like he used to when she sleeps. He stares at her for a bit more, like he’s remembering again what she looks like, before averting his eyes to the night sky.

“Saw you had a date back there. Someone special I assume?” She asks out of the blue. Harry freezes in his place. “Y-Yeah, she is,” he blurts out and clears his throat. “My fiancée, actually,” he says and he looks at her to see her reaction. 

Y/N is surprised at first, feeling her whole body tense up before she relaxes. But Harry catches it. “That’s great. Congratulations, Harry,” she smiles at him before turning back the stars. She promises she is genuine about it. But maybe she’s just telling herself that. “How long have you both been together?”

“Nearly a year now,” he says. Y/N lets his answer sink in her head. A year, she thought. We were together longer than that for you to propo-

“Seems like a short time, huh?” She jokes, but Harry only gives a small smile. “Is it though? Too soon to ask if we’re both ready?” He says, as if he’s mocking her and something. And that sent a shard through her chest. Harry curses at himself, he shouldn’t be saying things like that despite them not being together anymore. She looks down at the ground like it was suddenly the most interesting thing and shakes her head. 

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she apologises. Harry is quick to shake his head at her. “No, no. I’m sorry for how I said it. You did nothing,” he says. Y/N is silent for a bit before saying back to him.

“No, really. I didn’t mean to make things weird or uncomfortable between us. I’m just.. Sorry,” she says. 

“How are you, Y/N?” He asks genuinely. Y/N is confused at first, wondering why he is asking the same question again. “I already told you, Harry. I’m alri-,”

“I mean, how actually are you?”

She turns to him, seeing as Harry is already looking at her with a solemn expression. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he says softly, almost sounding like he doesn’t want to scare her. And she knows what he meant and what he wants to know. 

Y/N suddenly feels a lump forming in her throat and breathes in deeply. She clears her throat, hoping her voice doesn’t waver when she speaks. “I promise I’m okay, Harry. I just,” she sighs and closes her eyes. 

“I don’t know. I’ve been getting by on my own. Trying to work on myself, you know, since,” her words falter, but Harry knows what she means. Since she left him without an answer to one of the most important questions in life. He nods his head slightly even though she doesn’t see it. 

He lets out a sigh as he looks up at the starry night. “You know, it’s… kind of surreal. Us being here I mean,” he says. Y/N looks at him again with confusion written all over her face. “I’ve been wondering where you’ve been. I called but you never seem to answer. I just wanted to see how’ve yeh been, you know?” He confesses, throwing this big weight out in the open. 

Y/N has her head hung low, like a child being scolded for stealing the last cookie from the cookie jar. But she knows he means well. And she hates how not only she caused problems for herself, but the person she once loved. 

“I just… I miss my best friend, Y/N. I miss having her around,” he says, and he doesn’t realise how his words hit her like a truck. She breathes in sharply, feeling a slight pain in her throat. “And you don’t think I felt the same way then?” She asks softly, her voice already wavering. 

Harry shakes his head. “No, love, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry,” He’s quick to apologise but she dismisses it while ignoring the fact that he called her a very familiar pet name he used to use on her. “It’s fine,” she says, and her voice is almost quiet enough for you to not hear her.

“It’s just,” she breathes out and she looks up hoping that tears won’t escape her eyes. “I wanted to let you in. I could’ve answered the phone. But I didn’t. I know how bad I left things between us, H.” Harry’s heart jumped a bit at hearing her say ‘H’ again. She used to always call him that. It still sounds lovely as it leaves her lips. 

“I wish I could’ve told you why I left you kneeling with the ring still in your hand. I couldn’t, though. Maybe I wasn’t ready that time, or never was.” It hurts for her to say this because she has imagined spending the rest of her life with him countless times. “I’ve had this constant battle in my mind for so long. I thought that maybe if I ignore it, it’d be like it never was there and we’d be alright. But it got worse and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I held it on for so long and I couldn’t say anything because I knew I’d somehow ruin everything. Well, I did in the end.” And she feels tears streaming down her face. 

Harry feels his tears escaping his eyes too, but doesn’t make the effort to wipe them away. As if he’s paralyzed in where he stands. “A-And, what happened after that?” he asks ever so gently.

Y/N wipes her tears away and takes a deep breath before continuing the sad story they’re on. “I lived with it and the thoughts consumed my mind. S-Sometimes, they can get dark.” She confesses but not all at once. She won’t tell him how she felt herself crumbling down and how her mother found her unconscious in the bathroom, overdosing on some pills she found. She won’t tell him how hard she cried in her hospital bed over the pain she was in. It felt like a shard puncturing through Harry’s heart. The fact that she had been struggling all this while and he never noticed it, it kills him. 

“Then, one day, I just decided to find help. I knew I needed help. And I’ve been having sessions with a psychiatrist for a few months now.” And she smiles through her tears. “I’ve been working a lot on myself, been on medication and all. Then, maybe one day, when I feel ready for it, I’d come find you, apologise for the problems I caused between us. Didn’t think it’d be tonight, though.” She jokes and hangs her head low again, like she’s scared to see what Harry thinks of her now. Just a girl who’s sick in the head. 

There is an uncomfortable silence between them and Harry speaks up again. “You infuriate me sometimes, you know?” Y/N looks at him and his eyebrows are pressed together like he’s mad. She is once again confused at what he meant. “I would’ve listened. I would’ve helped you. I would’ve,” he pauses and runs his fingers through his brown curls, taking a breather so he won’t actually lose his temper. But for Y/N, it’s like she wanted him to scream at her. Yell at her for leaving him behind for her own selfish needs. 

“I would’ve looked after you,” he says softly, and it’s heartbreaking to hear the pain in his voice. “I didn’t want to burden you, H. I wouldn’t do that to you,” she says gently and Harry shakes his head at her. “Is that what you thought? That you’d burden me?” She only shrugs at him with a sad smile. 

“I heard it before.” She says, and it makes Harry furious that anyone would toss aside the state of her mental health. “It’s not because of your job, Harry. Or your fans,” she assures him. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you with what I’ve been going through. You deserve someone who isn’t as fucked in the head as I am,” she says. 

Harry now has tears running down his cheeks. He now wishes he could go back and actually pay more attention to her, instead of being ignorant to it. He remembers when she left, the neighbourhood had quite a bit to say about the rejection, particularly on her. They often talked about how insane she was to deny his proposal because marriage is what every woman needs, right? Granted, he told them off not to speak about Y/N so poorly ever again, but he still wishes he could’ve seen the signs when it got worse for her.

Now, she stands in front of him, and it might be wrong to admit this, but she still looks just as beautiful as the day he lost her. Her eyes still have the same shine and her smile still has the same warmth to it. He lets out a small laugh. “This is not how I actually planned to spend my New Year’s eve,” he says jokingly and they both laugh, almost like the entire sad conversation did not occur. “I know,” she says, smiling at him. She doesn’t realise how her words took him back to when they would get drunk on wine while watching romantic comedies together on their couch. 

“This is quite an interesting relationship you and I have,” he says smiling as he looks up at the starry night. She smiles at him too before doing the same. It’s the comfortable silence filling the gaps between them now. Just two people under the stars, one has it all figured out while the other has champagne problems. 

She looks back at the building, gold lights still shining as people are getting drunk and ready for the countdown. “You should probably go back to your fiancée, H,” she says. Harry sighs as their time together has come to an end and nods. “Um, it was really great seeing you, Harry,” she says as her feet fidgets against the ground. She feels like a teenager talking to her crush again. 

Before he even thinks, Harry has his hand up, brushing off the piece of hair of face, and his thumb lightly brushes over her cheeks a bit. “You too, Y/N,” he says, and he means it. Y/N feels her face warm up, before nodding her head at him and leaving. “Where’re yeh going?” He calls out to her. Without looking back, she calls back to him. “Home!” 

He only looks at her leaving for a moment before calling out to her again. “Y/N, wait!” 

Y/N stops in her tracks and looks back at him. “Um,” he fumbles on his words. “If I call you, not tonight, or tomorrow, just if any day after this, because we’re on good terms, uh,” he blurts out his words as she watches him, amused by what he wants to ask. “If I call, will you answer? Like I said before, I miss my best friend,” he shrugs and has almost a pleading look. Y/N’s heart melts at him and she smiles. 

“I will, H,”

❊

Since their last meeting, a lot of things have been on his mind and one of them was Y/N. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about her and the conversation they had. He knew now that it must’ve taken a lot of bravery to speak up about what she was going through. And he was proud of her. He really was.

He has been thinking about calling her for a while. He just doesn’t know what he’ll say. He wants to know how she’s feeling even though he’ll never know what it felt like for her to go through the dark times she went. But he could try to understand. He owes her that, at least. He spends some of his time off reading about mental health issues and educating himself more now.

Talia wanted to start planning their wedding, which makes Harry fill up his schedule more between wedding plans and music plans. He tries his best to accommodate whatever Talia wants for their special day. Though, sometimes he finds himself not focusing on the shades of white she suggested for her dress.

Sometimes, Talia would get mad at him for not prioritizing their wedding, seemingly as it was a very important thing for them, well, more for her. She gets mad at him for not focusing on their plans instead of hiding in his studio. She once told him to get his act together because if he wasn’t serious about this, he never would have asked her to marry him. That knocked a nail on the head as she stormed out of the room after another small argument.

Part of him thinks it's the thought of marriage finally sinking in his head. He has the girl, he got a ‘yes’, it should be as exciting as when he asked her. But he finds himself in and out of planning, always reverting his focus back to music, like he’s stalling. He still hasn’t told Talia about Y/N, but there was no need to since he’s with her and not Y/N. When Talia asked about his slightly red eyes at the party, he lied and said something was in his eyes. She believed it, of course.

Now, he’s thinking back to the situation with Talia. He admits he hadn't been paying attention to her as much as he should or helping out with their wedding. But her words now stuck with him. If he wasn’t serious about marrying Talia, he wouldn’t have asked her. He tells himself that he really does love her and he knows she loves him. So why is he hesitating almost at the thought of marriage? Why does it feel like he’s leading her on? He was so sure he wanted her. Unless he only asked her for the hell of it and to not be lonely. 

He sits quietly in his little studio with his thoughts as his company. What is he really doing? He really doesn’t know. 

❊

She’s laying down on her sofa, staring up at the ceiling again. She does this a lot, having nothing much to do at home other than rereading the books on her shelf or following a recipe for a delicious meal. Instead, she lays down staring at the blank ceiling thinking of how her life went. And in the state of all nothingness, she thinks of him. 

Meeting Harry again opened up a whole jar of emotions she kept hidden. It was no doubt that she still cared for him. She was still in love with him and if they were in another universe, she’d tell him that. She’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to him, for causing so much hurt to him. But she couldn’t. He belongs to someone else now. Someone who is more worthy of his love and time. And she’s happy for him, genuinely she is. 

As she thinks about him, she recalls back to the days before it all went wrong. She remembers being scared. She had found his mother’s ring in between his clothes as she was putting away their laundry. She remembers being terrified of the commitment Harry was in. She knew for certain that he would ask her sooner or later. But for her, she still doesn’t know. She wants to marry him, but is she ready for it? Is she worthy of him devoting his love and time to her for the rest of his life? 

That’s when the doubts came in. She was always battling the thoughts in her head more often after finding out that he might propose to her. She keeps a disguise up, pretending she’s not screaming for help or suffering, hoping that maybe it’ll go away and when he asks, she’ll say the answer he wants to hear. But she didn’t keep the disguise up for long. 

When they arrived at Harry’s family home, she was overwhelmed. She saw the bottle of expensive champagne on the kitchen table. Their friends were there too. She was told they were just having a family gathering along with their friends, but she knew what was about to happen.

Nothing could prepare her for when Harry pulled her out the backyard, kneeling down in front of her with his mother’s ring in hand. She could still remember the look on his face, so bright and in love, then having to see it all disappear and his expression drop. He was speechless, so speechless that it took him a minute to snap out of it and run after her as she exited the house. She passed by the living room and had a glance of how everyone was rather to celebrate; no applause or cheers of congratulations were made.

She felt a lot of things that day. Pain, embarrassment, guilt, regret.

Now, a year later, she likes to think she’s doing better, not only for her family or Harry, but for myself. It’s safe to say it was going well for her, she definitely felt better. That dark part of her life was always going to be a part of her, but she was glad she did something about it. 

She had struggled a lot before asking for help. She always had trouble sleeping and always felt herself drained to the core. She took some sleeping pills in hopes to feel better. Until one day, she just decided to down the whole bottle like she was downing a bottle of alcohol. She was lucky enough that her mother was around when she found her, her father too was quick enough to call an ambulance. It was too hazy for her to remember precisely what happened after. When she got admitted, she cried to her mother of how much pain she was in, and it killed her. She thinks of how selfish and stupid it was for her to do something like that. That’s when she decided she needed help, like really needed help. 

It’s funny how life works sometimes. A few months ago, she was found nearly dead. She has been recovering now. It took a while to open up during her psychiatry sessions and her mother monitored her to make sure she was doing alright. She lives alone now, but still has her mother check up on her. She didn’t find it annoying, in fact she asked her mother to watch over her a bit because she doesn’t trust herself. 

She’s healthier now, keeping herself busy to reflect and work on herself. And it did cross her mind a few times before to find Harry, to maybe apologise to him. But she thought that perhaps he didn’t want anything to do with her anymore. And that’s okay for her. Plus, she always hoped that he would find someone else that’ll love him just as much as she did him. 

He hasn’t contacted her since they last met and she wonders whether he’s scared of doing so. Then again, she hasn’t made the effort to contact him too. Maybe they’re both scared. 

She was about to get up and make herself some coffee after feeling a bit thirsty. She takes out a mug and sets it on the counter before she hears a knock on her door. She freezes in her place, her face scrunches up in confusion. She doesn’t remember having anyone making plans to come by. She hasn’t contacted her friends in a while and her parents would have told her that they would visit. 

Knocks on her door snaps her out of her trance as she realises she is still in the kitchen. She slowly walks up to the door and looks through the peephole. To her surprise, she sees Harry standing right before her door. She pulls herself back from the door and thinks for a moment. How did he know where she lived now? Why is he here when he could have just called her? 

Realising that he’s probably waiting outside for too long, she takes deep breaths and opens the door. There he is. Standing in his usual white t-shirt where you could see his tattoos through it, his black joggers hugging his muscular legs with some sneakers on his feet. His hair is a bit disheveled and she could imagine him running his fingers through it in a nervous and stressful manner. 

“Hi,” he says breathily. His expression is somewhat hopeful, she thinks. “Hey,” she replies, giving a small smile. He’s fidgeting on his feet, something she knows he does when he’s nervous. So why is he nervous? She’s trying to come up with different theories in her head. 

“Um, may I come in?” Harry asks. Y/N snaps out of her thoughts again and nods quickly, opening the door wider for him to walk through, hearing him mumbling a small ‘thanks’ under his breath. Harry looks around the small new apartment she now lives in, smiling at how it is very much her character the way she put things together.

She locks the door behind her and clears her throat as she faces him. “Sorry for showing up out of the blue like this,” he apologises. She only smiles and shakes her head. “No, no worries. I was just... wondering how you found where I live. I don’t think I ever told you that,” she says questionably. 

The corner of his lips lift up just slightly. “Your mother, actually,” he says. She rolls her eyes playfully at this and lets out a small laugh. Of course, her mother would let him know where she lived. Her parents always loved Harry and treated him as family. Even when they fell apart, they still cared about him. After all, he was one of the only good things in her life that she cherished. 

“Of course, she would. She still loves you for all I know,” she says with a sheepish smile. Harry throws his back in laughter and it makes her smile even more. “Well, I guess I might have to visit them again some time,” he says, smiling cheekily at her. 

For a moment, it feels like everything was normal between them.

She shakes her head at him as she plays with her fingers, something he knows she does when she is nervous. “Um, I guess you’re here to talk about something else?” She asks, and she sees how his smile falters just a bit. “Yeah, actually,” he mumbles under his breath, but she hears him.

She nods with a tight smile on her face, seemingly trying to mask her anxiousness behind it. “Okay. Uh, just, make yourself comfortable. I’ll get you a glass of water,” she says, hurrying off to the kitchen before Harry could say anything. She sets a glass down and gets a jug of water. Her hands are shaking just a bit and she tells herself to calm down. It’s just Harry, she thinks. Whatever he wants to say couldn’t be that bad. Right?

She comes back to the living room where Harry is. He hasn’t sat down on the couch, instead he’s just standing in the middle of the room, looking around and admiring the little touches she put like the indoor plants and the paintings on the wall. She gently sets the glass down on the coffee table, the glass making a ‘clink’ sound on the surface. Harry turns around to face her and smiles, his little dimple making an appearance on the corner of his lips. She smiles back at him before clearing her throat. 

“You had something you wanna say?” She asks, fiddling with her fingers. Harry nods slightly. “Yeah, I do. Um,” he begins as he rubs the back of his neck lightly. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to say, been practicing the words in my head. So, I’m sorry if it ends up a mess,” he says, letting out a small laugh. She laughs a bit with him too. Nodding as she gestures for him to continue, he breathes in deeply before letting his words out.

“After we met last time, I, uh,” he begins and she swears she could hear how loud and fast her heart is beating. “I’ve just been reflecting on how we left things off. And I promise I meant to call you sooner, but I just didn’t know what I’d say that won’t make things weird and awkward,” he stops to look at her for a moment and the expression on his face is almost so familiar to her. 

“When you told me your story, I felt a lot of things. I felt… upset and angry that I couldn’t read the signs that were so evidently there. I thought maybe I realised it sooner, or tried harder to help, I could’ve helped you and you wouldn’t have felt to have gone through it alone. I hated how you were alone in this and how you helped like you couldn’t talk to me about,” His breaths are shaky, like he might break any minute. She wants to caress his face so badly, comfort him, but she knows it wouldn’t be appropriate. He’s still engaged to someone else after all. 

She looks down at her floor, taking a gulp in her throat. “Harry, what are you saying?” She asks ever so softly. 

“I’m saying that… you don’t have to go through it alone, darling. I’m saying that I wanna be there for you now. Albeit it has been months, but,” he pauses to take a breath. “If you give me a chance, to let me in, I promise to always be there for you and to be by your side all the time. Whenever you need me.” 

Y/N takes a moment to process what he had just said, shaking her head at him. “Harry, I,” she takes in a sharp breath. “I don’t think you need to do that.” Harry’s face scrunches up in confusion. “Why not?” 

“I just, I don’t want to burden you. I’ve already made it hard for my parents enough,” she says, trying to convince him even though all she wants is for him to be by her side. He shakes his head, chuckling a bit. “You’ll never be a burden to me, love. I want to be there for you always. It’s my choice to do this,” 

“What about your fiancée? What’s she gonna think about her fiancé or husband soon when he’s out there looking after some girl, Harry?” 

“You’re not just some girl, Y/N. You’re my best friend. And I,” he pauses in his words again and takes a deep breath. “What?” She asks nervously. 

The corner of his lips lift up just slightly and his expression almost looks guilty. “And I’m in love with you,” he says and that’s when she feels that her heart stops. He loves me, she thinks. All the time, she thinks the feelings would have gone away but here he is, in her living room, telling her he’s in love with her.

“No,” she says. Harry is surprised by her response. “No?” He repeats.

“You’re not in love with me anymore, Harry,” she says, almost like she’s trying to convince herself that. “Yes, I am, love. I’m still in love with you, even after all this time,” he says desperately to her. 

“Don’t do this to me, Harry. It’s not funny,” she says as her voice starts to waver. “It’s not fair to your fiancée for you to say this.” It’s funny to her how she still doesn’t know her name, but maybe she doesn’t know hers either. Harry steps closer to her and his heart breaks a little when she steps back. 

“Darling,”

“Don’t, Harry! Please,” she practically begs him. “Just go back to her. It’s been a good talk and it’s good to see you again but you have to leave,” 

“I don’t want to leave you, Y/N,” he says and it’s surprising how calm he is at this moment. 

“Harry, I,” 

“I’m not engaged anymore,” he says, cutting her off. She stares at him in shock and disbelief. “What do you mean?” She asks. He sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair. “I broke it off with Talia. There won’t be any wedding,” he confesses.

“So what? You broke up with her just to look out for me? Are you insane!?” She exclaims. She doesn’t want to believe that he broke up with her because of her. She thinks back if she would’ve hid from him during the party, he’d still be in a happy relationship with Talia with no problems. Once again, she’s thinking it’s all her fault.

“I’m as sane as I can be,” He says, raising his voice slightly to match her tone. She shakes her head, paces in her place, muttering ‘no’s to herself. “Darling, look at me,” Harry says gently as he steps closer to her. “No, this isn’t happening,” She’s now muttering words to herself and it breaks him even more to think she might think this is her fault when it’s not. 

“Look at me, Y/N,” he says as he tries to get her to look at him, but to no avail, she keeps her eyes away from him. “No, Harry. We can’t,” she says and she realises now how tears are starting to fall from her eyes. “Yes, we can, darling! Just listen to me,” he tries to convince her.

“You belong with Talia, Harry! Someone who has her life put together, a-and, someone who’s not fucked in the head as I am! She’ll make you happy!” She tells him, almost trying to convince him to go back and fix his relationship. 

“She won’t make me as happy as I was with you. It wouldn’t be fair to her,” Harry says to her as he tries to cup her face and wipe her tears. “What wouldn’t be fair to her? Huh?” 

“It wouldn’t be fair to lead her on when I’m in love with you!” 

And then, everything stops. Silence fills the room and all you could hear are the heavy breaths between them. Harry runs his hand over his face before speaking again. “I tell myself that I’ll be able to love again after you. But the love I’ll have for any other will never amount to the love I have for you. It wouldn’t be fair to move on with Talia when all I could think about is you. When I know I’ll always be madly in love with you,” he tells her, his voice wavering with every word he says.

She breathes in shakily, feeling the painful lump in throat. “Maybe if we hadn’t met that night, you wouldn’t have to think like that,” she says so softly under her breath, like she was ashamed. She looks down like a child being scolded by a parent. 

She hears him stepping closer to her and this time, she doesn’t step back away from him. She feels his hand under her chin, lifting her head up so she has no choice but to look at her. His forest-green eyes, ever so beautiful, are glossy with the tears he holds. “I wish you’d stop thinking that this is your fault when it’s not, darling,” he says gently to her.

She realises how close their faces are together, feeling his breath hitting her face as they stare at each other with the same look. She sees it in his eyes. Love. And maybe it’s because she’s emotionally exhausted or she realises how there is still love in his eyes for her and only her. 

She gently yet hesitantly puts her hand on his cheek, seeing as how he leans into her touch with his eyes closed, as if he misses her touch all this time. She doesn’t waste another second before pulling his face closer and letting their lips crash against each other. Harry is quick enough to reciprocate the action. His hand that is not on her hand wraps itself around her torso so move her closer to her. All he wants is to be close to her. 

