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yaut-jaknowit · 3 months ago

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Whirling Seas Lap At Soft Shores

Pairing: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3132

Summary: After a gruesome battle with Dwainet, We'ar-ow deserves aftercare from her newly crowned mate.

Author Note: I may have put finishing this off on the back burner. I... I didn't want to finish it. I wanted to leave it open. I hate finishing stories. It's a chapter done in my story. But, I pulled myself up by my big girl breeches and completed it. There will be two other side parts to this.

Masterlist

Ao3

All the way back to her quarters, not a word was said between the two of you. Your heart drowned out any noises that may have filled the breezeways. Blood dripped from her fingers and lead a path to her front door. It followed inside the quarters. You led her towards her room and guided We’ar-ow into her bathroom.

It was clean and pristine in here. Until she entered. The neon blood created spots on the tiled floor. You motioned with your hands for her to wait there. Curious, the Yautja listened to your command and watched your form trot over to the bath. A small smile gracing her features. You began to fill up the bath, fingers touching the warm water. Once you deemed it the perfect temperature, you added some incense she never thought to use. They cluttered around the edge of the bath, collecting dust.

A soft aroma filled the humid air. We’ar-ow took a lungful in and let her eyes shut. The heat in her veins was disappearing. The walk back here helped ease down the excitement that filled her entire being. Hunting and killing Dwainet was more than relieving. There may be other dangers that could endanger you, but with the main problem out of the way. You had no reason to fear the outdoors again.

The problem was in her hands. His blood staining the tiles under her feet. It had cold down some but the warmth she could feel was delicious. She had made sure you had watched as she used her own strength to rip his head clean off. To show off. To ensure you knew how strong, how mighty, how skilled she was. We’ar-ow was easily able to defend you from any attackers. Including one she wished she had killed off long ago.

Your soft gaze landed on We’ar-ow. All thoughts of the past left. We’ar-ow dropped the head in the nearby sink before stepping up to your shorter frame. The position forced you to tilt your head back, exposing your throat to her. A vulnerable position she would be caught dead in. Yet, here you are, willingly giving such a fragile portion of your body to her. Not that the rest of you was vulnerable as well. She didn’t mind. It made you, you.

We’ar-ow’s chest no longer heaved for air. The battle left her veins. Now, it was time for you to step in.

The first thing you did was tap at her armor on the top portion of her torso. Her bright eyes observed you a little more. Then, her hands got to moving.

They easily unlatched each piece of metal and let them fall to the ground. We’ar-ow would later come around to cleaning them. Right now, she was more focused on you. There was something you were planning. She was willingly to wait it out and see what you come up with.

From her shoulders, she moved down. The pink Yautja exposed her entire frame to your scanning eyes. Despite the battle being unfair from the start, a three verses one – you didn’t find much for her injuries.

Most of the blood being her enemies. There were going to be plenty of bruises to see later. All you could see was where a few throwing knives were embedded into her skin and where her tresses had been pulled out. If only that darker red Yautja had still a little life left in him. You would’ve been more than happy to stomp on his face. Her beautiful tresses had been tug straight out of her skull. A very sensitive organ.

Once the last piece of clothing had been discarded to lie at her feet. You scanned over her, admiring the frame she’s crafted from meticulously. Then, you realized what you were doing. Right in front of her.

Heat flushed your cheeks to life. You squeaked before spinning around and facing towards the tub. “Um, you can… you can get in whenever you want,” you sputtered and strolled over to the faucet. The bath was close to being filled all the way. You distracted yourself with that and carefully watched her out of the corner of your vision.

We’ar-ow stepped up to the edge of the bath and look into the water. A relaxing aroma soaked into the air, causing the Yautja to let her muscles go lax. She glanced at your crouched position, not even looking at her. She chuckled deep with in her chest.

The water drew her further in past the first step. The bath easily fitted her towering form, designed specifically for someone of her size and stature. She sat down on a ledge, arms spread out on the edge. A position of relaxation.

One of her hands motioned for you to come closer. You gulped before listening to her silent command. The heat in your cheeks still prominent as ever. She looked beautiful like this. After a hard and demanding battle, she deserved this peace to recuperate. You stopped on the other side of her spread out arms and gazed down at her. We’ar-ow used a finger to get you to lean down. Confused, you still listened to her.

Something latched onto your wrist. A tug had you flailing and falling headfirst into the tub. Your body caused water to spill over the edge. You surge past the water’s surface and gasp for air. Adrenaline buzzed to life, trying to fight for your survival. Anger boiled in the pit of your stomach as you scrambled for the edge of the bath.

Hands grasped at your waist and pulled you into a figure. You fought against the hold but it was pointless. All you were able to do was spin around and pounded a fist on her chest.

“What the fuck was that for?!” you screamed at her then wiped off the excess water on your face. We’ar-ow rumbled a chuckle, shoulders rising and falling. You steamed worse than before and harshly huffed, arms crossed.

Now, all of your clothes were soaked and clung to you like a second skin. It felt terrible. We’ar-ow rested her hands on your waist. The tips of her fingers and thumbs nearly were able to touch each other. That just made you feel even smaller than before. You still in her lap and tilted your head up. She was watching you with an unknown emotion swirling in her eyes. You didn’t know what it was.

“I’m all wet because of you,” you pouted, brows lowered, features pulling a ‘resting bitch face’ well. “Do you know how uncomfort-“ We’ar-ow snatched a handful of fabric and easily tore it from your torso. “What are you doing?!” That didn’t deter her from ripping every single article of clothing straight off of your body.

You stayed sat in her lap, unable to stop her until you too were naked as the same as her. After so long, the nakedness wasn’t as much as an issue as before. She’s stripped down plenty of times in front of you. Plus, she’s forced you to bathe despite disagreeing with her. That included what she just did to you.

Her hands returned to your waist and rested. There was no twitching or tight holds on you. It felt like you could leave at any point you wanted. Instead, you stayed there and found her eyes again.

The female Yautja started to purr and gingerly leaned forward. Instinctively, your eyes softly shut on their own and let her rub her forehead against yours. It was just a gentle manner; you almost thought it was a dream. We’ar-ow wasn’t soft. Not unless she wanted to be.

It caused you to relax in her grasp. Your hands came up to touch at her chest, to hold yourself up. One of her palms shifted to drift over the skin on your back. A curse sounded in your head. You melted into a pool of goo in her grasp. She knew what she was doing. It wasn’t like you were going to stop her in the first place.

Then, you shook yourself free from the calming manner and pulled away. One of your hands reached up to cup her jaw, feeling the