She whimpers into the kiss as she feels tears streaming down her face again. She misses this. She misses his kisses, how soft and plump his lips feel against hers and how they taste. She misses the way he pulls her closer to him because he doesn’t want any space in between them. She misses him. 

They don’t know long they have been kissing until they break apart to catch their breath. She feels dizzy after the kiss while he feels like he’s on cloud nine. Their lips still brush against each other and Harry pecks her lips softly as she whimpers at the action. 

“I love you,” she finally tells him. And it feels so good to say it again to him. Harry sighs shakily, almost in disbelief that she said those three words, and his lips break out into the biggest smile. “Really?” He asks. She giggles as her hands cup his face. 

Harry sighs and leans his head back with his eyes closed, looking so bliss in the moment. “I’m sorry. Can you say that again? I wasn’t paying attention,” he says teasingly with a smug smile on his face. Y/N gasps and playfully punches his shoulder a bit, making him laugh. 

“I love you, you handsome idiot,” she says laughing at him. Harry shakes his head with a wide stupid grin on his face. He rests his forehead on hers, their noses brushing against each other’s. “Again, please. Just so I know I’m not dreaming this,” he says, his eyes closed as he savours in the moment. 

She grabs his face in her hands and pulls him away so she could look at him. He notes how soft yet small her hands felt as caresses his face. “I love you,” she says again, more gently but having more love and passion in her words. And she loves saying it because she does.

She has always loved him and always will love him. Her beats for him as his does for her. Her thoughts are filled with nothing but him. Looking at him now, he feels just as lovely and beautiful as the days they were together before. She knows that she’ll never love another as much as she loves him. She’ll fully admit that she is crazy, stupidly, madly and truly in love with him. 

Harry smiles ever so lovingly at her as his large hands cup her face. At this moment, it feels right, like they belong together. Despite the odds and struggles she had to go through, he promises to never leave her side, to always be around, to always be the shoulder she needed to cry on, to lend her his arms to give her the warmth and comfort she deserves. And he admits that he is truly, madly and deeply in love with her too. 

“I love you too,” he says as he brings their faces closer to each other, enclosing the gap between their lips again. He misses the way her lips gelt and how sweet they taste against his. He swears he’ll never get tired of loving her. Their lips move against each other slowly and gently as they try to savour in the moment. A moment that just felt right to them. For a moment, her champagne problems are forgotten, even though it’s still something that will always be a part of her.

They part away soon after, now staring into the eyes they fell in love with. Their smiles are permanently inked on their faces as the two lovers look at each other with the only things they have on their mind that will get them through. 

Love and hope. 

And somehow, that was everything. 

[johnsamericano]

𝓓𝓪𝔂 12:

ℓєє мαяк

23 days of NCT masterlist.

taglist: @notbeforelong @mrcarbonatedmilk @unknown5tar @whathamelon @ajhdr @curieouscapt @silent-potato @gjheaaa

warnings: baby daddy mark, hidden pregnancy (?, tooth rotting.

“Dude, isn't that y/n?” Mark’s old friend, John, pointed at you.

Yeah, that was most definitely his ex. You were holding a small girl between your arms, helping her reach for a box of lucky charms. You looked just as beautiful as three years ago, even more, he daresay.

“Go talk to her.” His friend elbowed him. “I’ll go get the meat, maybe you can invite her to our barbecue.”

“We haven't seen each other in a while, don't you think it'll be a little too weird?”

“Go for it, I know you're still hung up on her.”

“How...?”

“I heard your last girl complaining about how you called y/n’s name while having sex with her, it was hilarious, to be honest.” Mark punched him in the arm, earning a small groan from the tall man. “But seriously, though, you broke up with her to focus on your career. Now that you have a stable job, what's stopping you from getting her back?”

“I don't know, man...”

“Give it a try, I'll be with the butcher if you need me.” He winked at the Canadian boy, making his way to another aisle.

Mark took a deep breath before his feet finally started moving. You were placing the small girl in the shopping cart’s seat, tickling her tummy while at it.

“Y/n?” Your eyes almost came out of their caves as you heard his voice.

“Mark...” You stared at him with wide eyes, looking back and forth between the little girl and him. “I thought you’d moved back to Canada.”

“I came back a year ago.” He fiddled uncomfortably with the rings adorning his fingers. “I really wanted to contact you, but since things between us were a little complicated when I left...” By complicated he meant breaking your heart and leaving a day after ending things between you.

“It’s really okay, Mark. No hard feelings.” You smiled sweetly at him, your pretty eyes turning into half moons.

“And who’s this little one? Your niece?” He caressed the top of the girl’s head, who wasn’t even aware of his presence, too focused on getting rid of the wrapping around the chocolate you’d just bought her.

“Actually-”

“Mommy, I need help!” Mark froze.

“Oh, sure sweetie.” You tone completely changed when addressing her. “Mark, this is my daughter, EunHee. Say hi, baby.”

“Hi, Mark.” She extended her hand as you tore the wrapping of the chocolate bar open. His surprised expression turned into a big smile, covering her small hand with his significantly bigger one. “Look, mom. His cheeks are just like mine!” She poked Mark’s cheekbones.

You could almost feel a drop of sweat rolling down your forehead.

“Wait, you're right.” The Canadian man pointed out as your daughter smiled at him. “That's crazy.” Thank God Mark was so naive. “So where’s the father of this little bean?”

‘Right in front of me.’ You thought.

“She doesn't...”

“Oh, sorry. It must've been hard raising her on your own.” He reassuringly placed a hand on your arm. “How old is she?”

“Uhm, s-she’s-”

“I’m this old.” EunHee interrupted, showing her three small fingers.

You hoped Mark’s brain capacity wouldn't be enough to connect the dots. But you had to admit, it was pretty obvious.

“Wow, you're so big.” It was heart-warming watching your daughter interact with her father for the first time, even if they didn't know the truth about each other. “So, we're having a barbecue at my place today. There’s always room for someone else, and you can bring EunHee if you’d like. My address is still the same.”

“I’ll think about it.” You handed the chocolate bar back to your daughter, who didn’t even take a second to eat up the whole thing.

“Alright, I guess I’ll see you then, maybe.”

(...)

“Mark’s hitting on a mom!” Yuta mocked him, causing the whole garden to erupt into laughter.

“And what’s wrong with that? She isn’t married.”

“Mark, you literally just met with her again after three years, slow down.” Jaehyun interceded, eyes stuck to his phone.

“Guys, stop messing with Mark. He's always loved y/n, so let him be.” Johnny spoke from the grill, turning around a steak. “Besides, I saw the little girl. She looks a lot like Mark, so I bet no one would be able to tell they're not actually related.”

“How old did you say she was?”

“Three.”

“Okay, don’t be mad at me, but did you ever have sex with her without protection?”

“What are you trying to say, Haechan?” Taeil asked bitterly.

“Just think about it, guys. It makes sense.” While his friends discussed the possibility of him being a dad, Mark’s head was rather busy trying to remember every little detail from the last time he was intimate with you.

But as much as he tried, he couldn't remember having worn a condom. And as far as he knew, you weren't on the pill.

The doorbell cut his string of thoughts, snapping him back into reality.

“I’ll get the door.” He didn't expect you to be behind it, holding your -and possibly his- daughter’s hand tightly. “Oh, hey.”

He seemed uncomfortable, had you made a mistake in accepting his offer?

“Hi, I couldn't find someone to look after this little monster. I hope your friends won't mind.”

“Not at all, they love kids.” He stared intensely at your daughter, finally noticing those similarities Johnny mentioned before. “Come in.”

He guided you all the way to the backyard, everyone greeting you with a big hug.

“Nice to see you again, y/n.” Johnny murmured, patting your back.

“She’s like a little doll!” Jaehyun squeaked excitedly, sitting your daughter on his lap. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“I’m EunHee.” He cooed at her high-pitched voice tone. “Your dimples are pretty.”

“Thank you.”

The boys seemed completely comfortable with your daughter, fighting with Jaehyun, who wouldn't let go of her.

“Can I have a word with you?” Mark came from behind you, making you jolt at his sudden presence.

“Sure.”

He walked you to the kitchen, away from the noisy men outside. He anxiously twisted his hands, trying to find the correct words to demand for the truth.

“What’s wrong?” You asked worriedly, taking a step closer to him.

“Is EunHee mine?” Well, you were definitely not expecting that. You thought that after meeting him at the supermarket, your secret was safe. Apparently, it wasn’t. “By the look on your face, I’m guessing she is.”

He groaned in frustration, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands.

“I’m sorry for keeping it a secret all this years. I won’t force you to step in and take responsibility for her, we can just leave and pretend this never-”

“What are you even talking about? Why wouldn’t I want to take care of my own daughter?” The frown on his face deepened. “Did you know you were pregnant when we broke up?”

Should you tell him the truth?

“I...” He looked at you expectantly.

Of course you should tell him the truth, he deserves it.

“Yes.” His heart dropped, guilt filling every inch of his body. “I didn’t want to hold you back. It would’ve been unfair for me to use that as an excuse to stop you from leaving.”

“So you’re saying I missed three years of my daughter’s childhood because you didn’t want to be selfish?” With every word his voice grew louder, shouting by the end of the sentence and catching the other guests' attention.

“Mark, we should talk about this another day, when we’re alone.” You tried leaving, but his hand clutched your wrist tightly.

“No.” You could admire tears sparkling in his eyes. “I don't want to miss another second of her.”

“Mommy?” Just then, EunHee walked into the kitchen, holding Yuta’s hand. “I heard screaming, are you okay?” Mark nodded at his friend, as if signaling him he could leave.

“Yes, I’m alright, sweetie.” You swung her up in your arms, coming closer to Mark who had the sudden urge to hold his baby. “Are you sure about this? There’s no backing out.” You mouthed, feeling a pinch of relief as he nodded. “Baby, I’d like you to meet someone very special.”

“Who?”

“This is Mark...” She looked at you with her small eyebrows furrowed, she’d already met Mark. “Your dad.”

Mark honestly felt like crying, your daughter smiling excitedly as she urged you to put her down, letting her father hold her close to his chest.

“Mommy said you were lost.” He felt so warm inside.

“I promise not to get lost again, alright?” His lips pressed a kiss into her forehead, already enamored by the cheerful giggles erupting from EunHee.

You observed them with regret. If you'd told Mark you were pregnant before he left, perhaps he wouldn't be on the verge of tears right now, perhaps your daughter wouldn't have had to deal with her classmates’ non-stopping questions about her father.

“Y/n?” Mark called out for you. “C-can we have a family hug?” He moved his hand invitingly, making space for you to join.

You walked into his arms, every negative feeling vanishing as Mark embraced you, both of you trying not to sob.

“What do you want to do now?” He let go of you, using both of his arms to embrace EunHee.

“Make up for the lost time.”

[princecharmingwinks]

i did the thing <3 and i'm back with a fail date that i'll leave open ended ;) was dating a chef and we went to a restaurant he wanted to try in the next town over. we order lunch, we're chatting, we're laughing, its going great. food comes out and he took one bite, he stopped smiling and whispered 'oh no...' XD

You did a thing!!! Hello!!! Welcome to the fold, fabulous to have you in the ranks. Hope you meet some nice beans :) Opened endings? Oh, we kicking up a notch haha.

--

Setting the scene - Derek is definitely the chef. No one should trust Stiles with sharp objects like knives. Derek is a werewolf and knows it's time to tell Stiles. They've been seeing each other for a few weeks and he's never felt this way about anyone. He wants to officially ask Stiles to be his boyfriend (why does he get butterflies everytime he thinks of that word?).

His family and pack (Laura and Erica in particular) have been dying to meet the human who has swept Derek off his feet. Not that he can blame them, Stiles is everything he has ever wanted and more. They just, click. But it was getting to the point that the women of the pack were threatening to stalk Stiles if they weren't formally introduced asap.

So Derek decided today was the day to ask Stiles to be official and start explanations of the supernatural kind. They'd travelled a town over to avoid the Hale pack's pesky eavesdropping. And to try out a new restaurant that's been getting rave reviews. The lunch was going well, they ordered and chatted and it was perfect.

The waiter places their food on the table and leaves. Derek swallows and is about to start explaining (how do you even start to tell someone that you have a desire to howl at the full moon?) when Stiles jumps in first.

"So are you finally going to tell me your secret?" Stiles asks, all big eyes and soft smiles.

Derek's heard of gay panic but is there such thing as wolf panic?

Derek is too caught up with the question to even register the mild but unusual scent of his meal. He takes a bite to try and calm himself...and internally curses.

"Oh no..." he whispers.

Stiles frowns and watches as Derek swallows his mouthful slowly and grimaces in the direction of the kitchen. He follows the movement as sees two stunning - like model stunning - women wave from the kitchen peak hole. One with dark straight hair and the other with blonde ringlets, both with predatory smiles.

"Do you know them?" Stiles cocks his head in confusion.

Derek looks like he ate a lemon, "This cannot be happening."

"What’s going on?" Stiles reaches out for Derek's hand which the other man takes and interlocks their fingers.

The women have left the confines of the kitchen and are walking over to their table now.

Derek gives a tight smile, "If we survive this, I'll buy you all the curly fries in the world."

"Oh Der-Bear, brother of mine!" The brunette is calling out in a sing-song tone.

It all clicks in Stiles' brain. He grins and gives Derek's hand a squeeze, "If we survive this, promise to marry me one day."

Derek doesn’t get a chance to answer that particular request when the women have reached the table. When first meeting someone, the usual custom was to introduce yourself and ask to join the meal. These women did not get that memo.

The brunette, Derek’s sister slides into the booth blocking Derek’s escape routes, the blonde does the same to Stiles, snuggling in close.

Derek sighs the way only a brother could, “Stiles, meet my older sister, Laura and my friend - although at this moment I’m not too sure why - Erica.”

Derek should have known something was up when he found the latest restaurant reviews magazine left open on the dining room table. He had assumed it was left out by his mum, the two of them often discussing the latest food trends. He hadn’t thought it was left as a trap by his manipulative pack mates. But the moment the ever-so-light sprinkle of wolf’s bane had touched his lips, Derek knew he was in trouble.

How the two biggest trouble makers in his life had managed to find out the exact details of his date and get themselves access to the kitchen was beyond him but he imagined it had something to do with their feminine prowess (or their intimidation tactics) both equally as strong. 

He was still trying to process how Stiles could know about his wolf and now he had to manage these two? 

“What are you two doing here?” Derek reluctantly asks.

Erica grins, a dangerous twist of crimson red lips, “You’ve been keeping Stiles a secret for too long, Derek. We had to take proactive measures.”

“And ambushing my date was the best way to do that?”

“We’ve gotta make sure Stiles can handle the unexpected.” Laura ‘helpfully’ supplies.

“I don’t mind thinking on my feet.” Stiles interjects. 

Derek is in awe of this man. How did he find someone so perfect?

“So are you all werewolves or just the Hales?” Stiles asks. The three wolves all stop and blink at him. 

“What, is that not the right terminology? Is lycanthrope more appropriate?”

Erica is the first to break the silence, almost doubling over from the force of her laugh. Laura is joining in too.

Derek on the other hand is just in plain shock. “You knew?”

Stiles shrugs, “I’m a curious creature. I research. And things didn’t always add up with you. Like you are way too good looking to be just human. And there’s the whole tendency to growl when things get - ah - heated.”

“We are so keeping you! Come over for dinner tonight so you can meet the whole pack.” Laura announces, not waiting for an answer. She kisses Derek on the cheek and rises up from the booth. Erica follows suit and throws Stiles a wink before the two of them walk out of the restaurant with linked arms.

Derek breaths a sigh of relief. 

“So did I pass the test?” Stiles asks, moving over to sit beside Derek in the booth. Derek lifts his arm and draws Stiles in. 

“You were perfect.” He kisses the human’s forehead. “You are perfect.”

“You going all soft on me now, Hale?” 

Derek smirks, “Do you like my last name?” 

Stiles crinkles his eyebrows in confusion, “Yeah?’

“Do you wanna keep it?" Derek is full-on smiling now, little bunny teeth and all. “That was the rule, right? We survive this and I marry you?”

Stiles blushes at the memory, “Only if you buy me all the curly fries in the world. And we are hypernating, Mr Old-School. I’m always going to be a Stilinski in one way or another.”

“Done.” Derek whispers as he leans in and kisses Stiles.

Derek wasn’t sure why he was ever nervous to make things official. Somehow he had gone from worrying about the title ‘boyfriend’ to this. They still needed to have a proper conversation and he knew the human would have excel spreadsheets of questions about the supernatural. But as Stiles’ hands cupped his jaw and pulled him in for another kiss, Derek thought those discussions could wait.

Now they just had to meet the rest of the pack - oh no...

--

Ta da! Hope you liked it my friend. This one was fun to write. Can you tell I like big happy Hale alive families? Because I certainly do. Also, my version of Laura will forever and always be played by Meghan Ory (just as a fun fact). Thanks for popping in!

[hewantshisbrideback]

Jonrya AU: Other Engagements

Summary: The remaining Starks gather some time after the Long Night is won to discuss possible plans for marriages and alliances. With Jon crowned King of the Wall, ruling under Daenerys, High Queen of Westeros, discussion of who will reign by his side as queen over the north is paramount. But Jon is not the only wolf for whom a match must be made.

“Proposals," Rickon groaned and tossed back his head, auburn curls glinting. "My spear is still crusted with blood, and we're already talking of politics?"

"And how long a grace period were you expecting?" Arya snorted, shaking her head. Her dismissive words were born partially of relief. 

She had been speaking with the washer women when Jon found her and pulled her away. He had lead her to a small, stony room, recently rebuilt, containing only two windows, a small side table of wood, and her siblings gathered around in a semi-circle as if for a ritual. 

Her hackles had risen in an instant, but Bran had quickly laid her greatest fears to rest. There was no new tragedy to break their hearts, no new disaster to ravage their land; only the tedious intricacies of a civil society.

“A longer one,” the boy groused. Arya imagined that in his mind, there was likely no tragedy more agonizing than such tedious complexities.

“Oh? Are you inconvenienced?” She tilted her head at him. "Shall we postpone rebuilding the kingdom until the armory's polished nice and new?"

"Can we?" He asked. For a moment it was difficult for her to tell whether he was serious. Maybe the boy didn’t know himself. She cuffed him lightly over the head with a scoff just to be safe, and the grin that broke on his lips was wild.

Still, she had to admit he wasn’t exaggerating. Hardly a moon had past since the last dregs of the Others had been sighted, had been felled, and already there were talks of contracts, engagements, and promises between names she recognized only from war letters and fireside whispers.

During the blight, there had been hurried ceremonies in Great Halls, like that between Princess Val of the Free Folk and the gentle Willas Tyrell. However, there was no need for hushed vows in torch-lit gatherings anymore. What was left of the nobility, and whatever names had been gilded by the Long Winter, would want feasts, balls, parades through the streets.

Arya thought she almost preferred a quiet cloaking in the night. Perhaps that was only natural. After all, she had been present for the wedding of Val and Willas, and no better a pair had been made than they.

She recalled what a sight they’d been: the free woman’s flushed cheeks painted orange with firelight, the lord of the Reach’s nervous brown eyes pinned to his bride’s easy smile, rapt and adoring. They had danced for only a short song, but they had whispered all throughout, and had been whispering to each other ever since whenever she saw them.

The warrior princess and her lord of roses. She could count at least three songs that had been written of them since, the battles the lady fought and the bed of flowers her lord laid down for her, but none of them noted how they made each other laugh, how they sat at each other’s side like old friends.

"Bran is right,” Arya blinked from her thoughts in time to see Sansa grimace and continue, “We may have put aside our differences to face a greater threat, but that won't make for a lasting peace now that the threat is extinguished.”

"Fine," Rickon groused, then pursed his lips, surveying the room sullenly. "So, we're looking to pick up a queen already?"

Arya flinched, eyes snapping to Jon. Perhaps Rickon had been right to moan and whine. She knew her cousin would be married off eventually, now that he'd had a crown foisted onto him, but the idea of helping select his bride settled like shards of ice beneath her ribs. She cursed herself. How selfish she was. Finding a queen for the North was in the best interest of all who inhabited it, and here she was, unable to look at this as of yet faceless woman as anything but another competitor for Jon’s attention.

"A queen for the North?" Sansa contemplated, sounding as equally troubled as Arya felt. Her hopes that Sansa might object in her stead were dashed in an instant. "I suppose it bears discussing--”

"We can't," Arya blurted, panic coursing through her like lightning. Her siblings turned to stare at her. She flushed under their baffled eyes. Swallowing her shame and clearing her throat, she leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms. "Well, we can't. We can't start making decisions yet. Not on our own. The dragons. They have a stake in this, too."

Jon lingered on her for a moment. She held her breath, brow cocked defiantly, but he made a noise of agreement that showed she need not have worried. "That's true. I'm heir, second to Aegon. Daenerys lets me keep my name, but she will want a say in who shares our blood all the same."

"You're right. It may be one day that the children of your union and hers are married themselves," Bran conceded. “It won't do to decide without her.”

Her sister nodded, expression poised and thoughtful. "That’s true. I suppose there should be some talk between us and her, even Aegon perhaps, before we think about who would be a suitable choice.”

The ice in Arya's chest melted, soft like relief, but colder and heavier, and she made an effort to ignore the stab of resentment at her sister’s next words.

“Jon, you can send her a message, invite her to share her thoughts. Of course, you could always visit her in person as well, if she prefers it.”

Jon's jaw ticked as he nodded, eyes flickering towards Arya, only to snap away as if it burned when she returned his gaze. For a moment, she was petrified. Had he noticed? Had he noticed how upset this talk of queens had made her?

"Alright," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "I'll draft a letter after supper."

His words were disappointing, and his tone was resigned, but it was also familiar. She felt her heart calm. It was no use to fret, over any of it. They were close, and given all that happened, it only made sense for her to be worried. She shouldn’t be afraid for him to see it. 

And at least the decision itself had been delayed some, Arya thought, staring at the ceiling, even if only until Daenerys had enough time to consider the best use of her nephew.

"Great!" Rickon looked around at each of them. "That's that, then, isn't it?” Sansa tutted at him for his impatience, and Bran shook his head, and Rickon threw up his hands. “If we can’t do anything without the queen’s say-so, why stand here brooding over it now? Just wait until she tells you what to do."

“She’s not just going to tell us what to do.” Arya tried not to quibble over semantics with Rickon, as he was still learning the world of kings and courts, but she couldn’t stop herself this time. “Daenerys isn’t a tyrant. No doubt she has prospects in mind, but the choice is ultimately Jon’s.”

“Which is why it’s worth going over the options now,” Sansa added on, “to prepare ourselves for when we do make that decision.”

“And we will,” Bran intercut, "but we can afford to set it aside today. There are still some other arrangements we need to consider.”

“What arrangements?” Jon rumbled, but the stiff set to his jaw and the scowl inching onto his lips made it clear he had some idea and, evidently, disapproved already.

If Bran sensed his ire, he ignored it. “Arrangements for the rest of the Starks."

Arya blinked. She had seen the eyes of visiting nobles and their kin lingering on her brothers and her sister. Even she had received some curious glances. But somehow she’d still managed to overlook the obvious, managed to fool herself into thinking that they had more time.

“Are we really to be parted from each other so soon?” she murmured.

Bran gave her an appreciative glance tinged with grief, and in that glance she felt all those lonely years already spent apart, a splintered pack. After spending this many fighting so hard to reunite, she felt sick imagining any of her family leaving Winterfell. No wonder Jon was on edge.

“I don’t like it,” Rickon grumbled in tandem with her thoughts, and from the looks on everyone else’s faces, they weren't the only ones. 

Sansa had folded in on herself, a brooding edge to her perfect mouth, but with Rickon’s complaint, she moved beside him, tucking his stray red curls behind his ear, a gesture that smacked of their late mother to a degree which hurt.

“Nevertheless,” she muttered after a moment, hand retracting and interlacing with the other, but she could not bring herself to follow through and continue the thought. No one could.

The room was still and heavy with preemptive sorrow, until Arya could bear it no longer. What would they do, sit in silence in this room until the fire dwindled and the sun set? There were meals to be had and men to appease, even just this evening, and waiting wouldn't stall the inevitable. Bran knew that. They all knew that. Sucking in a solemn, silent breath, she asked, “So then which of us is to be married first? And to who?”

Sansa opened her mouth, face wilted with regret, but Bran shook his head dismissing her, and the rest of them mirrored him. There was no need for a defense to be made.

“I’m well aware of the union between you and Sandor Clegane,” Bran assured her. “I would never ask you to break your vows. Aside from this, your first two marriages would have diminished your prospects regardless, one of which still needs to be annulled. Sansa is not an option. I mean you no offense, sister."

Sansa did not look offended. If anything, her expression spoke to some small, secret amusement. Arya was just glad that she wasn't weeping.

“No,” Bran continued, “by now, the attention of our allies has wandered to our other sister, Princess Arya.”

Arya was still beneath her brother’s cool, blue stare. She used to squirm whenever someone referred to her title aloud. By now, she’d nearly grown used to it. After all, she’d answered to far too many ill-fitting names to abandon Arya Stark for her accompanying titles, so she wasn’t left with much choice. 

Now, something in her felt hollow, as though if the wind began to blow, it would whistle through her insides, and she’d be able to hum without using her mouth.

“They intend to offer their sons to Arya." Jon's words were slow and pointed and metered all the way through. “Have they no daughters for you or Rickon?”

“I did not say that they are not looking out for their daughters as well,” Bran reasoned, just as slowly and emphatic as his cousin had. “But of the three of us, Arya is the most attractive option. She cannot give them a royal title, but it’s no secret what she means to you, and the North at large, or that she’s earned the favor of Daenerys. Every wifeless heir on the continent will be interested.”

She must’ve imagined the way his fists clenched. Jon was smart. Men underestimated him, always, but he was smarter than all of them. He should've expected this, even if, somehow, she hadn’t. Of course suitors would seek a princess’s hand. It would not matter to them whether that hand was supple or calloused. Jon knew that. If he didn’t, he should’ve.

If the world had taught her anything, it had taught her that nothing staves the ambition of powerful men. Not even death. Not even ugliness.

“Good.” The word startled her, even more than her sister’s soft hand suddenly pressing to her cheek. But she smiled, albeit with closed lips, as Sansa's furrowed gaze swept over her features like she'd never seen them, like she was trying to absorb all she could for safe keeping. “You’ll have your pick of the lot.”

“Septa Mordane would be quaking to hear such talk of Arya Horseface,” Arya snorted in response, provoking a wry smile from Bran, an expression she sheepishly mirrored.

“Be serious, Arya,” Sansa huffed with a noble frown, hand falling from her face to clutch her wrist in earnest. Arya adjusted her clasp so that they held hands instead, and Sansa's thumb swept the back of her hand in search of comfort. “That silly, old nickname couldn’t be more ill-fitting. You’re quite pretty now.”

Jon made an ill-tempered rumbling noise, and Arya wanted to press him, but refrained in front of the others. He’d been reserved since he was a child, but ever since the Long Night began, he’d been downright secretive. She wouldn’t pry, at least not until she’d gotten him alone.

“It’s true," Rickon cut in, offering a rakish grin. “You should hear the free folk talk of you, sister. They say such things I’ve had to threaten to gut near half of them. They might’ve tried to steal you already, if they weren’t so frightened of Jon. And me, too, of course!”

The others stiffened, but Arya saw his assurance for what it was and spared a moment to thank the old gods for her littlest brother. Though her gratitude didn’t prevent her from rolling her eyes.

“The freefolk have a might different set of standards than the noble lords of Westeros. I can only hope that my reputation is not too far spread. It’s too much harder to see a she-wolf wed than a proper lady,” she drawled, letting go of Sansa as she paused and turned to him with a shrug. “Though I suppose in another world, a marriage with some wily freefolk warrior might've suited, and done well to unite the North.”

Rickon puffed up with pride, though on behalf of whom she had no idea.

“You can’t be serious,” Sansa huffed, then turned an admonishing glare on her brothers. “I know that you have all grown quite fond of the wildlings, having spent so much time with them, but however helpful they’ve been, there is hardly a suitable match for a lady amongst them.”

“A princess, now,” Bran reminded her, and Sansa nodded firmly.

“Suitable how?”  A sneer curved on Rickon's mouth. “I’m not the one who wants to marry her off, but a free man can be good as any lord of Westeros. It wasn’t a wildling who tortured the poor girl in Arya’s stead, was it? And your good Joffrey was a prince. It seems that didn’t stop him from being vile.”

“Rickon!” Arya snapped in warning.

The youngest Stark stared her sister down, burning as remorselessly as the sun, but Sansa’s face was stone and her eyes blue flint.

“That is not what I meant,” she amended calmly. “Of course, the wildlings are no more capable of cruelty than the rest of us. That being said,” her words sharpened to points, like they were her talons, "the lords of Westeros will not stand to see one Stark sister married to a former knight and the other to a wildling. Not when order has just been settled and peace is still in question. If we marry Arya to a wildling, we spit in the faces of our Northern lords and our Southron neighbors both.”

“Aside from that, we don’t need another tie to the free folk,” Bran noted mildly. “With Tormund in our council, Val in the reach, and Jon their chosen king, their loyalty is as guaranteed as we could hope.”

Arya shrugged. “Well, as far as I've heard, if I were to be stolen, I'd hardly be in a position to refuse."

"Perhaps not, but I don't think Jon would be all too pleased to wake up and find you stolen by one of his subjects." Bran was watching Jon as if it were his sole, solemn duty. "I imagine they'd only get so far before he stole you back."

Jon flinched violently and it was a shock, how pale and harrowed he looked. 

"It’s not like anyone could ever steal me away in the first place," Arya reminded him quietly, and when he looked at her, his mouth was pressed into a bitter facsimile of a smile.

“Unfortunately,” Rickon mumbled, and when Sansa and Jon simultaneously turned to glare, he merely scuffed his foot against the ground defiantly. "I mean it. At least then she could've stayed in Winterfell.”

Ridiculous boy. Arya nearly pulled him into a hug, but Bran interrupted her before she could move and his next words kept her still.

"It's not entirely out of the question,” he professed. “It’s possible she’ll find a suitor who will be able to reside in the North."

Arya felt her heart stutter. “You mean, like someone who’s not an heir?”

“No,” Sansa asserted. “If you snub the heir of one house for another’s second son, their entire territory will take it as an offense.”

“No, I was not specifically thinking along those lines,” Bran amended. “There are those with other circumstances under which you may be able to remain.” His eyes slid curiously to one of the windows as he tilted his head. "Ned Dayne, for example. We’ve received word that he intends to act in service to the Queen’s Greater Westerosi Council. You get along well, don't you?"

Jon stepped forward before she could reply, straightened to his full height. His stare was locked on her, stark and unyielding against the pallor of his cheeks, like stones atop snow dunes. "How do you know the Sword of the Morning?"

Arya felt apprehension tighten like a cord around her throat.

This had been the way since they’d reunited.

When Jon introduced her to his allies, she’d beamed like the sun. They had delighted her, despite her jealousy, for all the years she’d spent apart from him, that he’d been with them instead. The jealousy didn’t matter as much as the relief that he’d found friends. She took them as her own. She had been excited for him to do the same with hers. She had been so sure he would, it hadn’t even felt like hope. She’d just known.

But when she brought Jon to Gendry, explained who he’d been to her, he met the smith with suspicious words and a dark glare. When she told him of Hot Pie, or Lommy, or Weasel, or any of the number of sailors and whores from Braavos, he answered only with sarcasm and silence. And the Hound...

Now she’d be the first to point out that Sandor Clegane had not been her friend, or her ally, when they first travelled together. But she would also admit, begrudgingly, that he’d become something close by the time he accompanied her to the Wall with the Brotherhood. Jon had known that. Still, when Sansa brought the Hound into their home as her husband, Arya had heard the King of the Wall bellowing his objections from the other side of Winterfell.

"We travelled together, for a time," she replied carefully. Her tongue suddenly felt too big for her mouth. "Not very long.”

“When?” he prompted impatiently.

“When I was with the Brotherhood,” she confessed, “back when it was still lead by Beric Dondarrion.”

“You didn’t say anything.” In other circumstances, these words might’ve been a mere observation, or even an expression of concern, but here and now, they were an accusation.

He had mentioned the Sword of the Morning to her before in passing, but by that time, around the time poor Morgan Umber started running away whenever she waved in his direction, she had heard just about everything he had to say about her friends. So she had decided not to mention it. That would be easier.

Except now it looked like she’d been keeping secrets. She cursed the gods and all they stood for. “He wasn't the Sword of the Morning then — just a boy."

"Oh, just a boy," Rickon snorted. "Just another boy, you mean?"

Jon glowered but said nothing.

"That's right," Sansa tittered, with a sudden little smile. "You’ve collected so many. The blacksmith, the baker. Even that boy from House Umber. And now, the heir of Starfall."

"Gendry wouldn’t be a bad match either," Rickon piped up, a grin forming. Like Jon, he had been wary of the smith when Arya first introduced them, but unlike Jon, that had since changed. There was a higher degree of respect between the Free Folk and the Brotherhood than between either of them and any of the other factions. They worked together more easily, and more often, and Rickon was always with Osha and the free folk. Between this growing familiarity and Gendry's formidable reputations both as the Bull of the Brotherhood and the Arm of Stoneheart, a friendship had formed.

Her sister, on the other hand, had been entirely lukewarm when it came to the blacksmith. It was clear she saw him as beneath Arya’s station, but he was useful and she’d kept any complaints to herself, likely as recompense for Arya’s support for her and Sandor. This worked in Gendry’s favor as Sansa hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, only saying, "Who knew your habit of collecting strays would come so in handy?"

Arya's cheeks warmed. "They're not strays."

Rickon shrugged. "Not anymore, I suppose.”

"They're allies!” She insisted. “They're vital allies."

This time, Bran shrugged. "They can be both," he suggested innocently.

Arya growled and whacked his shoulder gently, turning to Jon for even a drop of support, but the only thing she found was frustration marring his brow. They were stalling again, wasting time. Arya sobered. She felt a bit like a child, finding Jon so troubled and having been so oblivious.

"Jon?” she ventured. “What are you thinking?"

He was quiet for a moment and she thought he might scold them, but instead he responded, "It's as Sansa said before. A knight is hardly a suitable match for a princess, let alone a smith."

Arya prickled at his words. True as they may be, in the political sense, the insinuation that her friends were somehow beneath her would never sit well with her. She knew that Jon was just being practical, that he had too much sense to hold a man's status against his character. 

But then, he seemed to make many exceptions to sense when it came to those she cared about. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to marry Gendry, but she knew she’d prefer him to most, and she wasn’t about to let Jon discount him without objection.

"Gendry isn't just a smith.” She reminded him stiffly, fighting to remain civil as he huffed and turned away. "He leads the Brotherhood without Banners. He has earned the respect of Westeros.”

"And the smallfolk adore him. He's not just some war hero to them," Rickon added eagerly, looking to her, and she nodded him on. “He means something more. The whole Brotherhood does. They love them.”

"And he may not be a lord, by his own choice," Arya concluded, "but he is a Baratheon. That could mollify at least some of the lords."

"And would it mollify Daenerys? Or Aegon?" Jon snapped. "When it was a Baratheon who killed their family and sent them into exile in the first place? I may be their kin but I can only do so much to protect you."

"I thought that Daenerys granted immunity and legitimacy to Robert's children in exchange for recognizing Targaryen rule?" Sansa asked, hands moving to her hips. "Even Edric Baratheon has bent the knee."

"So how do you think she feels about Gendry, then, the only bastard to refuse her offer of a title and land? And the leader of a band of fools," Jon spat the word like it tasted foul on his tongue, "who reject the authority of anyone who wears a crown?"

Why Jon was suddenly spouting hostility at the Brotherhood he'd vocally appreciated during the war, Arya wasn't sure, but as much as she took issue with his slander, it wasn’t the time to bring it up. "If Daenerys does see the Brotherhood as a threat, then a marriage between us could be a means of establishing peace before a conflict breaks out...”

The look Jon gave her was that of a wounded animal with its prey cornered. She forgot what she had been about to say.

"If you think," he hissed, "that I'm going to risk your life on the premise that it might prevent disputes between that menace and the Crown, then I am going to have to disappoint you."

"And what of Edric Dayne?"

Arya could only watch as Jon turned away to face her sister, whose chin jutted out defiantly at the king. That imperious timbre sent shivers down Arya’s spine. She hadn’t heard her sister take such a lofty tone with Jon in ten years.

Jon, on the other hand, just sounded irritated. "What of him?"

"As a candidate for Arya's husband,” Sansa deadpanned, as unamused with him as he was with her. “Is something wrong with him?"

"Is this not the boy that used to traipse around with the same Brotherhood?" Jon enunciated his words as if he was speaking to someone extraordinarily slow and particularly annoying, and if his goal was to offend, then by the way Sansa bristled, he had succeeded.

"His involvement with the Brotherhood was minimal, contingent on his position as Ser Dondarrion's squire, and has already ended," she pointed out hotly. "It would have to, either way, seeing as he's not just a lord, but the heir to Starfall." 

"And you think as the heir to Starfall, he and his bride will not be obligated to return to Starfall?" Jon replied just as impatiently. "He could afford to pick up the mantle of Sword of the Morning and run around the continent as a knight during the war, but do you truly think he will forfeit his responsibilities at the behest of a girl he knew when he was a squire?"

"But what if he forfeits his claim? If he intends to work for the council, he will."

"Then there is no guarantee he settles here."

“Oh,” Sansa made a cruel, ladylike sound, something like a laugh but not. "Is that all?"

The whites of Jon’s eyes had never been so visible. "Is that all?"

"Is that all, that she may have to leave? Is that your only qualm?"

"He offers her nothing!"

"He's a lord. He's an heir." Sansa lifted a finger with each point she made. "He's a war hero. He's a celebrated ally to the Martells, and to the Targaryens!"

Jon scoffed, loud, and so unlike him at all that Arya's jaw fell a little. "If a king with Targaryen blood is not enough to guarantee peace with the Targaryens, then a marriage to Edric Dayne will do no better! He offers her nothing!"

"He offers her security and kindness!" Sansa roared, calm breaking like the sea against cliffs. "He and Arya are not just familiar with each other — they're friends. Do you understand how rare and precious it is? As far as safety and happiness can go, there's no better assurance than that."

"What of our assurance?" Rickon snapped, stepping into line with his cousin, opposing Sansa. "We can offer her better than that."

"Exactly, Rickon!" Jon crowed, towering above them all even as he leaned in to emphasize his point. "Her family, in Winterfell, is better than that."

Her sister sputtered at his malice, turning to Arya, but she could only stare back, face still slack with surprise. Helpless, Sansa seethed, shaking her head at them all. "And so, what? She will never marry anyone?"

"I don't see why she has to," Rickon grumbled, but Arya barely heard him as Jon crossed over to her, took her by the shoulder, and tucked her into his side. "At least right away.”

"She doesn't," Jon agreed, gaze soft and raw, as if he’d been stripped bare and bleeding before her and didn't mind at all. What was she supposed to do? This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Time? But then he said, “She won’t.”

Sansa shrunk back as if slapped and Arya stilled under his arm. This was a voice she'd only heard him wield on the battlefield, or in court, deep as a wolf and imperious as a dragon. He had never been the king with them, not with his family, no matter how they'd fought or what over. But now, he’d raised his head to look at Sansa with narrowed eyes, and did not seem to see a cousin at all.

He continued steadily, "We have every right to keep her."

Sansa’s teeth were small and peeked out from her mouth like she wanted to run but when she met Arya's gaze, her mouth shut. She straightened her posture, her chin dipped low and humble this time. "You are a Targaryen king, but you're not her head of house. You may have a say, but the final word is Bran's."

Jon’s grip tightened and Arya winced as he positioned himself between the two sisters, almost as if to make sure Sansa wouldn’t reach out and grab her.

"Oh, did you forget?" she asked, so elegantly applying salt in the wound.

"It seems Bran has," Arya interjected. "Surely he has something to add?"

She looked to her brother, silently imploring, but he merely made a contented hum. Part of her wanted to tear her hair out, another wanted a go at his. She did not see what was so amusing about their siblings spitting and hissing at one another over her marriage prospects. Jon and Sansa were volatile enough as it is, some days managing genuine cordiality and others only just barely maintaining a facade of civility. This couldn’t help.

"Bran will do what's best for Arya," Jon spoke on his behalf, drawing her even closer, so her chest was pressed to his ribs. His heat warmed her like a furnace. "I trust him with that much. He loves his sister."

"And I don't," Sansa inhaled, eyes wide and stepping back. "That's what you mean, isn't it? Be honest with us, Jon. Arya and I have made our peace and moved past our childhood quarrels, but clearly, you haven't. You still hold them against me, don't you?"

"It's nothing like that," Arya assured her with a furrowed brow, gesturing for her cousin to corroborate. Jon didn't say a word.

Sansa looked down at her and soon deflated. "What would you know? He's an entirely different person to you.” She turned back to Jon, her voice low and scathing. “You’re making me look like a villain for suggesting she marry at all, but I’m just trying to find her someone who will be good for her before it’s too late. I will not allow her to suffer like I did.”

"No, you would just exile her from her home, to live with strangers.” There was no room for argument. There never had been. “Arya has been away from home long enough without you sending her away once more."

"Away from home, or away from you?”

She might’ve said more, she must’ve said more, and Jon must’ve said more too, but Arya couldn’t stand to hear another a word of it. What was the point of this bickering and bullshit? All the while Bran just sat there with that inscrutable certainty as his eyes trailed after Jon, and what did any of it matter?

“Enough!” she howled, pushing at his chest and ripping out of Jon’s reach.

His arm hung in the air for a moment, expression hurt, but she didn't have the time to be sorry.

"Were either of you going to ask me what I thought? Or are you two happy assuming you know what's best for me, as well as the North, and the rest of the kingdoms?" she snapped. Sansa, Jon, and even Rickon all began speaking at once, but she'd had enough of listening for an entire week. “Shut up! I’m sick of it. I’m sick of all of you.” She sneered. “What a waste of time.”

Sansa objected, and Jon tried to defend himself, but it had been, nothing but a waste of time and a strain on their throats. If this was the way things would go, she was better off being stolen by the free folk. She was half tempted to leave her window open in invitation. They might not even have to bind and carry her.

"We are not going to make these decisions in a single evening," Bran's voice raised now, cutting through the clamor like a sword through cloth. "I knew that when I brought it up. Although, I had thought we'd at least get the chance to discuss some of the prospects for Rickon and me. But that can wait for now. We have other engagements to attend to.”

"Right," she croaked. Meals and men. Meals and men. She was supposed to meet with Ser Davos and Lord Manderley. Through the window, the sky was orange. She swallowed, but her throat kept dry. "I'm already late. I have to go.”

She moved to leave, and Jon moved to follow, but Bran called out and asked him to wait as the door swung shut behind her, and that was the last she allowed herself to hear before breaking into a sprint.

X

@mysticalmuddle This isn’t the fic I was talking about before, but I thought you might like to be tagged anyway, seeing as you’re basically the sole reason I ever post my fics! Thank you for all your encouragement, you are amazing.

[dracowars]

the right thing | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x slytherin!reader

word count: 3,0k

summary: where y/n does the only right thing, much to the dismay of everyone else

a/n: i had this idea in mind for so long and finally managed to bring it to life, enjoy <3

warnings: angst, mentions of death, mentions of childbirth, torture, mentions of blood

universe: harry potter

"Darling, are you listening to me?", your father's voice tears you out of your dreamy, peaceful thoughts and you silently direct your gaze from the nature outside, which is quickly passing by, to him. As an answer you nod, even though you were definitely not listening a bit.

"Very good! I am so incredibly proud of my grown up daughter", he smiles at you and takes off the glasses he used to read out what is written on the parchment in his hand to you when you were not listening.

You do not answer or show a reaction, causing your father to clear his throat nervously before looking down while you switch your own gaze back out of the moving carriage.

As much as you would like to believe what he is saying, you can't. This man has ruined your entire life and is now only trying to make up for it with his stupid niceness and courtesy. Just like he always has, knowing that you will never forgive him for what he did.

The sudden waggling of the carriage makes you assume that you have arrived and at that very moment you recognize the large creaking gate that leads into a wide avenue to a huge mansion. The Malfoy Manor.

Your pureblood family has been very influential for generations, just like the Malfoys, so it not really surprising that you and Draco immediately befriended each other in your first year at Hogwarts. A friendship that soon became more than that.

What you did not expect, however, is that you would get engaged to each other just as quickly.

Your parents wasted no time after learning about your relationship. After all, it would mean the continuation of the purity of your families as well as the union of two of the most influential families in the whole wizarding world. And it was clear for both of you that you were lucky to have met, because otherwise you would probably have married someone you would not have loved with your whole heart.

And yet, you are not happy.

The creaking of the carriage door opening by magic, makes you flinch before you follow your father out and are now standing in front of the huge building you have already visited several times. One of the house elves leads you to the large front door and another leads you through the halls of Malfoy Manor, past the numerous locked doors and through sparsely furnished corridors.

As soon as you arrive in the long, dark dining room, your breath gets stuck in your throat when you look over your father's shoulder, only to see many faces that you would not have expected to see here. Especially not the face of a specific someone since you originally assumed that you would only gather here to discuss more wedding preparations.

"Oh, how nice! The Y/L/N family has finally made it", the Dark Lord grins devilishly, locking his cold eyes with you, and your father bows respectfully before you two sit down at the wooden table, directly across from Draco and his parents. He throws you an unsettling glance and your pulse rises immediately.

"Very well. Now that we are complete, let us begin", Voldemort speaks up treacherously while strutting around the end of the table, his wand openly displayed in his pale, bony hands.

If there is one wizard in this entire universe that you can't stand, it is definitely him, even though you are a Death Eater and thus belong to his close entourage.

But you never had a choice.

Your mother died during childbirth, but your father had already foreseen it and did not want it to come true. In order to prevent this, he ran to Voldemort and his people to beg for help. He so gladly granted him his wish, but only on the condition that his only daughter and heir to the wealthy Y/L/N family will become a Death Eater at the age of sixteen. And so it happened.

Of course he was not able to rescue your mother from death, but you are not sure whether you would be sitting here at this table right now without his help or if you would not have survived the birth either. Whatever it is, you do not know what you would have preferred.

All in all, you harbor an abysmally hatred for this man as well as for your own father, who simply sold his daughter to the evil in person. For nothing but an empty promise.

In your eyes this man is not and never will be your father. To you, he is nothing more than a ridiculous, old and bitter coward.

You hear Voldemort keep talking in the background, but his words do not go inside of your head and you just emotionlessly stare at Draco on the other side, who switches his intimidated gaze between you and the other end of the table. Only when you follow his gaze do you understand why he has this kind of an expression plastered all over his face.

At the other end, across from the position where Voldemort is currently making his hate speech against Harry Potter, a terrible looking woman hangs upside down from the ceiling, softly whimpering. Floating in the air by a spell, she moves around a bit and if it were not for her making quiet noises, you would have thought she was dead.

But when her empty gaze meets yours, an ice-cold shiver runs down your spine. It is Mrs. Burbage, your Muggle Studies teacher. You almost did not recognize her because of her distorted appearance. Her pale, lifeless face, however, seems to be staring at you, almost piercing through you, making you feel like it is your fault that she is hanging there.

You quickly turn away from her and look down at the empty table, which suddenly seems much more interesting than anything else in the room while you try not to let the deep, ingrained shock show. Taking in a deep breath, you only lift your head up again when a silver snake's head is thrown on the table, frightening you for a second.

Apparently Voldemort has just damaged Lucius Malfoy's wand in order to use it himself. The look on Lucius' face makes you shudder again. You have never seen him like this before and you have had to spend a lot of time with him and the other Death Eaters already.

Just as shocked as you are, Draco is as well while looking to his father. Draco, like you, never wanted to become a Death Eater, but his father's failures eventually forced him into this position and now you are both bound to the same horrible fate, caused by your own fathers.

While Voldemort continues to drag their family name into the dirt with his words, you and Draco just look at each other intensely. As if you could understand what is going on in the others' mind.

At least until a green spark flies across the table in the middle of you two and Nagini snakes over it shortly afterwards. Unnoticed, you move your chair back a litte. Already suspecting what is going to happen, you turn your head away and try to block out the disgusting and disturbing noises that are triggered by killing one of your favorite teachers.

In the end, however, you are unable to take it any longer, getting up and running out of the room with your head and shoulders lowered, but you can still hear how the Dark Lord declares the meeting finished as you run down the stairs. Holding your hand in front of your mouth, your insides make a flip and you feel incredibly sick all of a sudden when you come to a stop in one of the hallways.

Startled you turn around when you hear your name behind you, but as soon as you recognize that it is Draco who followed you, you crash into his arms and he catches you, protectively holding you against him.

"D-Draco", you bitterly sob into his chest and he just hugs you tighter, trying to calm you down.

"Shh, love. I know, I know", he silences you softly and puts his hand on the back of your head while you remain in this position for a few minutes. Until you hear your father's annoying voice.

Moving away from Draco and straightening your posture, you look in the direction from where your father is now running towards you, Narcissa closely behind him.

"Darling, there you are! I will go back home now and you will have a nice time here", he happily announces, not even noticing how miserable you are. But what else did you expect from him?

"We will take good care of her, don't worry", Narcissa smiles, but it does not quite reach her eyes and therefore stays cold. Your father seems satisfied by her answer and, together with all the other Death Eaters, leaves.

"I will make us some tea", Narcissa clears her throat and you follow her into the salon, your hands intertwined.

A few days later Draco and you comfortably lay on the couch in front of the big fireplace in the afternoon, an open book about potions in your lap, your head leaned against his broad shoulder. As you continue to rummage through your book, Draco gently takes your hand in his and smiles down at you before placing a kiss on the top of your head.

Your little moment of peace and contentment, however, is quickly destroyed again when Bellatrix's crazy laugh echoes through the room.

"Draco, Y/N, my darlings! I searched for you everywhere", she giggles as she strolls towards you, pressing her wand against her temple as she stops in front of the sofa. You expectantly look up at her, waiting for her to explain why she so rudely interrupted your moment.

"Bellatrix! What is going on here?", Lucius suddenly rushes in after her, Narcissa following him, so that you are all gathered now.

"Oh! I assume you have already met our lovely guests", Bellatrix laughs and, as if on cue, two more men enter the living room. Death Eaters. Deeply breathing in shock, you abruptly get onto your feet when you discover that they did not come alone.

Hermione, Ron and someone who somehow looks like Harry Potter but isn't, are pushed ahead of them until they are ungently thrown to the ground, right in front of Bellatrix's feet.

"Welcome, welcome", she licks her lips bloodthirstily, a playful laugh escaping her throat as your gaze meets Hermione's. There is nothing but disappointment in her eyes. Disappointed that you do not step in, that you just watch.

You avert your gaze and look at the other person and the longer you look at him, the more it becomes clear to you that this is Harry Potter after all. Terrible things have been done to his face that made you barely recognize him.

"Why are they here?", you choke out and Bellatrix turns to you in amusement, giggling while mockingly sulking as she presses her knife against Harry's throat.

"Why not? Well, Draco! Why don't you come over here and and take a closer look", she urges Draco and he slowly loosens his grip on your hand, not even realizing how hard you have squeezed his. He cautiously walks towards his aunt, even though you would like to stop him immediately.

"Come closer. What does he look like to you, huh?", she asks him and Draco stops right in front of them.

He hesitates.

Lucius suddenly stirs next to you and puts his hand on Draco's back, whispering something into his ear which you can't hear before he raises his voice out of nowhere when one of the Death Eaters intervenes. Narcissa manages to calm Lucius down though and pull him away from their son.

"Don't be shy, sweetie. Come over", Bellatrix persuades him and takes his hand to pull him closer to the disfigured Harry, giving him a better view. You can clearly see the fear in Harry's eye that is not swollen, and something deep inside of you keeps telling you that it would not be right to betray him. You are about to step in when Draco mutters under his breath for the first time since they entered the room, kneeling down in front of Harry.

"What is wrong with his face?"

"Yes, what is wrong with his face?", Bellatrix counters and adresses the two men, but you automatically block out their conversation, only being able to concentrate on Harry and Draco. Draco examines his face closely, but you are sure that he too immediately recognized that it is actually Harry. However, he gets up with a shake of his head and remains silent.

You just do not understand why he does not say anything.

Maybe he never wanted to become a Death Eater either, but still, you always had different views on Harry Potter and his Gryffindor friends. He loathed them since first year, and yet he does not betray him now.

The sudden screeching by Bellatrix and the following fighting noises release you from your numbness and you only see how she orders the now injured men to disappear, a silver sword in her hand that was not there before.

"Put the boys in the cell! I will have a conversation with this one", she angrily growls and pushes Harry and Ron to Narcissa and Wormtail, who take them to the basement. "Get out!"

Not being able to move from the spot, you stop and do not obey her instructions, making her give you an aggressive look until Draco quickly grabs your wrist and roughly pulls you away from the scene, Hermione now alone with Bellatrix.

You have just left the room when you hear a terrible scream from behind you and there is no doubt that it came from Hermione.

"What is she doing to her, Draco?", you furiously ask him and pull your hand out of his strong grip, a little too strong for your liking.

"I don't know. Let us go upstairs and-"

"No!", you interrupt him angrily and his eyes widen at your sudden outburst, not expecting it.

"No?"

"I am not just going to look away when someone is tortured!", you yell at him and immediately turn around to go back, but Draco stops you.

"You can't do anything for her, Y/N! It is the best idea if we just stay quiet and let it happen. I can't risk them harming you as well", he explains and his voice softens towards the end, almost gets vulnerable, which is why the tension in your body slowly fades.

"But Draco.. This is Harry Potter and if your aunt finds out about it, he is doomed!", you sadly whisper and place your hands on his chest, fists clenched.

"Do you think I do not know? I do not want them to get him either, but we have no choice if we want to stay safe, my love", Draco sighs and lowers his head in defeat, his left hand clasping and loosening your fist, the cold rings on his finger slightly touching your skin. "Promise me that you will stay safe here with me."

"I-I.. I promise", you nod and avert your gaze, unable to look in his eyes while uttering such a lie. However, Draco has no chance to say anything about it when in the next moment a loud clink shakes the walls of the mansion.

Throwing a shocked look at each other, you quickly return to the room and abruptly stop in the middle when you see Narcissa defending attacks by Harry and Ron. Lucius growls behind you and you see him laying on the glass table that probably was destroyed by the impact of his body hitting against it. You are about to pull out your wand when Bellatrix loudly yells.

"STOP!"

Everyone's gaze falls on the knife she is holding against Hermione's throat and you discover a bleeding wound on her forearm, the word 'mudblood' cut deeply into her skin. Bellatrix's work.

"Drop your wands!", she orders and shortly afterwards they fall to the ground. "Pick them up, Draco!"

With you by the hand, Draco quickly picks up their wands and leads you back to his parents, his body blocking you protectively as he stands in front of you.

"Well, well, well. Look who we have here. It's Harry Potter", Bellatrix whisper-yells into Hermione's ear, who is trying to suppress her sobs while Harry's face is suddenly turning back to normal. "Just in time for the Dark Lord.. Call him!"

The last command coming from her mouth makes you swallow hard, but the lump in your throat won't go away. Especially not when all eyes are on you and Draco alone now. Their faces soaked in expectation and disappointment, it only intensifies the conflict within you.

"Call him!"

Releasing you from your suffering, Lucius steps forward when neither Draco nor you stir a single bit, pulls up his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark on his forearm, the same one that painfully adorns your skin as well and always reminds you of who you have to obey. You see how the snake slowly winds around the skull and you look back and forth between him and Hermione, trembling.

"I am sorry, Draco", you breathe out barely audible, closing your eyes while doing so before letting go of his hand.

In a matter of seconds, you raise your wand, aim at the magnificent chandelier on the ceiling that is directly above Bellatrix and Hermione, and the following words fall off your lips with sudden ease.

"Confringo!"

All at once everything that happens next is like in slow motion. The huge chandelier crashes down onto the parquet, freeing Hermione from Bellatrix's grip and you are thrown to the ground as well. Raising your blurry gaze again, you see feet right in front of you and are suddenly pulled up onto your legs again.

By no other than Harry.

He brings you to the others and the last thing you see is the hurt, disappointment and heartbreak on Draco's pale face as you feel a stabbing, sharp pain from both your own broken heart and the dagger piercing through your skin that was thrown by Bellatrix before you vanish into thin air.

[fire-lady-ilah]

More good dad! Ozai AU? Even if you didn’t ask for it, you’re getting it and I’m picking up right where I left off. This is my reminder that, while Ozai is a good and non-abusive dad and husband in this, he is still very much an imperialist and a cruel person in general.

Parts [1] and [2] if you’d like. This is part 3. Here’s part [4]

The siblings venture into the capital, although they make it known that no one should inform their parents that they are nearby. The moment they step off the ship, Captain Jee sends a letter to the Fire Lady. He was loyal to the Prince and Princess above all, but he did not feel like being executed or exiled that day when Lady Ursa inevitably finds out.

In a large house just outside Caldera City, Lord Ukano lives with his wife, Michi, his daughter and heir, Mai, and his newborn son Tom-Tom. The Dragon Emperor and the Blue Spirit sneak into the bedroom of the heiress and steal her away.

In that I mean, Mai leaps at the opportunity to escape her home with her best friends, who she’s seen wearing the same theatre masks dozens of times, and follows willingly. It takes an hour longer than the siblings had expected, if only because Mai has far more knives than they had truly expected and they get caught up in the palace kitchens stealing Azula’s favourite mochi and some bags of fire flakes.

Then they are caught by Fire Lady Ursa, who is gathering a late night cup of cocoa after a nice night with her husband, not that her children need to know that part. Her children, who are wearing her theatre masks that had very recently gone missing from her collection, stare at her innocently. Her daughter carries two entire boxes she knows are full of mochi. Her son carries the fire flake bag they use for festivals. Her one day daughter-in-law is making a cup of cocoa and the Fire Lady calmly requests one for herself from the girl.

That night, the fire Prince and Princess sleep in their own rooms, with Lady Mai in one of the many available. In the morning, they take breakfast with the Fire Lord and Lady, discussing trivial matters of politics and domestic affairs.

Mai leaves on the request of the Fire Lord, bringing everything they took from her home and the palace (along with what Ursa and Ozai insisted they take) to the ship with the help of some soldiers.

Azula and Zuko sit with their parents. Ursa gives them each two potent bottles of poison. Ozai’s voice has a worry that only his family knows how to detect through the facade of boredom as he inquires how their firebending and blades practice has been, as to the state of their weaponry. They try to soothe their parents worries with assurances: their practice has been going well in both bending and blades, Azula has achieved perfection in lightningbending and Zuko has achieved lightning, their blades are sharp and well maintained, they weren’t harmed when the temple blew up—

It slips through Zuko’s lips. He was never the actor like his mother and sister. For their part, his parents do not react overly beyond a flickering of the flame and a long sip of tea.

“Your mission has changed.”

Ozai is smart. Everything he does is to serve his goals the best they can. In canon, the premier of those goals is to gain more power for himself. In this world, that goal is to secure the ideal outcome for his family. (Of course, his second goal is as much power as possible. But it is only considered after his first goal).

Allying themselves with the Avatar, at least in appearances, will secure the best outcome for his children. And he has no doubt that his brother (so weak after the death of his son. And yet, Ozai cannot find it within him to scorn him overly. He knows that were he to be left childless, he would break. It is merely that Ozai would break in an explosion, whereas Iroh’s flame fizzled into embers.) would eagerly help his children betray him. Even if it was just in appearances.

His children are loyal and dutiful. They protest, but only out of a desire to maintain that loyalty. He wishes the Avatar had remained hidden, at least until they were both adults. They are prodigal, yes, but they are just siblings.

“You have our permission to reveal your mother’s ancestry. Use it wisely.”

The children know their lineage for at least five generations on each side. That, of course, is in addition to their knowledge of every Fire Lord that has reigned since the unification of the Fire Nation. They are well aware that their Grandmother Rina (who feeds them chocolate and tells them stories whenever she visits) ‘s father was Avatar Roku. Just as they knew of the friendship between Fire Lord Sozin and Avatar Roku.

It is necessary for the people of their nation to hear pretty lies. It is not their responsibility to worry about the nuance and complexity of life. It is one of their responsibilities as Angi’s heirs in the mortal world. To worry of such things is a burden they should not have to bear. It is necessary for the people to believe the Avatar hated the Fire Lord.

The siblings don’t know everything, of course. They are just children after all. But they understand the nuance, the conflicting beliefs. They were told the truth (and carefully kept from necessary propaganda before then) when they were old enough to look critically at the situation. It was their duty to bring the Fire Nation’s good to the other nations, to liberate their populations, the siblings decided.

The Avatar is just a child, but he seemed able to connect with his past lives. And he had pointedly not hurt them, at least as Avatar Roku.

If nothing else, they have the Dragon Emperor and Blue Spirit on their side.

“Zhao has asked for permission to launch an invasion on the Northern Water Tribe. He is a fool, but he claims he has knowledge that will ensure his victory. Tomorrow, I will send him a letter approving his asinine idea. You will stop him— kill him, if you must— and use that act of perceived treason to ally yourselves with the Avatar.”

Ozai wants power, but he is no fool. The invasion is risky at best. He cannot find it within himself to care for the tens of thousands that would doubtlessly die in it, the Northern Water Tribe had the advantage in multiple ways. It would serve its purpose to get his children at the Avatar’s side.

The tone lightens after his orders and Ozai steps back from his role as Father Lord into just being a father. He teases his son on his interactions with his betrothed. He teases his daughter and asks if she would be visiting the circus soon, taking note of how she had learned to prevent a blush but not the squeak in her voice. They are not infallible, they are children.

As they see their children for the last time in the foreseeable future, the Fire Lord and Lady both think as to how much they will miss them. Ursa blinks back tears as she hugs them both, smiling as they react identically, burying their faces into her chest to hide them and breathing in the scent of fire lily perfume.

Ozai is not usually physically affectionate with his children. He had never received it from his father and was much more competent in other ways. That being said, no one commented on the kiss he pressed to the top of Zuko’s head (still shorter than him by quite a bit. Sometimes he acted so adult, but he was so clearly still a child) before repeating the action with Azula.

“I am so proud of you. Both of you.”

I’m just now realizing Blue Spirit is supposed to be after the whole Roku thing. Oh well.

For appearances’ sake, the siblings and Mai continue to chase the Avatar. Zhao attacks the Avatar while he trains under the Deserter. Princess Azula ensures the forest doesn’t burn while Prince Zuko uses all the bottled up anger at both Zhao himself and Azulon (really, what is with grown men trying to kill 11/12 year olds?) to yell at Zhao for acting so recklessly.

And if, perhaps, he manages to endear himself to others by knocking Zhao’s feet out from under him, all the better.

The Avatar and his friends escape and the siblings celebrate another success as Zhao nurses his bruised ass and ego.

(“Hey, did the Deserter look like that dude in Master Piandao’s painting in his main hall to you?”

“Admiral Jeong Jeong and Master Piandao were married, Zuko. Obviously that was him.”)

Zhao attempts to order their crew away from them, citing his rank as admiral as above prince and princess.

Azula’s sharp tongue reminds Admiral Zhao that Zuko is not only a prince, but the Crown Prince, and thus he is equal in rank to Zhao. As was their uncle a general, retired or not.

Behind the royalty of the ship stands Captain Jee, his eyes locked with Zhao’s. His eyes promise mutiny even if he were to somehow take them. His eyes swear loyalty to the Crown Prince, to his sister, above all else.

Zhao turns to leave.

“Of course, that is not to say we will not join your invasion.” Zuko sounds like his father sometimes, and never more than when his voice holds a hint of smug satisfaction. “Merely, do not presume to think you can order us in any way. We out rank you, and our crew is the best our Nation has to offer.”

Their ship joins, at least in appearance, Zhao’s fleet. That being said, they obey no orders from the Admiral and only allow his “inspections” of the ship and their crew once. For all intents and purposes, they are just there to observe.

And observe they do. The siblings watch the way Zhao treats his subordinates and twin righteous flames burns in their chests. The truth of being raised by a loving father means that Zuko and Azula are both rather sheltered in comparison to their canon selves. They are raised on ideals of honour and the divine responsibility of a monarch, rather than on the truths of war and practicality of rule. It only results in a hotter fire and more questions as to if Sozin’s way was truly the one to follow.

They still have absolute faith in their father. After all, he is the one that raised them, that taught them of honour and the ideals of a monarch. He is the one that sheltered them. He is the one that suggested they befriend the Avatar to keep them safe.

On the ship, only three people know the entire plan. The first two are the siblings, of course. The third is Captain Jee. He is the one that will keep their ship away from the invasion itself so there is no risk of their crew being harmed in the doomed attack. He is the one that will direct the ship to the colonies once the siblings are with the Avatar. Captain Jee has no qualms about technically commuting treason.

Mai knows some of the plan. In that, Mai knows exactly what Zuko and Azula tell her and then what she observes. She sees the way they stick together, now more than ever. Sees the way that Azula trains her non-lethal lightning (because even she, a nonbender, knows it’s far harder to bend lightning that doesn’t kill than that that does). She hears the way they drop the title of Fire Lord when speaking of their royal great grandfather. She catches whispers about Fire Lord Roku. About the Avatar.

Mai, in a way, knows more than the siblings themselves. She knows that they are genuinely sympathetic toward the Avatar in a way that they don’t yet realize. She begins to keep all her knives on her person, along with an easily grab-able bag for travelling in her room. There was no way she’d be letting her best friends turn traitor without her. This is the most exciting thing she’s done in years.

Iroh knows less than he believes. Oh, he gets the dropped title just as well as Mai, but he does not know the intricacies of Zuko and Azula the way Mai does. He sees Azula’s practice and writes it off as her ever-present search for perfection. He catches the tail end of a conversation between siblings and does not stop to consider who exactly “great grandfather” may be referring to. It would be unthinkable for his brother to tell the children of their heritage.

Despite this, Iroh also knows more than most. He knows from conversation exactly what Zhao intends to do in the Northern Water Tribe and it turns his blood to boil.

They reach the Northern Water Tribe. The siblings sneak off the ship in an emergency boat. Mai enters at the last moment and neither send her away.

Iroh has already left the ship, though he is currently in one last meeting with Zhao in an attempt to convince him not to continue with his plan. He will not check back with his niece and nephew, believing them to be safe on the ship.

In the Northern Water Tribe, the three Fire Nation teens remain tucked into the shadows. They, unfortunately, have no idea where the Avatar is and wander through the city. However, they reach the Avatar’s friends before Zhao does.

(“Is he... alive?”

“He’s just meditating.”)

It goes far better than they could have expected. The siblings’ act of releasing Sokka and Katara from Zhao’s bindings results in a part of water tribe siblings being quite willing to hear them out. Princess Yue gives them an odd look but remains quiet.

Zhao shows up. Iroh shows up. Azula and Zuko denounce him (though they cannot bring themselves to denounce their father, even though they know they should). Zhao declares them all traitors, a koi fish in a bag in his hand.

A bolt of lightning hits Zhao straight in the back. Both he and the koi fish fall into the pool of water. He does not emerge.

Azula’s face is carefully blank, even as she watches the water. She cannot stop to consider whether it is her or the water that just killed the admiral, or if he was even dead at all. She could not even see his body in its depths. She used non-lethal strength.

Despite Princess Yue’s backing, the Northern Water Tribe wants to take the siblings prisoner (hostage, everyone knows). After all, everyone knows of the devotion they show to the Fire Lord and vice versa. If nothing else, they would be excellent bargaining pieces in a more formal treaty.

They had not factored this into their plan. Admittedly, they had not factored the Northern Water Tribe into their plan at all.

The three Fire Nation teens are thrown into a prison cell. A rather comfortable prison cell, but still a prison cell. Iroh is taken somewhere else.

Within five hours, they sit on the back of a flying bison, Sokka handing them food he had smuggled out of the meal as Katara was smuggling them out of prison.

(“We tried to get your Uncle too,” the Avatar says in a remorseful tone, “but we couldn’t find him.”

“Uncle will be fine.” Azula declares, her mind set only on the future as she tries not to think about the way Zhao sunk beneath the still surface of the pond.

Zuko nods in agreement and clutches her hand in a comforting way.)

The Gaang now consists of six people:

Aang, a twelve year old Avatar with a mastery in air and a decent proficiency in water. He looks at the Fire Nation teens and sees his friend Kuzon, sees a time from before the war when an Air Nomad could wander freely through the Fire Nation. He attempts to use Fire Nation slang with them but it’s a century old and results in only laughter.

Katara, a master waterbender and healer (a concept that intrigues Azula to no end, although she tries to keep her questions polite). She tends to have a short temper when it comes to matters of the Fire Nation, but even she can be coaxed into trying a few sweets that Zuko has stored in his bag.

Sokka, a hunter and warrior who may or may not be engaged to the NWT princess (Zuko says he is, Azula says he isn’t). Azula laments that her jokes are even worse than Zuko’s, to which Mai agrees. It is that comment that leads Sokka and Zuko to start bonding, having nothing better to do on the bison’s back than exchange bad jokes.

Crown Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, who Sokka would insist is walking Fire Nation propaganda as he goes on at least one rant about Fire Nation culture and technology a day. Who surprisingly helps Katara with the cooking because it was one of the things Fire Lady Ursa carried over from before she was Fire Lady and taught to her children.

Princess Azula of the Fire Nation, who has a sharp tongue and a sharper pair of twin daggers that she seems to enjoy threatening her brother with for any inconvenience, even though they both just laugh at it. (Katara and Sokka have to be assured by them both that they truly love each other and that threatening each other with weapons carried over from the theatre scrolls they used to act out as children).

Lady Mai talks the least, seemingly content just to talk to Zuko and Azula. Aang makes it his mission to get her to warm up to him and spends a good portion of his time trying to talk to her. He succeeds when he brings up air ball, of all things. Mai’s parents had discouraged her from sport, believing it to be unfitting of a young lady just as they had discouraged her interest in knives until Zuko and Azula had ganged up on them. Partially for that reason, Mai enjoyed sports quite a bit, a shock to even Zuko (though Azula knew). After that, she talks mainly to Zuko, Azula, and Aang.

Captain Jee guides his ship to the Fire Nation colonies, unable to confirm that his Prince and Princess were okay. He hadn’t expected the worry he feels now, but he knows he will be awaiting a letter at Yu Dao if they are safe.

Prince Iroh is startled to discover that, while meeting with Master Pakku, the Avatar, his friends, his nephew and niece, and Mai had all disappeared.

As had his ship.

[justkending]

Moral of the Story. Chapter Five.

Summary: Marrying too young out of highschool leads to a naive and failed marriage. Now 10 years later, word comes that the divorce was never actually completed. Bucky and Y/N have to come back together after all these years to settle what wasn’t all those years back. Passive attitudes, miscommunicated endings, and reminiscing of old loves and lives all comes back for the two.

Pairing: Bucky x Y/N

Word Count: 3200+

Chapter Five:

Once the meeting was done and over, Bucky and Y/N both left at the same time. Bucky was kind enough to hold the door open for her as they made their way back to the street, but Y/N’s goal was to get back to her car as quick as possible. So she gave him a curt thank you and moved quickly to leave. 

“Y/N!” Bucky shouted just as she was less than 10 feet away. She paused with a cringe on her face before turning back to him. He was walking hesitantly to catch up with her. “Listen, I know it’s been a few years.”

“A few is an understatement,” she mumbled and he heard, but decided to move on. 

“I just- I,” he stuttered. What the hell was he doing? “Would you want to get coffee? Catch up some? I-,” Before he could finish, she cut him off. 

“Listen, as great as that sounds,” she tried to say nicely, but he could see the nerves in her face. “I actually have plans right after this.” He deflated some in his spot. She noticed and though she thought she wouldn’t care if she hurt him after all these years, something deep down proved that thought was wrong. “I-I just haven’t seen my family in a while, and the little time I have left here this weekend, I wanted to spend time with them where I could.”

“Right, right,” Bucky tried to brush off unbothered, but failed. “I’m sure your dad misses you, and you him.”

“Yeah, it’s been a few years. That and I haven’t been back in the city in 10 years, so I have a lot to catch up on,” she nodded. 

“Wait, you haven’t been back here in 10 years?” he asked shocked. He thought she had a least been in town throughout the years. Even if he hadn’t seen her. 

“Um, yeah. I kinda…” she hesitated, but figured where would the truth hurt? “Guess I wasn’t ever really ready to get back here.” Bucky knew what she meant even if she wasn’t saying it verbatim, and it hurt his heart knowing he was the cause. Well, I guess both of them were, not just him. “That plus starting up Horizon, it was hard the first few years. But the family still sees each other for the holidays.”

“That’s right. Colorado,” Bucky nodded. 

Y/N had kept forgetting for some reason that Bucky and her father were with each other at least once a week most of the time. Always hanging out and doing guy things, or really, father and son types of things. Meaning he knew of, if not actually knew, Sherri, Denise, John, and Chloe too. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t know about the yearly Colorado trip. 

“Right,” Y/N nodded with pursed lips, putting it all together and Bucky realized. 

“Oh, God sorry. I promise I’m not stalking you, it’s just your dad and I-” he started to defend his knowledge. 

“It’s fine James, really,” she said with a wave of her hand and a slight chuckle. One he never expected coming from her. And the name… He wasn’t sure the last time he heard her say Bucky. As soon as they decided to bring an end to their relationship, that nickname never passed her lips again. “I know you and my dad are close.”

“You’re not upset at that?” he asked, slightly confused. 

“I’m not evil. No matter how much you may think,” she mumbled the last part. “I-I… I know the relationship you two share. You’ve had it since the beginning of time practically. I wouldn’t dream to take that from either of you.”

Bucky didn’t respond. Because all he could do was look at her with a longing look. God, he missed her. Sure he held some anger from where they ended things, but he had moved on for the most part. Now he just missed his best friend. The girl he grew up loving. From best friends to girlfriend, to eventually fiance and wife. He missed her. Just who she was as a person when resent wasn’t a feeling she had toward you. 

Sure, it was a lot to think back on in just the thought that she still cared for him enough not to banish her father from him, but it spoke volumes for who she was as an individual and he missed that. 

“I mean not that I really have a say in other people’s life, but if I did, I wouldn’t do such a thing,” she looked down, fidgeting in her spot seeing him staring at her like earlier all over again. 

“I know you wouldn’t,” he responded, quickly noticing his stare and looking down at his own shuffling feet. “Well, in that case, I’ll let you go. Thomas has been excited beyond measures to have you home. I won’t keep you from him.”

She nodded as they made eye contact again and started to turn back to her car. But before she could get too far, knowing this may be the last time he sees her again for a while, if not ever, he had to say it. 

“Y/N?” She turned at her name and sent him a questioning look. “I’m glad you’re doing ok. You seem to really be taking the world by storm like you always were going to,” he smiled softly and she blushed some before returning the smile. 

“Thank you, James. You too. You seem like you’re doing some pretty amazing things yourself,” she nodded once. 

They didn’t speak more than that, but instead walked back to their cars. Not without a second glance here and there. 

___________________

“So? How did it go?” Thomas asked as soon as Y/N walked in through the garage door. Him and Sherri sitting at the breakfast nook with cups of coffee in hand and wide eyes ready for all the details. 

“It went,” she responded, throwing her purse on the island bar stool and going to make a mug for herself. 

“Wow, such a colorful description. Anything more and she’d be over doing it,” Thomas exaggerated, getting a giggle from Sherri who stood up and joined Y/N’s side grabbing the creamer and sugar for her. 

“Come on now, sis. Good? Bad? Magical?” she added the last word with flare. 

“Anything besides magical,” she sent a playful glare to the woman. “I will say this though.” She walked over and sat with a huff in the nook across from her father, practically deflating in her seat. “I am still technically Mrs. Barnes.”

“What?!” they both gasped. 

“How?” Thomas pushed on. 

“Well I guess the meeting today was just to update the papers and nothing else. I mean, yeah. A few signatures here and there, but it’s not finalized.”

“So it was just an revision meeting? When’s the final cut?” Sherri asked, leaning on the back of Thomas' chair. The two watching their daughter with intrigued eyes. 

“A few days?” she said more in a question. “Matthew, our new lawyer, said him and his partner are going to update them within the next day or so, and then send us the final write up to sign. After we send those back in, it’ll all be settled.”

“You still going to have John overlook everything for extra measures?”

“Never hurts. I really would rather NOT go through all this mess again. Getting divorced once sucks, but twice? Yeah, I’d rather not have to do it a third time. And all with the same man,” Y/N sighed heavily before taking a long chug of her coffee. 

The couple ahead of her sending each other a silent message to the other. Y/N hadn’t noticed as she closed her eyes at the upcoming headache, and even if she had, she wouldn’t have time to question it as her phone started going off. 

Looking down, she saw the office calling her. On a Saturday?

“I have to take this. I’ll be back in one second,” she groaned, taking her coffee mug with the buzzing phone to the back patio. “Hello?”

“Y/N! Hey, I have a quick update,” Melody’s voice came through the other line.

“Why are you at the office on a Saturday?” Y/N said a little sternly, but good intentions were behind it. 

“I got an email from our recycle plant we had scheduled for that Monday meeting and it couldn’t wait until Monday,” she was quick to explain. “But listen. They had to reschedule. The main guy and his wife, the bosses of the vendure who was coming to discuss the offers, had a family emergency come up and asked if they could postpone it a week.”

“Um, yeah sure. That’s fine,” Y/N shook her head trying to run the schedule through her mind. “Did you contact Bee’s Knees and let them know about the postponement?”

“Yes, and they said they were fine with it as well.”

“Ok, good,” Y/N nodded. “So I have a clear schedule besides background work Monday. Is that all?”

“Well…” Melody drug out. 

“Why does that sound like a Natasha kind of ‘well’,” Y/N questioned with a quirked eyebrow. This wasn’t receptionist or assistant talk about to happen. 

“Speaking of Nat, we thought because that was your only big meeting for the week and everything else is normal for the rest of the week, you should extend your stay in Brooklyn,” she replied. 

“What?”

“Come on. We both agree you haven’t seen your family in far too long, and a weekend trip isn’t going to cut it. That plus, Nat made a good point that you have tons of old friends you haven't seen in way too many years either,” she went on. “Why rush catching up with everyone, if all the work you need to do can be done on your laptop from Brooklyn? That and for once, your schedule isn’t overstacked with meeting after meeting. That happens once every few months. Plus, you’re already in New York!”

“Ok, ok. Calm down there, Sparky,” Y/N chuckled at her friend being out of breath. “I mean I guess, you’re not wrong…”

“She can’t be. I’m the one who came up with all this,” Nat’s voice broke in. 

“Oh, yeah. I may or may not be hanging out with Nat and Yelena,” Melody giggled bashfully. “Or be partially tipsy.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at the three, but couldn’t stop the laugh from coming out of her own mouth. 

“You sneaky little bitches,” Y/N chuckled. 

“What can I say? We’re Romanoff’s,” Nat smirked through the phone. 

“Well, I’m a Hill, but Romanoff by descent,” Melody added in. 

Again, another joking eye roll. 

“Now I have to change my flights and everything,” Y/N sighed. 

“Oh, woes me,” Nat mocked. “What a challenge it must be to log into your computer and change a flight to another week…”

“Hey, smartass,-”

“Lucky for you, you have me. I state once again,” Nat laughed. “I already checked into your flights to see if we can get a cheap reschedule.”

“How’d you know my login information?” Y/N asked, confused. 

“I have my ways, now don’t interrupt,” she scolded before continuing. “I was able to find you a flight around the same time, plenty of time to get to your rescheduled meeting, and it won’t cost you a hair off that pretty head of yours.”

“How’d you manage that?” Y/N asked with a smirk of her own now and a pop of her hip.

“I’ll say it again since apparently you’re deaf. I have. My ways,” the red head replied. 

“You sure you weren’t a spy in another life or something? Because sometimes you and Yelena have some strange tricks up your sleeves that I’ve only seen done in movies.”

“I would like the answer to that as well. Like how they coroerced me into a girls night while I was hiding in my apartment trying to take a relaxing night to read,” Melody spoke up. 

“Drink your juice, babygirl,” Yelena’s voice came quietly in the back. 

“With all that being said, we are gonna to let you go. We’re going to get all the details of last night out of this little one and go to a few clubs,” Nat explained. 

“Oh, I’d love to hear the details when you have them,” Y/N laughed. 

“I’ll have a nice 5 page paper ready for you tomorrow morning,” Yelena yelled from a distance.

“I’ll be expecting it. Now you girls go have a good time and please show Melody what she’s missing out on!”

“Can do, boss lady! Love you! See you next week!” 

With that, the phone call ended and Y/N looked at the empty lock screen. 

“I guess we’re staying a little longer.”

________________

“So, how’d it go?” Steve asked coming home from his early half shift. 

Bucky was sprawled across the couch with a pillow over his face, a sports playback running in the background and a beer that looked like he had been nursing all afternoon on the coffee table. 

“She looks great,” he mumbled into the cushion, but Steve couldn’t syfer the words.

“You’re going to have to say that again without a throw pillow over your face,” he chuckled, kicking off his shoes and throwing his keys by the door before heading to the nearby kitchen. 

“I said, she looks great!” Bucky all but grunted as he sat up. Frustration and annoyance clear in his answer. 

“And why do you sound like that’s a horrible thing?” Steve laughed again from the distance. 

Bucky groaned as he stood up and walked into the other room with Steve. He was parading through the fridge for an afternoon snack, or by the looks of the clock on the oven, lunch. 

It was 12:30 already?

“Because Steve, it makes it hurt all the more,” he pouted, crossing his arms as he leaned against the island in the middle of the space. 

“Her looking good, hurts you?” Steve asked, standing up with a tupperware bowl of leftovers in his hand. 

“I don’t know!” Bucky sneered at him, angry that his best friend wasn’t catching on to his feelings that even he didn’t understand. “I guess deep down, I was hoping she didn’t age well so that walking away would be easier. But there she was, walking in like fine wine. All mature and curvy, and… Perfect…” he mumbled the last part. “She did smack me though,” he added, thinking back with a dazed face. 

“Smack you?” Steve chuckled, popping the cold food in the microwave. 

“Our lawyer is blind. I asked a simple question of out of all the states to live in, why New York in that kind of condition?” Bucky said, hating how it sounded. “I realize now, after processing it, that was stupid and rude.”

“Hence why she smacked you,” Steve laughed, copying the brunette's stance on the opposite counter. “You’re an occupational therapist, Buck. Out of all the things to understand, it’s people adapting to their handicaps and disabilities.” He couldn’t help the laugh at his friend who seemed oblivious to the irony. 

“I was nervous, ok?!” Bucky defended, throwing his arms up and going to pace the room now. “Y/N and I had been sitting in awkward silence for the most part of the meeting so far, and that was the first piece of conversation that came to mind.”

“I’m hoping for your sake, he wasn’t a dick about it.”

“He wasn’t. He actually said he gets asked that a lot. Apparently, he hasn’t been blind all his life and said he’s lived here all that time. Helps when you grow up in the environment you live in.”

“Very true,” Steve agreed, grabbing his food and stirring it around before taking a bite and talking again. “Besides her looking ‘perfect’, did the process go well? You know, besides her reprimanding you like a mom?”

“Ha ha. You’re so funny,” Bucky deadpanned. “But yes. We signed our things and updated it all. Hey, did you know she’s a co-founder of Nat’s woman’s home? I guess not a co-founder, but investor?”

Steve finished his bite and shook his head. “Can’t say I did. It must be recent if that’s the case because neither Nat or Y/N told me about that.”

“I think it is, but damn…”

“Damn what?” Steve asked. 

“Well, at first she had me dropping my jaw at the fact that she did everything and more that she had hoped to do. She’s become an environmentalist like her grandmother and has started a whole business based on it.”

“I mean she was an environmentalist as soon as her GG had her walking. Remember how she would always take our straws at restaurants and have the waitress take them back so we didn’t ‘kill the turtles’? And that was before that was a like a worldwide trend,” Steve remenised, moving to the living room to eat at the couch. Bucky following. 

“God, yes. She started carrying like 10 reusable straws with her as soon as they came out with them. That and remember the amount of reusable bags she had in her backseat any given time of the week?” Bucky laughed, joining him in thinking back to the dated memories. 

“So many she would hand them out to people in parking lots at grocery stores to use themselves,” Steve added. “God, she really loves this planet. I admire her passion though. We need everyone to have a heart for our home like that.”

“She made it everyone's mission around her to know just how important it was,” Bucky smiled at the thought as he looked off in the distance, wrapped in the memories he loved. But that wasn’t the point. The point was he would never be close with her like that again. What they had was done and over… Or would be. “Funny thing actually…” Bucky chuckled awkwardly. 

“What’s that?” Steve asked, looking at the TV in front of him. 

“We may or may not still be married…”

There was a pause as Steve stopped mid-chew and slowly turned his gaze from the baseball reruns on the screen to Bucky with a tight smile. 

“Excuse me?”

“I guess that wasn’t the endgame for today’s meeting…”

“What was?”

“Getting things updated and signed so that the papers were actually ready for our divorce,” Bucky answered. 

“So she’s still Y/N Barnes?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t say that to her face. She looks like she wants to physically throw up when you call her that,” Bucky slouched in his chair. His hand coming up to cover his face as he rubbed his temples with his thumb and middle finger. 

“So still married?”

“Still married.”

“How long?” Steve sighed, putting his food on the counter and leaning back in his own seat. 

“As long as it takes to make up the new divorce settlements and get them signed and sent back in. Until then… I’m a married man.”

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[tomtenadia]

Remember us - part 5

Hello everyone....

Your weekly dose of angst is here... but in this part we have a bit of domestic fluff...

CW: mention of miscarriage and depression

-----

“Aelin, please.” His voice gruff with pain.

“I said get out.” She snarled at him from the bed.

Rowan moved a step towards her doing the exact opposite of what she had told him “I am not.” His arms folded at his chest “do you really think that being alone will help? That kicking me out will heal the pain of losing our daughter?”

Aelin sobbed hard and threw the pillow at him and he took the hit “don’t.”

“I lost her too. Will you accept that the pain is not only yours?” He shouted back “I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest. And it fucking hurts because she was my baby girl too.”

“Stop…” her sobs grew in intensity “You have no idea of the pain.”

Rowan moved closer “No I don’t. I did not carry her in me for five months. I don’t know that pain.” He caressed her head “but she had a hold on my heart since the day you showed me the sonogram.”

“You are hurting me.” She said quietly looking away from him “and I need you to go.”

“Fireheart…”

“I said get out.” She shouted.

With his heart breaking, Rowan left the room.

Rowan woke up with a gaps, feeling the desperate need to get air in his lungs. He drew a hand on his face and felt tears. Had he been crying?

The memory was still vivid in his mind and it left him with unbearable anguish in his heart. In the dream he had felt both their pain. It had been real. His thumb reached for the ring on his fourth finger a gesture he had been doing a lot recently.

The memory had left him in a daze. How had they survived such deep pain? How could two people recover from such destructive sorrow?

But they did. Somehow their marriage had proven stronger than loss.

He sighed and took his phone to look at more picture of his family. He had so many that it took him a lot to go through them all. When he unlocked the phone he saw a text from Aelin sitting there, waiting for him.

Eagerly he opened it I am going back to work today, is it okay if I come and visit you?

Like a desperate man Rowan texted back as fast as he could please, it would make me very happy. The tv seems to be a very poor companion.

After he sent the text he realised his words had been true. He needed to see her.

Great. I am taking Tom to the nursery and I am on my way.

His lips tugged upwards in a smile. Then he made himself presentable. Aelin had brought him clothes and Evalin had brought some more so slowly and very carefully, he walked to the wardrobe. His right leg still getting used to have weight back on. Once he was done he went back to bed and fixed his ruffled hair. He was nervous. He had said to Evalin that his heart told him to try and that was what he was going to do. Apologise first. Then slowly start to get back to his old life. He knew it was going to be a tough ride but their time apart had increased that tug between them. He was afraid to admit that he had missed her daily visits.

Aelin arrived an hour later and as soon as she walked into his room, his heart raced.

“Hi you,” she said softly, still standing on the door.

He gave her a smile and with his head motioned to the chair. She took the offer and sat in front of him.

“Rowan—” she started but he stopped her.

“No, let me go first, please.”

Aelin nodded and he took a moment to gather his thoughts. This was his chance to right his stupidity.

“I am sorry for what I said.” He told her “but I need you to understand how frightening and overwhelming this is for me.” Pine green eyes met blue “memories have started to trickle back. Some happy some more painful, but they helped me understand us a bit better. When I married you I promised we would face this adventure together.” He took a deep breath “You said that life can be unpredictable and cruel but that at each other’s side we could conquer anything.” He told her grabbing the hand that was on the bed near his leg “what I am trying to say is that if you are happy to take back a husband in less than minted condition, I will be grateful for the help.”

Aelin stood and kissed his forehead “Yeah, yeah I will take you back.” She sobbed hard, standing in front of him.

“This is not going to be easy.

“I know.” She brushed his hair in a loving motion and the gesture felt familiar to Rowan “but our marriage has withstood far worse.”

“I know. I saw a memory of it.”

Aelin sat back down, the smile disappearing from her features “but you fought for us. Even when I was so broken that I was ready to give up everything. You brought us out of the darkness.”

“Yrene said they can let me go home in a couple of days but she needs to know that I have a place where to go.”

Aelin took his hand “you are coming home.”

*

Rowan was in Aelin’s car and together they were driving home.

He had been so nervous that he barely slept. In the past couple of days Aelin had visited whenever she could and had discussed the new challenge ahead. Evalin was going to stay. Thomas would go to nursery but Freyja would stay with her grandma. Rowan had agreed that he could not yet be trusted with being alone with an infant.

He was nervous about meeting their kids; Thomas in particular. He was the one who remembered him the most and did not want to break the boy’s heart.

Aelin had tried to explain to Thomas that his dad had been in hospital and unwell and that his memories had disappeared. Thomas had cried at the sadness of his dad not remembering him. She had told all of that to Rowan.

“I am terrified.”

“Don’t. Acknowledge Thomas, play with him. Even if you don’t remember things just go with it.”

Rowan sighed and then he saw Aelin park in front of a lovely detached house with a garden at the front, a swing set and a tree with a treehouse.

“The tree has a treehouse on it.” He noticed, admiring their house.

Aelin chuckled, “you built it for Tom last year. You two would sleep in there from time to time and pretend to be on some sort of incredible adventure.”

Rowan smiled and then opened the door of the car and grabbed his walking stick. Dorian had assured him that it was time to leave the crutches behind and use the stick. They had practiced together until he was comfortable with it.

Aelin grabbed his bag and joined him “let’s go, mum is making lunch and I am starving.”

“You are always hungry.” He said to her and Aelin stopped in her tracks.

“What did you just say?”

“It just came out, I am sorry.”

She turned fully to him and smiled “you said that to me a lot. Together with complaining about my diet.” She took his free hand “come on buzzard, time to meet our two terrors.”

As soon as they walked into the house and Aelin announced their arrival a little blonde hurricane crashed into him, grabbing his legs “Dad, you are back.”

Rowan looked down and saw his son with his arms wrapped around his legs, green eyes shining with happiness.

His hand brushed his blonde hair “I am.”

“Mum, can I play with him?” The boy asked eagerly grabbing his father’s hand.

“Later, Tom. Dad just got back. Give him some time.”

In that instant he noticed Evalin appear with a girl in her arms “welcome home, Rowan.”

“Thank you, Evalin.” He said, not being able to stare away from the little girl. She was his clone.

Freyja seemed to recognise him and leaned forward, extending her arms to him.

Rowan looked at Aelin almost as if to ask permission and she nodded. He took the girl and sat down on the sofa. Freyja’s head leaned on his shoulder and Rowan’s hand went to her back in a protective gesture. A moment later Thomas joined them and hugged his sister and a bit of his dad.

Aelin sobbed at the scene. They had both been scared. Both worried. Because Rowan had confessed her that hurting the kids was the last thing he wanted. But now looking at that precious moment, she realised they would be fine. Thomas was easy going and Freyja always had a deeper connection with her father. And she knew, from the way Rowan had taken his daughter in his arms that no memory loss would ever took away the bond they had.

“Hi, my love.” He whispered to the girl, inhaling her scent. Freyja snuggled closer. “Come to my side, Tom.” The boy grinned and climbed on the sofa and on his knees he turned to his dad and hugged them again “I missed you, dad.”

“Well, you need to tell me everything you did while I was away.”

Aelin’s hand went to her stomach and smiled tenderly at the man in front of her. He could not yet tell his son he had missed him so he had found a way not to disappoint him.

“Mum, you come too.”

Aelin brushed her tears away and sat on the arm of the sofa just beside Rowan. It was the first time they were that close. Rowan turned his head and stared in the depths of her blue eyes. His eyes moved down to her lips and then back up. That thread between them pulled hard and before he knew it, he was kissing her. His body recognising hers. He pulled away only when he heard Thomas disgusted sounds.

Aelin stared at him with an expression he could not decipher. Maybe she was mad at him for kissing her? But it felt right. In his soul, kissing her had been right.

“You cheeky monkey.” Aelin stood and grabbed Thomas and started tickling him and the boy and Aelin’s laughter was the best music for Rowan’s ears.

*

After lunch was over the kids had gone out for a walk with their grandma and Aelin had given him a tour of the house. Rowan was impressed. They had a lovely house with four bedrooms and spacious enough to welcome a big family.

“You lost your parents when you were 20. They left you a nice stash of money that you never used. When we got married you used that money to buy this house. Our home.”

She sat at his side on the sofa, with a cup of herbal tea in her hands.

“I am sorry I kissed you. I should have asked first. I am sorry.” He looked away embarrassed at his gesture.

Aelin placed the tea on the table then grabbed his face with her hand and turned to him “Ro, you are my husband. You don’t have to ask for permission to kiss me.”

“I know, but I don’t know where we stand on that aspect of us.” He explained looking at her “I don’t know where I stand. I kissed you because it felt right, but I don’t think I can go any further right now.”

Aelin nodded “of course.” That was probably their last big challenge. There was so much to deal with right now that sex was very low on her priority list although her hormones were having another opinion and that kiss had awoken in her the need for him, she had to be patient “but you can kiss me anytime and without asking, if you feel like it.” And winked at him.

He gave her a smirk that was so familiar that for a moment she felt like Rowan was truly back.

She stared into his pine green eyes while her hand was still on his cheek and then she moved and her lips met his and Rowan did not pull away. He just stood for a moment but then his mouth parted and opened for her and Aelin, at the invitation, deepened the kiss feeling the need to connect with him again.

Rowan froze for an instant at the kiss but as she did not move away he let it happen and slowly he melted in the feeling of her lips on his. Aelin’s hand sneaked on his back, pulling him closer and as Aelin deepened the kiss Rowan felt a strange feeling surge in him. Was it passion? It burned in him that strange desire and when Aelin’s tongue brushed his a moan left Rowan and he pulled back, not sure about what was happening between them.

When they pulled apart they were both breathless and Aelin caressed his face and smiled “it looks like this part between us hasn’t changed.”

Rowan lifted an eyebrow and Aelin chuckled “the fire between us. Before we had the kids we sometimes spent entire days off in bed.”

The top of Rowan’s ears turned red and she giggled and kissed him again and Rowan this time did not hesitate and her hands sneaked under his t-shirt and after a few more minutes of their make out session Rowan pulled back and stared deeply at her “you are stunning,” he whispered. He had thought that from the beginning. Rowan leaned back on the sofa and Aelin snuggled closed to his chest, inhaling deeply his scent and his arm went around her back.

“If you are uncomfortable, you tell me.” She said to him, her hand close to his heart.

Rowan shook his head “this feels nice.” His head turned to her “I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels right.”

“Hold me.”

And Rowan pulled Aelin to him, enveloping her in his strong arms.

He thought that perhaps, with her at his side, not everything was lost.

He closed his eyes and welcomed his dreams.

[robininthelabyrinth]

extra 1 for Tedious Joys, with thanks to all the suggestions from people engaged in the discussion on tumblr, your ideas were fantastic and I used all that I could fit in!

-

Before Lan Qiren left to attend the first discussion conference held after Nie Mingjue’s ascension to the position of Nie sect leader – a notion that still gave Lan Qiren a stomachache merely to think of it – Lao Nie made him promise three times over that he would keep an eye on his painfully earnest, straightforward eldest son and keep him from doing anything foolish.

“Of course I will,” Lan Qiren finally said, exasperated: any more nagging, and he was going to be late. When he’d thought to himself that he’d picked up a wife, he hadn’t really expected this part of it; if anything, he assumed he’d be the one doing the nagging. “You know perfectly well that he’s as dear to me as my nephews! I don’t know why you feel the need to even ask.”

“Your nephews have good self-control, a trait my Nie sect most definitively lacks,” Lao Nie said. “We’re all in agreement that it’s not yet time to challenge Hanhan. What if A-Jue forgets that and, I don’t know, punches him in the face?”

“He won’t,” Lan Qiren said. “He’s a good boy, your son; you’ve told him not to, so he won’t. Anyway, if it really comes to it, I won’t let him.”

Finally, Lao Nie let him leave, and Lan Qiren made his way to the Lotus Pier for the discussion conference. Nie Mingjue and his retinue had arrived shortly before he did, the circles under his eyes and the small signs of mourning he still wore making him look older than he ought to be; there was a scowl fixed on his face that did not disappear entirely even when he nodded to Lan Qiren, although it did soften a little.

Lan Qiren’s heart hurt for him. To manage an entire sect at fifteen – even with support, the pressures of it must be well-nigh unbearable, and it looked as though Nie Mingjue had started using his cultivation to get him through all the nights of missed sleep, as unwise as that approach was in the long term.

It was strange to go to the habitual meeting of the Great Sect leaders, the one they had with each other before they mixed with all the other sect leaders, and bow to Nie Mingjue as if to a peer, rather than to a junior.

Stranger still to see Wen Ruohan do the same, a mocking smile on his lips as he raised his head from the greeting.

“Sect Leader Nie,” he said, and there was almost some sense of satisfaction as he said the unfamiliar words – no one had had to use them when it was Lao Nie, of course. “I bid you welcome, as the newest member to the ranks of leadership among our Great Sects.”

Nie Mingjue did not respond with words the way he had when similar sentiments had been offered by others – no Please give me guidance here, though that was understandable given what the entire cultivation world knew he believed about Wen Ruohan – and contented himself by merely jerking his head again in a nod.

“Your father was a very involved member of our little group,” Wen Ruohan continued, and was he really going to offer Nie Mingjue his condolences for Lao Nie’s death? Propriety demanded he do so, but he’d never cared much for propriety, and given his actions it would be an offense to all sensibility. “One could hardly hope to match him in his passion and enthusiasm in all that he did. I look forward to seeing you...take his place.”

His eyes flickered over Nie Mingjue from head to toe, blatant in its unspoken unspeakable implication, even as Nie Mingjue’s eyes went round with disbelief.

A moment later, it ended up being Lan Qiren’s fist that found its way to Wen Ruohan’s face.

Luckily, Wen Ruohan found it funny - laughing at how he’d managed to break Lan sect discipline, rather than taking offense - and no war was started.

Whether that would last once Lan Qiren reported the substance of the conversation back to Lao Nie, however...

-

“You know,” Lan Qiren said, staring at the ceiling and wishing it would come down on top of him. “It’s very nice that you’re all such good friends.”

His nephews both bobbed their heads in a polite nod.

“I’m sure Mingjue and Huaisang greatly appreciate it.”

Another nod.

“However, they are now sect leader and sect heir, and we must treat them with the dignity that those positions require.”

A third nod. He was starting to wonder if they’d been replaced by dolls with loose necks.

“This is why they were assigned their very own rooms in our guest quarters, rather than spending their nights in yours.”

“Nie Huaisang will be lonely if he sleeps by himself,” Lan Wangji said, stubborn as ever. “My room is better.”

“Wangji. Yesterday, you chased Huaisang up two separate hills with your sword, sat on him, made him cry, and then wouldn’t let him up until he admitted you were superior in every respect.”

Lan Wangji smiled briefly, a rare and beautiful sight that warmed the heart. “Mm. Deserved it.”

Lan Qiren flailed a little. “Wangji, do you even like him?”

“No.”

“Then why do you care where he sleeps?”

“If he sleeps badly, he will do even worse than he already does,” Lan Wangji said. “Someone might make fun of him.”

“…and what happens then?”

“Bite.”

“Wangji! We’ve discussed this, no biting people. Not even if they’re making fun of your friend!”

Lan Wangji nodded in a way that suggested he was only being agreeable so that Lan Qiren stopped insisting on silly things like Nie Huaisang getting his own bedroom instead of sleeping on the spare bed in Lan Wangji’s and not actually agreeing in the slightest.

They were still working on the biting thing.

Giving up, Lan Qiren turned his gaze to his older nephew.

Lan Xichen squirmed. “…sometimes I go to stay in his rooms instead?”

“You’re not even planning on coming up with an excuse?”

“Lying is forbidden, uncle.”

Lan Qiren pinched the bridge of his nose.

-

“For this sort of thing, you go to your eldest uncle,” Lan Qiren said flatly, and after a moment of contemplation, Lan Wangji conceded that he had a point.

After all, Lao Nie had been married several times, presumably intentionally, whereas Lan Qiren had ended up with a wife through circumstance and luck.

Lao Nie was a very good wife, though, even if for some reason Lan Wangji was required to refer to him as eldest uncle rather than calling him aunt – though that was mostly his uncle’s preference. Lao Nie thought being called auntie was hilarious.

In retrospect, though, Lao Nie’s tendency to think things were hilarious was a lot less endearing when it was aimed at him.

“Just tell him you like him,” Lao Nie suggested, as if that wasn’t the most ridiculous Nie sect style advice possible. “Tell him you want to spend more time with him.”

Lan Wangji shook his head firmly.

“How is this Wei Wuxian supposed to figure it out, then?”

He wouldn’t. Obviously. The question was how to get rid of the feelings, not how to actually let Wei Wuxian know that they existed.

“I don’t know, I find sex works really well to deal with repressed emotions associated with pining.”

Lan Wangji wanted to die.

Or possibly find and bully Nie Huaisang the way he used to when he was a kid. Not that he would, of course, he was above that, and also Nie Huaisang was really good at getting revenge and he couldn’t risk that happening where Wei Wuxian might see.

“Sex is not a valid solution in all cases,” Lan Wangji’s uncle interjected.

“Ah, Qiren, Qiren. Are you still holding Hanhan against me?”

“Yes, I am. He tried to kill you.”

“So?” Lao Nie shrugged. “That describes basically everyone I ever slept with.”

“Have you ever considered that that may be part of your problem?”

“Don’t act like I’m the only one! Look at Wangji here; the first thing he noticed about this Wei Wuxian character was his excellent fighting skills – a moonlight duel on the rooftops, how romantic –”

“You don’t know what romance is –”

Lan Wangji was just going to go back to his unrequited pining.

It couldn’t be worse than having to listen to this argument again.

-

Lan Wangji was fighting frantically, but he already knew his sword would not be sufficient.

They were going to burn the library.

All those precious books..!

His uncle had already sent Lan Xichen away with the most important ones, but Lan Wangji didn’t want to lose any of them. These books had been his friends growing up, the source of his strength and the consolation in his loneliness – their pages bore silent witness to his childish tears, the imprints of his dirty fingerprints, the good times and the bad. There were books he had thumbed through a thousand times until he knew them down to the last idiosyncratic quiver in their calligraphy and books he had not yet acquainted himself with, had only seen on the shelves and thought one day. To lose them now, old friend and future friend alike, would be to break his heart.

There was a sound behind him and he spun, already tired, exhausted, and it was Wen Xu behind him, the leader of the invading Wen sect cultivators himself. He was smiling so cruelly, holding a fire talisman aloft like a flare, knowing that Lan Wangji wouldn’t make it in time to stop him –

A hand wrapped itself around Wen Xu’s wrist from behind, freezing the motion.

Freezing not just him, but all the Wen cultivators around him, each one of their faces twisting in horror as they realized that a cultivator dressed in astere mourning white that might be mistaken for the colors of the Lan sect had managed to get through their forces to stand at their master’s side, even if his hands were empty of any weapon.

Their horror quickly turned to agony, and then nothing at all, as the reconstituted Jiwei flew through the air, battering through their swords with overwhelming force and piercing their bodies, as vicious and free as if she were alive – there was nothing that quite compared to the Nie sect’s fierce sabers when unleashed at the beck and call of their masters, a weapon against which regular spiritual weapons had difficulty holding up.

With their bodies fell their fire talismans, their flares, and suddenly Lan Wangji felt hope thudding in his chest: one man could not change the tide of war, but he could change the course of a single battle, especially if he could convince Wen Xu to order a retreat.

If Wen Xu ordered a retreat now –

The library would survive.

“Tell Hanhan that Lao Nie said ‘hello’,” Lao Nie said in Wen Xu’s ear – his face was as pale as a ghost in the fire and moonlight, his lips red as blood and his smile full of viciousness like a slash across his face –and with a single twist he snapped the bone of Wen Xu’s wrist.

-

“It really isn’t me!” Wei Wuxian protested. “For one thing, didn’t the sightings of old Sect Leader Nie start before I took up demonic cultivation?”

“I don’t think it was you that did it,” Nie Mingjue said, not for the first time. His eyes kept flickering around the room as if seeking help, and his expression, to those that did not know him well, was stormy; Wei Wuxian saw this and clearly panicked, continuing to try to explain.

To those that did know Nie Mingjue well, it was immediately obvious that he was trying very hard not to laugh.

Lan Xichen sympathized.

It wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s fault that it served their purposes for the moment to have it be thought that Lao Nie was a spectre arisen from his grave in search of personal vengeance on Wen Ruohan – it was certainly causing Wen Ruohan no end of agony, judging by the way his strategy got a lot less rational and a lot more frenzied whenever Lao Nie put in an appearance – and if he was even slightly more discreet a personality, they would have simply brought him in on the secret already.

They were planning to – Lan Wangji had insisted, looking pained on his secret beloved’s behalf (secret in the sense that Wei Wuxian didn’t know about it, not secret in the sense that everyone else in their small family knew about it) – but they hadn’t had a chance. Lao Nie had insisted on being there to make things clear, since apparently he’d accidentally-on-purpose bumped into Wei Wuxian a few times in the Cloud Recesses while masquerading as a Lan sect elder so that he could evaluate his nephew-by-proxy’s crush, and he hadn’t yet arrived.

Which led to the current situation of Wei Wuxian being earnest and Nie Mingjue attempting to send mental smoke signals to Nie Huaisang in an effort to have the latter rescue him.

To no one’s surprise, Nie Huaisang was being no help at all.

In fact, his occasional well-timed sobs of “Wei-xiong! I thought we were friends! My father’s corpse! How could you?!” were in fact making things notably worse.

“I didn’t! I really didn’t!” Wei Wuxian yowled.

Lan Xichen was not going to laugh.

He wasn’t.

-

“And who’s to say the Yiling Patriarch won’t try to take charge of the Nie sect, too..?”

“Well, for one thing, I’m actually alive,” Lao Nie said loudly, and Lan Xichen flinched at first before relaxing. He’d forgotten, somehow, that Lao Nie had been the most shameless member of the last generation; it was no surprise that he, who could be as blunt as his son when he wanted to be, would address the whispered rumors drifting around them directly and without pretense. “Wei Wuxian may be a demonic cultivator who created a conscious fierce corpse, but no one has yet suggested with any plausibility that his abilities extend to living people who were just in hiding – which is a good thing, given how many people here would fall into that categorization.”

There was an awkward silence.

Sect Leader Jin coughed. “No one is suggesting that you’re Wei Wuxian’s puppet, Lao Nie,” he said, even though someone had very clearly been suggesting exactly that and if anyone believed that they had done so within Sect Leader Jin’s home without his knowledge then Lan Xichen was worried about what else they’d be willing to believe. “We’re merely expressing concern regarding his increasingly reckless actions – and on behalf of the Wen sect, no less! Especially with him having custody of such a powerful tool as the Tiger Seal, it is a little suspicious…”

“Wait, are you suggesting that you think Wei Wuxian has been possessed?” Lao Nie said. “By Hanhan? That’s ridiculous; they’re nothing alike. Wei Wuxian attended the hunt at Phoenix Mountain and didn’t hit on me once, there’s no way Hanhan is possessing him.”

Sect Leader Jin’s eye twitched.

Lan Xichen did not smile, but it was a challenge. Truly there was no one quite like Lao Nie when he was in full swing.

“Still, if people are having that sort of nonsense float around, I think it makes perfect sense for me to go check up on him to see how he’s doing,” Lao Nie continued. “I’m a respected member of the previous generation, and no one knows Hanhan better than me. Better still, I’ll take Qiren with me; we’ll make a holiday of it – it’s the least we deserve, really, now that we’re both retired sect leaders.”

“I suppose it would be more appropriate to send someone removed from active politics,” Lan Qiren said, voice a little toneless and neutral as always. “That would allow us to avoid any unfortunate implications that other sects were seeking to utilize the bad reputation of demonic cultivation to extract the Tiger Seal for their own purposes.”

Lan Xichen’s uncle was a renowned teacher, but equally well known for his inability to read the subtle nuances in social situations – no one else could have gotten away with just saying that when everyone was painfully aware that it was the subtext of Sect Leader Jin’s actions.

Though, actually, it was possible his uncle just hadn’t realized it was, in fact, meant to be subtext.

“I think that makes perfect sense,” Lan Xichen interjected before Sect Leader Jin – or Jin Guangyao, for that matter – could say anything. His sworn brother had never entirely forgiven Lao Nie for showing up at the last possible moment to murder Wen Ruohan personally before he could claim his head himself, even though the fame he had won for being their spy had still been sufficient to get him a spot in the Jin family, and as a result he was inclined to use his clever tongue to oppose Lao Nie just because he could. “Sect Leader Jiang, Wei Wuxian is a member of your sect, and therefore you have primary charge of him. Would you be willing to take Lao Nie and my uncle with you when you go to see him to act as impartial judges?”

“But I don’t want to be a third wheel on their old people sex honeymoon!” Jiang Cheng blurted out.

There was another moment of silence, and then Lao Nie burst out in howling laughter.

Nie Mingjue followed suit only an instant behind him, and of course once Nie Mingjue was laughing then there was no hope for Lan Xichen; he’d never been able to resist Nie Mingjue’s laughter, so rare after he’d become sect leader. Within moments, the tense atmosphere Sect Leader Jin had so carefully cultivated had been utterly shattered and the entire room was sobbing with hilarity, excluding only Lan Qiren who was scowling at all of them and Lan Wangji whose laughter was entirely in the way his eyes were crinkled in the corners.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Qiren said icily as his former student cowered in front of him. “I will have you know that Lao Nie and I are not in a sexual relationship –”  

“Wait, you’re not?” Sect Leader Jin blurted out, clearly despite himself, and that just set the whole room off again.

-

“Welcome to the Unclean Realm,” Lao Nie said.

“Since when do former sect leaders act to greet people at the door?” Wei Wuxian said, grinning at him: they had gotten on splendidly ever since the whole ‘did I resurrect you from the dead by accident’ question had resolved, and Lao Nie helping him out of the tough spot with the Wen sect by arranging his marriage to Lan Wangji had sealed his approval of him forever.

That was why he was arriving with the Lan sect delegation, after all, although Jiang Cheng had kicked his heels around at the entrance in order to ambush him – he wanted to ask some questions about Jiang Yanli’s upcoming wedding plans – and of course the Jin sect had gotten suspicious that they were up to something and waited as well so they were now coming in as one big group.

At least it gave Lan Xichen some time to chat with Jin Guangyao, who seemed much happier to be spending time away from the rest of his family; based on what he’d overheard of their conversation, they were scheming to get Nie Mingjue to relax a bit more and let his father temporarily take up sect leader duties again now that he and Lan Qiren were spending half the year at the Unclean Realm.  

“I’m on punishment duty,” Lao Nie said, looking delighted by it.

Which, hey, seemed weird, but based on everything Lan Wangji had told him about the former sect leader Nie (and his own mysterious ‘eldest uncle’, as he’d been known while he was at the Lan sect) and his former exploits, it seemed very in character for the man. And, well, Wei Wuxian wasn’t really in any position to throw stones…

“Eldest Uncle,” Lan Xichen said, looking over. “Did you do something to irritate Uncle again?”

“I didn’t! It was something different, actually, which I’m not at liberty to disclose to you.”

Oh, now Wei Wuxian was curious, and so was everyone else – Jiang Cheng sent him a ‘you don’t have shame, why don’t you ask’ sort of look at once – and since he did not, in fact, have shame, he asked, “Are you sure? What could it possibly be that you did?”

“Oh, Xiao Nie knows what he did,” an old woman in Nie sect colors said as she passed by. “And he’s going to stand there until he admits that he was wrong.”

“I’ll be here until I collapse,” Lao Nie explained proudly, but by that point everyone had stopped caring about whatever new thing he’d done in light of the newest twist.

“Did she just call you Xiao Nie?” Jiang Cheng said, sounding betrayed.

“…yes? She’s my great-grandaunt, she can call me anything she likes?”

“It’s just wrong,” Wei Wuxian agreed. “Isn’t it just wrong?”

“It is a bit wrong,” Jin Zixuan said, looking perturbed.

“Very wrong, even,” Lan Xichen said. “I didn’t know anyone did that.”

“No one does,” Lao Nie said. “Now stop gossiping and go inside already!”

“They say married couples start to act like each other,” Wei Wuxian said to Lan Wangji, who looked amused. “There really seems to be some truth to it – do you think he’ll start reciting Lan sect rules next? Ooh, or musical cultivation?”

Finding out that Lan Qiren was apparently the musical cultivation equivalent of a mad scientist in his spare time had been the happiest moment in Wei Wuxian’s life.

“Just wait until you see what Uncle is like when he’s drunk,” Lan Wangji said, and stop. What?

That was a thing?

Wei Wuxian had to make that happen right away.

[ailelie]

strong

It starts when Jirou overhears a conversation between Aizawa and Present Mic that could be flirty or not. This leads to a lunchtime discussion of flirty vs. friendly and whether or not the two teachers are each other's types. This then spins into a conversation about "types" in general.

Lunch ends before Todoroki is forced to answer with his own "type."

Class is a special lecture on heroism and psychology. This brings up the cycle of abuse and Todoroki's mental "no."

After dinner, the conversation lazily turns back to types and Todoroki gets called out for not giving his before. "Strong," he says. He gets teased for not giving more--hair color, sense of humor, hobbies, gender--and he's like "those aren't important." Likes? Dislikes? They push. Then he thinks and shakes his head. Strong encompasses everything important.

Eventually the conversation circles back to the instigating situation: Aizawa and Present Mic: Flirty or Friendly? The students start to scheme and this draws in Mina who pulls in the rest of the squad.

Bakugou thinks the whole thing is stupid. Todoroki is surprised to agree with him. Bakugou also points out that even if they are, maybe they don't want anyone to know. And, besides, what does it matter? (Secretly Bakugou knows he isn't straight and he'd hate to be outed by nosy idiots).

Next day, they're assigned a project. They can work in groups. Groups form and discussions, but the project conversation keeps slipping back to the schemes. Todoroki accidentally makes eye contact with Bakugou and it seems he is just as exasperated. Then Bakugou asks the teacher if they can change up groups if they want to do something else for the project. Teacher says "yes" as long as they finalize groups by the end of the period. Then he asks if he can work alone. That is a "no." So Bakugou considers his options (Yaoyorozu’s group would be focused, but he does not want to work with Iida, etc) and ends up approaching Todoroki who is looking about as miserable as his face allows at his own table. Bakugou confirms he isn't in on the scheme yet and says they should work together instead. Todoroki agrees, much to the surprise and dismay of his friends. He just wants to get the project done.

Near the end of the period, Shinsou drops into a chair by them and says they have to be less annoying than Aoyama's group. And then asks why they peeled off from the others. Bakugou says the rest are too focused on whether or not the teachers are dating. Shinsou suppresses a smirk and says "They aren't." "Like I care?" "We're not talking about that," Todoroki says, pulling them back to the project.

They hash out a study schedule for the project. They've got a month to pull it all together. Finding a quiet place to study is difficult, though.

There is training. Todoroki watches Bakugou finish up a set and comments, "You're strong." Bakugou a bit high on endorphins and beating his personal best just says "No shit."

When their study spot is basically invaded for the third time in a row, Shinsou groans and says he might have somewhere they can study instead. He just has to ask first. Bakugou frowns because that reminds him of an option, too. So, until Shinsou can figure out whether his idea will work, they decide to try working on their project at Bakugou’s house.

Todoroki sees how Bakugou and his mother interact, which reminds him of the lesson on cycles of abuse. On the train back to UA he asks, out of nowhere, “Do you think all kids end up like their parents?”

Shinsou and Bakugou immediately answer “No.” Todoroki is like, “But your mother…” / “But nothing. That’s just how we talk. What’s the point in sulking around or hiding what you mean?” The two then glance to Shinsou who’s just like, “My parents abandoned me. I hope I can clear that bar.” / Bakugou’s eyes widen a bit at that, but he only says, “Yeah. We decide what we’re like. Not them.”

And for the second time that week, Todoroki thinks strong.

A few days later, Shinsou announces he has a place they can study, but it is top secret so they can’t tell anyone. The other two agree. (Bakugou’s house isn’t bad, but it isn’t super close either. Walking distance is much better than a train). So after classes, he walks them away from UA, into the nearby neighborhood, and to an apartment.

Inside the apartment is Present Mic with his hair wet and down, frowning over some papers with a grading pen in his hand. He glances up when Shinsou flicks on the hall light. Shinsou signs something and Mic replies and gets up. “Wha--” Todoroki starts to ask quietly and Bakugou replies before Shinsou can, “He’s going to put his hearing aids back in.” “You sign?” Shinsou asks, surprised. “I’m probably going to be deaf by the time I’m 30,” Bakugou replies with forced nonchalance. “I figured I should learn before I had to.” “You should talk with Yamada.” Bakugou raises his brows. “You live with Yamada?” Meanwhile Todoroki is looking around the room and notices the photographs. “And Aizawa?” he adds. Shinsou just smirks again. “You’ll see.”

Present Mic returns with his hair pulled back. “I didn’t realize today was study day,” he says with a bright smile. “Why don’t you take your friends to the table, Hitoshi? I’ll put together a snack.” He does just that and then returns to the living room and his grading. The whole thing reminds Todoroki of Bakugou’s mother when she and Bakugou weren’t arguing. And he asks, carefully because he knows he misses social cues, “Is Mr. Yamada your father?”

This, of all things, is what flusters Shinsou. “Adopted,” he says. “He and Aizawa.” Bakugou laughs. “So that’s why they’re not dating. They’re married?” Shinsou confirms this and reinforces the secrecy.

At some point Aizawa returns to the apartment and Hizashi invites Todoroki and Bakugou to stay for dinner. Then Aizawa offers to walk them back to UA before he goes on patrol. “We won’t say anything,” Todoroki promises; he knows the value of secrets. Then, after a long minute, Bakugou adds, quietly, “But maybe you should? It’d have been nice to know sooner it wasn’t impossible.” Aizawa only nods. He walks them to the gates and tells them to get to bed.

On his way to his room, Todoroki realizes the implications of what Bakugou had said and once again marvels at his strength. Speaking out against a teacher and professional hero, revealing something about himself like that--compounded with his self-confidence and drive and physical fitness…

Todoroki sinks onto his bed and thinks oh.

Once the thought is there, he has trouble not paying attention to Bakugou. It is a Problem.

He is not subtle. Bakugou calls him out on it and Todoroki answers honestly, “I want to understand you.” Like Bakugou is some kind of complicated puzzle.

Really, the only thing keeping Todoroki from becoming the center of attention as everyone tries to understand why Bakugou is the center of his attention is that the flirty v. friendly now duelling schemes are still on. By this point the teachers know. Yamada is having fun with it. Aizawa is ignoring it.

And Todoroki and Bakugou have dinner at their apartment about twice a week. The project ends (and they ace it), but this routine persists.

It is strange watching the two teachers interact with Shinsou. Todoroki even watches Aizawa and Shinsou train one afternoon and is again resentful about his father and own training. And it builds. They go to the apartment and everyone is so nice and family like. And the teachers ask Shinsou about his grades and tease him over his crush on some girl they never outright name. And it is this fury building. He knows how to swallow back his anger, all of his emotions really, but he’s been letting his guard down more at UA and apparently he’s forgotten the trick of it when he has this much going on inside of him (because it isn’t just the fury; it is also his confusion about Bakugou, his worries about his mother, etc). And on the way back to UA, he quietly demands to know why Aizawa never hurt Shinsou during training.

Why didn’t he hurt him? Why didn’t he insult him? Why? He’s crying but doesn’t realize it. Bakugou is frozen. And then Aizawa is hugging him and suggesting that they return to the apartment and talk instead. Todoroki is calming but everything is still spinning around him. Aizawa asks if Bakugou can return to UA alone and Todoroki surprises himself by saying “No. He can come.” Because Todoroki has no idea what he feels about Bakugou, not really, but he knows the other boy is strong and right now he needs strength.

They return. Yamada sees them and murmurs that he’ll make tea. Aizawa takes Todoroki to the couch. Shinsou signs to Bakugou asking what happened. Bakugou replies that he has no idea. Icyhot (and yes, Todoroki’s name signs are that combination) just started crying. Aizawa interrupts the conversation by asking Bakugou to join Todoroki on the couch. Yamada brings in tea and Aizawa starts asking questions. Bakugou isn’t sure what he’s doing there until he feels Todoroki lean very slightly against his shoulder. A cat jumps into his lap. His voice is basically a monotone, but Bakugou realizes he’s still freaked out. And, as he listens to what he’s saying, he realizes why. Shinsou sits on the floor on Todoroki’s other side and leans his shoulder against Todoroki’s knees.

And after the talking is done and Todoroki is staring down at his cold, undrunk tea and the teachers are in the kitchen talking silently. Bakugou says, “You will never be your old man, Icyhot. I’d kick your ass if you tried.” For some reason this makes Todoroki huff a small laugh. “Good.”

The teachers return. They have extra futons. The boys will stay the night and they’ll discuss everything in the morning. They move the couch and lay out the futons. Shinsou sleeps in his own room, so it is just Bakugou and Todoroki.

Todoroki can’t sleep. Now that he’s calmed from his earlier fury and breakdown, panic is setting in. He can’t believe what he just did. Bakugou notices and, instead of insulting him, asks if he wants to learn sign language. They spend about an hour going through the alphabet and basic words until Todoroki is tired enough to sleep.

In the morning, Todoroki refuses to press any charges against his father. The teachers say that they’ll arrange it so that he spends all of his holidays with them or at the school. And say that he has to start meeting with Hound Dog once a week to talk. Todoroki does not like the mandated counseling, but accepts it as his punishment for letting his emotions get the better of him.

The signing lessons continue. Each night, about an hour after curfew, Todoroki slips down to Bakugou’s room and learns sign language. Kirishima knows the sneaking is going on and that Bakugou is giving lessons, but he’s just so proud of Bakugou making friends on his own that he helps cover for them. (He doesn’t know why Todoroki is learning sign, but he doesn’t ask).

The flirty v. friendly schemes are ongoing and yielding mixed results. The debate is annoying. It has been a month, but the growing mountain of contradictory evidence is keeping the conversation alive. Izuku points out that this is the kind of thing Todoroki would normally be all over, but he doesn’t know how to make himself care. He doesn’t care about other people’s romances. He barely cared about his own before Bakugou.

Because that is definitely still a thing. After Bakugou didn’t make fun of him for his breakdown. After he started teaching him sign language every night. He just wants the other boy close. He doesn’t understand his own impulses beyond that. It is enough that he’s even eaten lunch with the Bakusquad a few times.

Meanwhile, Bakugou is opening up to the teachers a bit more. After seeing how they handled Todoroki’s breakdown, he finally takes Shinsou’s advice and mentions his own hearing loss and how it probably wasn’t going to get better. Then one night he brings up what he’d hinted at before. It’s been weeks since then, but he talks about how annoying the schemes have gotten and asks why the teachers don’t just tell everyone and then says that he’s gay and if they’re too cowardly to let little kids know they aren’t alone and anyone can be a hero, then he’ll just do it himself.

On the walk home, Aizawa tells him he’s right and that they’ll think about it. During sign language practice that night, Todoroki tells Bakugou that his friends had asked him before what his type was and that he’d said “strong.” And then he says, “You’re the strongest person I know. I like you.”

And Bakugou is like “you can’t just say something like that” and Todoroki’s just “why not? It’s the truth.” He maybe quotes or references Bakugou’s comment from over a month ago on the train about being direct. So Bakugou asks if they can talk about it tomorrow and Todoroki just nods and asks, “Do you mind if I eat lunch with you tomorrow? I like being close to you.” And Bakugou feels like he’s about to explode of something, but he agrees and all but pushes Todoroki out the door.

Kirishima is returning to his room after staying late in Kaminari’s room playing games. He checks the time. “Lesson end early?” he asks. Todoroki says, “I told him I like him.” Kirishima’s brows raise--”That would do it.”--and he wishes Todoroki a good night. As soon as he’s out of sight, Kirishima lets himself into Bakugou’s room, knowing his friend is not going to be able to process this on his own.

The day happens and isn’t particularly notable. Todoroki has eaten with Bakugou’s friends before, after all. That night, Bakugou says, “Okay. Let’s try this.”

Kirishima, good bro that he is, provides gossip cover by publicly confessing to Yaoyorozu. He wanted someone unlikely who would definitely not return his feelings and who no one in the class would expect. (She accepts. It is a Thing. They go on a date and he explains. When she looks upset, he says that he does admire her; he just never thought of her that way because he figured he didn’t have a chance. He asks her if she wants to try this while also using their relationship to draw away as much attention as possible from Bakugou and Todoroki. Todoroki is her friend, so she agrees. And thus begins their farce covering a real growing friendship and relationship during which they both gain confidence).

Meanwhile Todoroki and Bakugou go on a date. It goes rather well. Except Todoroki still wants closer.

They start cuddling during their nightly lessons, which somehow remain mostly lesson still. Todoroki curls against Bakugou like a cat, mimicking his gestures.

Bakugou talks with Kirishima about things. Todoroki talks with Shinsou. (He’d like to talk with Midoriya, but even he realizes that wouldn’t be the best idea). On weekends, when other students head home to see family, Todoroki stays with his teachers and Shinsou instead of staying in the dorms like he used to. He sleeps on a futon in Shinsou’s room and tells him about dating Bakugou and wanting more, but not knowing what that “more” is. Shinsou suggests kissing. (And maybe privately teases Bakugou about it but Bakugou just flushes and gets agitated and blusters about being careful. And Shinsou, for the first time, calls Todoroki his little brother (actual ages do not matter) and tells Bakugou not to hurt him. Bakugou is both insulted and relieved by this. As if he would).

So the next night Todoroki asks Bakugou to kiss him. So Bakugou, blushing even though (thanks to Shinsou) he’d known this was coming, does. Soft and chaste. He pulls back and Todoroki blinks slowly and says “Again.” Bakugou smirks or grins and kisses him again. This one is not nearly as chaste.

At some point Bakugou tries to be nice and use ‘Todoroki’ instead of a nickname and Todoroki is like ‘I don’t like all of the nicknames, but I like that you don’t use my family name.’ And Bakugou gets it, but the nicknames start getting nicer. Less ‘halfie’ and more things like “strawberry swirl.”

The first time he does this in front of others, Kirishima glares at him and is trying to figure out how to draw the attention away when Yaoyorozu suddenly calls for him using his given name. The whispers shift immediately. And Kirishima, when he recovers his senses, thanks her for her quick thinking.

But such attention drawing doesn’t last forever, especially as Bakugou and Todoroki start gravitating toward each other during school hours (and the lesson portions of their evenings grow shorter and shorter). Then one day when everyone is starting to question them about it (maybe they fell asleep on the couch together in the common room?), Aizawa enters the room and sighs and says, “I hope you’re not concocting another scheme to harass my husband and me.”

Pin drop.

But at least no one cares about Bakugou and Todoroki being friends (or napping together) anymore.

But people will find out soon (and Bakugou is kinda itching to come out now that Aizawa and Present Mic have; it feels too much like backing down if he doesn’t), so Todoroki and Bakugou talk about what they are and what they want. And for Todoroki it is simple. He just wants to be close. And maybe he mentions also not wanting to be his father and that Bakugou reminds him that he doesn’t have to be, that he can be strong. And Bakugou wants to date. He wants to do all the shit people assume he wouldn’t be interested in. And he wants to do that with Todoroki. Plus, Todoroki’s belief in his strength is good. He feels calmer with him around. (So, basically, they’re each a rock for the other; two strong people making each other stronger by reminding each other of their own strengths and believing in one another).

It isn’t love. But it is something.

So, later that night, Bakugou sneaks down to the kitchen and makes a bento for Todoroki. The next day at lunch, when Todoroki is with his friends, he goes over to them and rolls his eyes at the inevitable takeout lunch. “Don’t eat that crap,” he says, pushing it aside and dropping the zaru soba bento in front of Todoroki. “Made this for you.” Todoroki smiles and thanks him. Bakugou kisses his cheek and is pulling away when Todoroki catches his wrist. “Again.” Bakugou laughs and maybe calls him “insatiable” or something and kisses him on the lips before returning to his own table.

(Kirishima and Yaoyorozu were not briefed on this. Their eyes meet in wide panic because they can’t beat that. They’re plotting across the room when Bakugou notices and waves them off.)

And Todoroki’s friends aren’t sure what just happened, so they ask. Todoroki smiles. “I figured out my type,” he tells them. “Bakugou.”

[hermits-that-craft]

In My Dreams (Will You Remember Me?)

Flower Husbands Fic - Chapter Two - Can You Hear The Bumblebees Swarm?

Ao3 in the comments

Jimmy’s late. He doesn’t mean to be late to the meeting, and he knows that he won't be the latest to the meeting - he just prefers to be slightly early so that there's no chance for him to be late.

Landing roughly in The Overgrown, Jimmy dusts off his pants before walking inside Katherine’s meeting hall. Katherine smiles brightly at him, and Lizzie sits with Pearl, laughing.

“Early again, Codfather?” Katherine teases, and Lizzie turns her head. 

“I honestly thought I was late, Lizzie told me you changed the time?”

“Lizzie!” Katherine gasps, scandalised. “Why would you do that?”

“I remember growing up with him, it would take centuries to get him out of bed.” Lizzie smiles lightly, and Jimmy’s thankful for his mask, hiding the flush of his face.

“And it took longer to get you away from your window when Joel was pegging rocks at it.” Jimmy says lightly.

“Sleep well, Codfather?” Pearl asks, weaving herself a new sunflower crown.

“I could fall asleep for a while, but afterwards it was fine.” Jimmy lies easily, and Lizzie glares at him suspiciously.

“Oh! Any dreams?” Katherine asks. “We could try and work out if you’re an oracle.”

“Nothing important, just a dance in a flower field.” Jimmy pointedly ignores Lizzie as the other rulers slowly walk into the hall.

LDShadowLady whispers to you: Why didn’t you tell me? You whisper to LDShadowLady: Didn’t want to wake you, it wasn’t a nightmare anyways. LDShadowLady whispers to you: You promised me that you would. You whisper to LDShadowLady: I’m going to talk to Gem about it. I’m sick of being tired all the time LDShadowLady whispers to you: Thank goodness. I don’t want to have to worry about you anymore. You whisper to LDShadowLady: You won't anymore, I promise.

“Great, now that everyone’s here, let's start the meeting!” Katherine says. “Does anyone have any news to share?”

“Did you really call a meeting without any news to share?” Shubble asks, standing on her chair in order to see over the table. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, its just that we’ve all got empires to run and we’re kind of busy-”

“No, I do have news. I just wanted to open discussion to the table. If anyone else has anything to say.” Katherine smiles, and Jimmy watches Sausage and Fwip from the corner of his eyes. They seem off, smiling to themselves as though they have something to say, though their mouths are firmly closed.

“Well, Rivendell’s alchemists are working on a way to reverse the corruption,” Scott says, and Jimmy looks at the elven king. He’s tall, with soft blue hair and sapphire blue eyes and Jimmy has to tear his eyes away before he’s drowning in them. “If you all would allow it, I would like to send my alchemists to your kingdoms to observe and take samples of the corruption.”

“That sounds wonderful, I’d like to take you up on that offer.” Jimmy surprises the whole room, including himself, as he accepts Scott’s proposal. The aid will be necessary in order to protect his kingdom, and Joel did say that Scott might want to be allies.

He should find Scott after the meeting.

“I will also take you up on that offer.” Katherine agrees, giving Fwip and Sausage a warning look. “Is there any other topic to be brought up?”

“I don’t believe so.” Fwip says, and Jimmy winces under his mask. The steady voice, even and unsettling. Jimmy’s overthinking.

An even voice, carefully calculating, offering them an alliance, knowing full well that his husband will end up on the altar, to be sacrificed. Burning the banner, loosing his love before dying himself-

“-A ball, in honour of House Blossom’s continued strong alliances!” Katherine’s words shake Jimmy out of him stupor. “I would like to invite some of you to help in the building of a public hall so that we can all attend in luxury.”

“I can help.” Pearl agrees immediately.

“I’d love to help as well.” Gem agrees. “The Crystal Cliffs can offer some amethyst for the roof!”

“I’ll follow your instructions, if you’ll have me.” Jimmy offers with a polite smile, not believing that Katherine will take him up on the offer.

“Oh Jimmy, that’ll be such a great help!” Katherine accepts his offer, pointedly ignoring Fwip’s snort with a large smile. 

Oh no, Jimmy smiles. “No problem, Katherine. Anything for an ally.”

This was a horrid idea.

“Is there anything else we need to discuss?” Sausage asks. “My advisors are getting cross at my absence.”

“No, nothing.” Katherine says. “You’re all free to go.”

“Oh!” Jimmy says, as people begin to leave. “Gem, could I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” The wizard says, walking besides him as they head out of the meeting hall, “What can I help you with?”

“I was wondering what dreams mean?” Jimmy says.

“I’m sorry?”

And Jimmy spills. He tells her everything, the recurring nightmares, the screaming, the glowing, the shadow husband and the war and the dying in a way thats permanent, the green-yellow-red lives.

“I had one last night. But it was different this time. It wasn’t a nightmare, but it was the same place. Like something that happened only a few days before.” Jimmy says, wringing his hands.

“Oh my.” Gem says, concern lacing her expression. “I haven’t really experienced anything like this before, I’ll have to research it for you. Tell me if you have one again.”

“You sound like Lizzie.” Jimmy jokes. “But I will. Let me know what you discover?”

“Of course, it’s your health.” Gem says. “I have to get going, but I hope you sleep well tonight.”

“Thanks Gem.” Jimmy waves to her before she flies away.

He needs to get home, and pen a letter to Scott about their alliance.

----

Lizzie and Joel laugh as they sit in Joel’s dinning room, eating lunch and joking about snotty old advisors. The room is quiet, a cool breeze coming through the windows, high ceilings trapping the hot air above them, making the palace livable.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, your highnesses,” a soldier says, her voice slightly panicked. “But the King of Rivendell is here to speak with you both.”

Lizzie and Joel exchange nervous looks. She knows that Scott is allied with Sausage and Fwip, is this a declaration of war? Or perhaps a warning, since those two always were cowards? But he seems to be courting Jimmy, could it be an ask to marry her brother? After only a day?

Lizzie, admittedly, doesn’t know much about life on land, much less about elven culture.

“Of course, we’ll see him in the parlor.” Joel says, standing slowly. The young guard nods, rushing out of the room with an air of panic to her steps. “Are you alright, love?”

“If he’s here for war-”

“He wouldn’t be. You saw how he looked at Jimmy during Katherine’s meeting.” Joel says. “He’s probably just going to ask to court him.”

“That’s worse. You understand how thats worse, right?”

“Why is it worse?”

“Because Scott is allied with our enemies, with Jimmy’s enemies.”

“It's not official.” Joel reminder her quietly. “Rivendell remains firmly neutral in all conflicts, allying itself with only those closest for trade, Lizzie. Not for aid in war.”

“But-”

“Let’s hear him out.” Joel says. “And in the end, it’s Jimmy's decision.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Lizzie grumbles, playfully hitting her husband.

“Abuse! Abuse! Oh, how the love of my life wounds me.” Joel dramatisies as they walk to the parlor. 

They enter the room, watching as Scott stops nervously pacing. His wings twitch and puff out, which confuses Lizzie to no end. He looks either aggressive or scared - she could never tell the difference, since seagulls are only arrogant. 

“Hello, your highnesses.” Scott bows.

“King Scott.” Lizzie says, bowing back to the man. 

“Why do we earn the pleasure of having you here?” Joel asks, sitting down at a soft recliner, the one that Lizzie claims normally - how dare he?

“I would like to court Jimmy.” Scott says, as though he were announcing the end of the world. “And I have come to seek Lizzie’s permission specifically, as his elder sister.”

Joel and Lizzie exchange a look, both wearing the same ‘I told you so’ expression. However, this only seems to make Scott more nervous. He’ll need to adapt to their silent conversations if he wants to court Jimmy, Lizzie thinks quietly.

“I’m an excellent builder, having completely rebuilt Rivendell. My people can attest that I am both a wise and kind ruler, and I can provide Jimmy and the cod empire with years of prosperity.” Scott rambles, tugging nervously at his cape. “I’ll aid him in wars, and I’ll never raise a hand against him, no matter the circumstances.”

“Is this what you felt like when you asked my parents to court me?” Lizzie mumbles to Joel, and Scott continues on.

“Honestly, asking Jimmy was harder.” Joel replies. “He interrogated me when I asked him if I could marry you.”

“All bark, no bite my brother is.” Lizzie rolls her eyes. “Scott, how long have you been seeing Jimmy for?”

“I beg your pardon?” Scott says, blinking feverishly. 

“How long have you and Jimmy been dating?” Lizzie asks again. “I’m not going to be mad.”

“We haven’t seen each other..” Scott says. “That’s immoral, I couldn’t ask him out without your permission.”

“Is that an elf thing?” Lizzie asks Joel, semi loudly. “Or a land thing?”

“I believe it’s an elven culture.” Joel says, “Correct, Scott?”

“How do your people court?” Scott asks, eyebrows frowning ever so slightly.

“Well,” Lizzie begins, “We see each other for a while, then ask the others family to begin courting. Most civilians date for a few months, then begin courting, but us royals have to take it slowly.”

“Oh.” Scott winces.

“How do elves court?” Lizzie asks, cocking her head to the side.

“We ask a potential suitor’s family if we could begin courting, and then we court for a few months before we begin dating properly.” Scott says slowly. 

“Well, I have a few questions for you.” Lizzie says. “Before I can pass judgement on your potential relationship!”

“Lizzie, be nice.” Joel warns, before turning to a book he had left on the coffee table.

“I will, now, does Jimmy know that you like him?”

“No, thats why we court for a few months first.” Scott says. “To prove to our potential suitor that we are worthy of spending the rest of our life with them.”

“Interesting.” Lizzie nods, frowning at the window. “And you promise to stop if you make him uncomfortable?”

“The second he tells me to, I will stop all advances.” Scott promises.

“And you swear that you will never lay a hand on him?” Lizzie asks.

“I swear it.” Scott says. “I swear it on Aoer.”

“Final question.” Lizzie smiles at Scott. “Why do you like Jimmy?”

“He’s like the sun.” Scott says. “It’s like the world is in an eternal night without him around, even when he’s fighting my allies and he believes that I’m going to join them. Just standing near him is like seeing a sunset for the first time.”

“Damn, you have it bad for him.” Joel says, ignoring Lizzie as she slaps his arm. “Darling, I think you have to let him try his luck with Jimmy.”

“You are unreasonably in love with Jimmy.” Lizzie says, smiling softly. “You should court him, Scott. Don’t you dare hurt him, but may I be honest with you?”

“Thank you,” Scott gasps, flushed red with slight embarrassment. “And sure, what would you like to tell me?”

“I think you aren’t physically able to hurt Jimmy.” Lizzie says. “I think you’re too in love to even look him in the eye. Good luck, land boy.”

And Scott leaves the room, Joel openly laughing as he hears Scott whoop for joy as he flies off. It’s a lovely day, and the married couple can’t help but think that they secured Jimmy someone who would go to war for him. Perfect husband material.

They don’t notice the red eyes watching from the servants corridors. Why would they? Lizzie’s allowed Scott to try and win Jimmy’s heart.

[wicked-hg]

Empire || o.w.

This is a part of @iliveiloveiwrite​ song fic challenge.

Oliver Wood x reader

Song prompt: Empire by Elle Henderson

Summary: Oliver has an interview with a quidditch reporter who wants to know more about the “quidditch empire” he has built. Oliver reflects on the life he has built with Y/N.

WC: 3.9k

A/N: I am so excited to finally post this! I’ve been working on it for a while and it went longer than I thought it would, but that’s okay. I hope you all enjoy it. Please please please check out the song! I tried to keep it in mind writing this, but overall it is just a fantastic song and one of my favorites. I found the below image when looking for an Oliver Wood gif, and this was so cute!!!! Plus it goes with the story. Italics are the interview.

“Mr. Wood, thank you for sitting down with us,” the reporter greeted. “I know many people are dying to know more about you and your growing quidditch empire.”

“Empire?” Oliver chuckled. “I wouldn’t call what I ‘ave an empire.”

“What would you call it then? You are a renowned quidditch player and now a coach for Puddlemere United. Your wife was a former strategist for the Pride of Portree and is the granddaughter of Kennilworthy Wisp and Devlin Whitehorn. You also have seven children. If that isn’t a quidditch empire, then what is it.”

“Me family,” Oliver answered. “Aye, me wife comes from two great lineages and aye quidditch did bring us together, but I love her for so much more than that. Quidditch was only an excuse to talk to her. It isn’t our relationship.”

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

You had friends at Hogwarts. There were people who enjoyed your company. They were always there to talk quidditch to you, but that was about it. Once you tried switching the subject they suddenly had to go work on homework that had already been turned in. You knew though captains of quidditch teams didn’t lie that they wanted to be your friend. They were straightforward that they wanted your analysis of their team, and the other teams, and what strategies they should use to be successful. Each one came on the same day at the same time like clockwork. Today was Wednesday. That meant Oliver Wood would find her around 6:55. Oliver was the one captain who would seek you out no matter where you were in the castle. You had to always be in the same place for the others. 

The clock chimed 7:00 when Oliver found you today. “You’re five minutes later than normal, Wood,” you commented. 

Oliver shrugged as he sat next to you. “I knew you’d be here, but I wasn’t sure how loud it would be,” Today’s spot was the clock tower. “So I wanted to wait until after the clock rang.”

You sat in silence. Usually you jumped quickly into the quidditch talk, but Oliver sat silently. “You alright, Wood? You’re quiet today. You play Hufflepuff next week if I recall. I wouldn’t really worry about them. They’ve had a devastating losing streak so far. Their beaters aren’t doing well. They’ve been on injury rotation. Fleet also doesn’t have your skills.”

Oliver smiled. “Me skills? You notice I’m quite skilled, Y/N?”

You tried to keep yourself from blushing. Something was different about how he said this. “Of course I do, Wood. I’m Hogwarts residential quidditch analyst.”

“Oliver,” he said. You glanced at him, confused. “Call me Oliver. Not Wood.”

You nodded. “Okay then...Oliver.” Silence washed back over the two of you. “Do you have any other questions? Or do you want info about the new Nimbus? The rest have wanted that.”

Oliver shook his head. “Why don’t you play? Every house goes to you for advice, yet you don’t even play for your own. Why is that?”

No one had ever asked you that. In fact, no one had ever asked any questions about you yourself. “I used to when I was younger with my siblings. I have six older ones.”

“Me too,” Oliver said. “Poppy, Daisy, Juniper, Ivy, Violet, and Flora. They thought I was gon’ be a girl. When it turned out I was a boy, I was named Oliver instead of Olive. That way all they had to do was add an ‘r’ to everything. Sorry for interrupting you. The Weasleys are the only other ones I know with a family of seven siblings.”

You smiled. “It’s alright. Sounds like your family went for a theme.” Oliver nodded. “I think that’s cool. My parents didn’t. I’m the youngest. I have four brothers—Dorian, Finnigan, Simon, and Leon—and two sisters—Evangeline and Benjamina.”

“So you played quidditch with them. Why not anymore?”

“I got hit in the head with a bludger,” you told him. I know that happens a lot to players, but I was about five. Gramps and PopPop were fighting again. They don’t get along at all, and my parents were out celebrating their anniversary. I don’t know why they had those two watching us instead of just picking one. Granny and Nan were trying to calm them down. We were playing quidditch on PopPop’s prototype of the Nimbus 1650.”

“Nimbus 1650? I’ve never heard of that one.”

“That’s because it was never released to the public. It had too many flaws. Anyway, I played seeker. It’s how I learned to analyze patterns besides listening to Gramps. The bludger hit me upside the head and as I fell it hit me again in the jaw. Honestly though, it felt like two hits to the head because my head was the size of a bludger back then. I couldn’t get on a broom after that. I tried. I tried so many times. I just was never able to fly. The brooms wouldn’t listen. Besides, the healer says one more bludger to the head will kill me.”

“We can’t have that then. I’ll get ya on a broom, but I’m not letting ya anywhere near a bludger.” You grinned at his comment. “You belong in the air though. Every time I find you, you're usually high up. The wind will be blowing through your hair soon enough. I promise.”

“You can’t make promises like that, Oliver.”

Oliver shushed you. “Tomorrow. We start tomorrow at this time on the pitch. You’re not meant to be caged, Y/N. Let me help you fly free.”

“What makes you think that you will be the one to do so?” You asked him, trying not to gain any hope from Oliver’s promise. Your family had done everything they could. How could Oliver be successful?

He smiled and grabbed your hand. “I won’t let you fall. I’ll catch you. Do you trust me?”

There was a fire in his eyes now. He had hope he could do this, and you did too. “Absolutely.”

—————

“And what about having seven children? A quidditch team is made up of seven players. One could assume you are breeding your own quidditch team.”

“Well, one can assume all they want. The truth is, life just happened this way. Y/N and I both came from large families; both of us are the youngest of seven. We were fine having that many kids. Just know though there aren’t any more Wood children coming,” Oliver grinned. “And don’t believe that rumor that all of our kids are named after types of wood unknowingly or fun. It was the result of losing a series of bets.”

“What?”

“What?”

The reporter paused in thought. “Oh my Merlin. Your children are all named after types of wood. You did that on purpose? Because of bets?”

Oliver blinked. “No…”

“But you just said—” Oliver stared at the reporter, daring him to continue. “So when did people pick up on it?”

—————

He was so small. Granted, Rowan and Willow had been too. Perhaps he was bigger than them though. He was definitely louder. “He’s got quite the lungs to him,” you murmured to Oliver as you handed him your new son. “Rowan and Willow were quiet and pensive. He’s loud and ready to fight. Has been since the womb. Hopefully the bruises will go away now.”

This third babe had been a handful—constantly moving and kicking the bruises actually began to appear on your abdomen. “Reckon he’ll be a beater if he plays some day,” You chuckled in agreement with your husband. “Hello there, Al. Glad you’re finally here. Your brother and sister are so excited to meet you.”

“Al,” you sighed lovingly, “I like it. Al Wood. Is it short for anything?”

“Alder.”

“Alder. That’s nice,” Silence washed over the room until your eyes flew open. “Alder? Did you just say Alder? As in the tree? Oliver, is our son named Alder Wood?”

“Yes…”

“Rowan and Willow are going to ma—” Realization hit you. “Rowan and Willow. Rowan Wood. Willow Wood. Oliver Wood, are our children named after types of trees? Have you named our children after types of trees when I am in a state of fatigue after birthing them?”

“Yes and no,” he replied. He carefully held the newborn close to his chest. “All of these names I suggested to you when we discussed it, and you liked them. I just suggested them in a different light. Rowan is a good Scottish name, and Willow is an old English name and a well respected magical tree. Alder...I don’t think I ever did mention Alder to you. I was hoping to get away with that one.”

You reached for your son. Looking down at him, you couldn’t imagine him being named anything else. “I can’t imagine him being anything else now. If we have more children, we will discuss this first. I just didn’t realize you so desperately wanted a theme. I thought you hated the name theming after your parents have done it to you and your sisters.”

“I do!” Oliver argued. 

“Then why name our children after types of wood and trees?”

Oliver sighed. He knew there was no lying to you anymore. “I lost a bet back in Hogwarts to Weasley.”

You sighed. “I’m gonna yell at George when I get out of here. I can’t imagine our children being named anything different now, but still. I don’t care if it was his or Fred’s fault.”

“Actually it was Percy.”

—————

“You were married right before hell broke loose in the Second Great Wizarding War, and if I recall you even participated in it.”

“Aye. I did. Many witches and wizards in the league did once it got shut down in ‘97.”“Did this affect you and your wife?”

“Of course it did. It affected everyone. Plus we were still young and so was Rowan.”

“Rowan?”

“Me eldest boy. How did you not know that? I would’ve thought you’d know the names of me kids the way you’ve been going on.”

The reporter shrugged as he jotted this all down in his notebook. 

——————

Oliver had done what he could to help the light in the war, but his priority was his family. He had a wife and a son now. His wife was also expecting their second child. He laid down next to his wife. “Rowan’s fast asleep,” he whispered. “He went down quickly tonight.”

You smiled as you snuggled into him. “She’s being quiet tonight too.”

He smiled and glanced down at your protruding belly. “How do you know it’s a she?”

“I just do,” You were quiet for a moment before asking, “Oliver, do you ever regret how we did things?”

Everything was on track for you and Oliver when you graduated. You had both taken big jobs in the world of quidditch. You were young and everyone knew your names. Then in the late spring of 1995 you found out a baby was on the way. Rowan was born that December. A year and a half later you two finally got married in the early summer of 1997. Now in May of 1998 you were almost 8 months pregnant with the second baby Wood.

“I will never ever regret us or our kids,” he told you. “This is I guess just how it was meant to be. Do I wish that the world was safer for them? Absolutely. I wish we would’ve had more time to fight to give them a better world. I will do anything to make sure they don’t live under these conditions. I hope every day that Rowan doesn’t remember living in a time of such fear and chaos.”

“I am terrified, Olli,” you admitted.

“Me too,” he agreed, “But I will always be here to protect you. No one will destroy what we have created.” 

Hours later he was summoned to Hogwarts for one last battle. You waited for him to return. When Rowan woke, you acted as if everything was normal. “Daddy just had to go take care of some business,” you told Rowan when he asked about Oliver. An owl from St Mungo’s arrived close to bedtime. You flooed your mother to stay with your son as you rush to the hospital. Oliver, with his confunded eye, grinned at you. He had a gash on his forehead and was covered in dirt, yet he smiled because they had won.

——————

“So did helping in the war aid your career at all?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“I just didn’t know if it helped your skills.”

“My skills are and were fine both prior and after the war.”

—————

“Sweetheart, I think you need to get your sight checked out,” You told Oliver one morning before he headed off to practice. “You’re missing more shots on your right, even though you’re right handed. People are starting to pick up on that.”

“I still catch the quaffle,” Oliver muttered. “That’s what matters.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t. I’m just saying your reaction time is slower and more have been slipping through. You know, as an analyst for an opposing team I shouldn’t even be telling you this.”

Oliver sighed. “That’s the eye.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh. I forgot it was the right one. I thought you got it healed?”

During the Battle of Hogwarts, Oliver had taken a confundus charm to the eye. For a while his eye was completely confounded and unable to focus. Eventually the healers were able to resituate it back to normal; however, Oliver’s vision had not quite yet returned back to normal.

“It can still get a bit blurry and spinny.”

“You need to talk to the coaches, Oliver. That can be a danger for you,” you said. You wrapped your arms around him. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I know you will overcome this and learn to play with it, but I need you safe. You have a family to come home to.”

Oliver nodded and hugged you. “I promise, leannan. I promise.”

—————

“Was there ever tension or conflict when you played the Pride?”

Oliver shrugged. “Y/N and I had a deal. We would note interfere between Puddlemere and the Pride of Portree. Teams have multiple strategists, and while, aye, she was their main one there were others to take care of handling strategies against Puddlemere. As for me, in my entire career, I never played a game against them—even after she retired and took over the broom business. The main keeper during my early years and reserve in my later years always played.”

“Seriously? Not even after she retired? You could’ve. It would’ve just furthered your career.”

“Perhaps, but I also knew that if I did it would make me wife choose between her husband and the team she grew to love. I couldn’t do that to her. Plus it kept me in shape.”

————

You saw Oliver walk down the stairs carrying your newborn girls and Al clinging to his back. “I thought you had a game today,” you asked as he set Al down and tried to put Holly and Hazel into the highchairs. Rowan and Willow followed behind them.

“”Play quidditch, daddy?” Willow asked. “We go watch a game?”

“Puddlemere plays Portree today. I never play against them.” Oliver sat down and started to feed the twins breakfast.

“But, Oliver,” you said confused, “That was when I worked for them. I don’t work for them anymore. You can play if you want to.”

He shook his head. “Today is for us.”

“Us? Like you and mum or the whole family?” Rowan asked.“

The whole family,” Oliver answered. “I’ve gone this long not playing Portree. No reason to start now. Besides, the team means so much to you, Y/N. I can’t put you between them and me. It’ll be a good day for us all to hang out too. Be a proper family.”

You smiled as you set the rest of breakfast in front of your children and helped Al get his food while WIllow and Rowan snatched theirs up. “That actually sounds amazing. Thank you, Oliver. Anything in mind for us to do today?”

“Perhaps the beach? The sun is out for once.”

“You just want to even out your tan line,” Rowan chuckled. Oliver glared at his son, knowing he was absolutely correct.

————

“You could’ve had another few years to your career. Why did you retire? Your retirement came before your predecessor’s exit.”

Oliver thought for a moment, wondering if he should tell the whole truth. “I was a father to six. I had just found out Reed was going to be born—“

“Is Reed your sixth kid?”

“No he’s the seventh and final.”

“Can you tell me who all your kids are. I’m getting them confused.”

Oliver huffed. “In order there is: Rowan, Willow, Alder, we call him Al, the twins, Holly and Hazel, followed by Ash, and ending with Reed.”

“One more time.”

Oliver sighed. He couldn’t take much more of this. “Rowan, Willow, Alder, Holly, Hazel, Ash, and Reed.”

The reporter finished writing those down. “Got it.”

“As I was saying, I had just found out my youngest child was on the way and I had also found out some other news.”

————

“Pregnant?”

You nodded. “I know we hadn’t planned this. It’s kid number seven,” You sat down next to him. “Oh Merlin, it’ll be our seventh child. We’re going to have a full team, Oliver. Al starts Hogwarts next year. Willow is starting her second year this year. Rowan takes his OWLS this year! The twins just started nursery school. Ash is finally no longer scared of the loo.”

“I’m going to retire,” Oliver said suddenly.

“What?” you gasped. “Oliver, darling, you don’t need to do that. Dorian and I run PopPop’s business just fine. You don’t need to give up your career. We support you. I support you.”

Oliver kissed your cheek and rested his hand against your stomach. “I’m almost 40, Y/N. I’ve been missing goals at practice for a while. Coach sent me to a healer during practice. There’s no more quidditch for me. Too many bludgers to the head. We make quite the pair. They found that part of my brain is swollen. I have to have treatment for a few more weeks and I’ll be good as new.”

You threw your arms around him and held him close. “Oh Oliver. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t want you to act differently in front of the kids. I found out all the details today though. I’m telling Coach tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe you have to do this, Oliver.”

He smiled and kissed your forehead. “I’m getting old anyway. This was going to happen eventually. I missed parts of my kids' lives because of quidditch. No more of that.”

“They’ll be heartbroken, you know.”

Oliver nodded. “What about you?”

“I just want you safe and happy. I will always support your choice. I can’t lose you, Oliver. You’re silly to think I’d ever let you near a bludger again now.”

Oliver chuckled remembering his promise to you all those years ago. “Poor Al. No more bludgers for the Woods. We’re gonna need to find a place to send him.”

“I ran into an old classmate of ours. She’s married to Marcus Fli—”

“I’m not sending me son to play with a bludger at Marcus Flint’s place! I’d rather take him to Weasley!”

————

Oliver watched the reporter go with a smile on his face. That was the last one. He couldn’t handle continuously doing those. His agent was right; he just needed to write a damn book. 

“Is the reporter done?”

Oliver turned and his smile became a grin as he kissed you. “Aye. Thank Merlin too. That was an imbecile. I’m gonna have to write that book so I don’t have to deal with any more of them.”

You grinned and hugged him. “I told you so. Come on now, sweetheart. They’re all waiting for you.”

“Can you believe Al is off to Hogwarts tomorrow?”

You shook your head as you snuggled into him. “That leaves us with four though. We’re not quite at an empty nest, Oliver.”

“I know. It’s just,” Oliver paused. “As I answered questions I just thought back to different moments in our life. Did you ever think we’d get here? That we’d build this...this...this empire of ours?”

You smiled. “I always hoped. I couldn’t imagine living my life with anyone else. Though our life is full of quidditch, in so, so many ways, you still made sure it was about so much more than that. Now come Oliver. Our little empire is ready to eat dinner.”

————---------

“Are we almost there?” You asked Oliver. “I feel like we’ve been walking forever. Why couldn’t we have just apparated?”

Oliver chuckled as he gripped your hand tighter to make sure he didn’t lose you as you climbed higher on the hill. “That would ruin the magic of it all, leannan.”

“Can you give me any clues, Oliver? Besides the fact it must be a decent spot for a picnic,” You glanced down at the picnic basket in your hand. When Oliver had invited you to his home, you were excited. Never before had you been to his family home in the highlands. You had met his family at his sisters’ homes. “You know the only thing I know about the highlands is that you are from here, and you don’t even live here anymore!”

“We’re almost there anyway,” he answered. “This is a place me dad took me mum when they were like us. When I told them about you, he brought me in case you were my gu bràth. We’re in the midst of Loch Katrine. It can be a popular place for muggle photographers to come take photos but they’re quite intimidated by this mountain, thanks to magic.”

Oliver helped you climb up a few more meters. You saw the giant grin on his face. This must be someplace special. He was just as excited as if they were about to jump right into a game of quidditch. You set the basket down and felt his hand squeeze yours. “Look at it, leannan. It’s beautiful.”

Finally you turned to join him, and he wasn’t wrong The area of Loch Katrine was gorgeous as the leaves had started to change. “This is beautiful, Oliver. It is absolutely gorgeous here.”

His smile grew and he pulled you closer. Your head rested on his chest and listened to the sound of his beating heart. Afterwhile he whispered, “I have found strength in your arms. We have built the foundation for an amazing love, and you will always rule my heart. Nobody can or will ever destroy what we have.”

You burrowed closer into his chest and felt his arms wrap around you more. Oliver had always been a ray of hope, and you knew he would continue to be one for you. You knew, you could feel your relationship growing in many ways at that moment. You hoped to Merlin, as you looked across the Scottish highlands in the arms of the man you loved, that someday you would build an indestructible empire with him. It is what you both deserved.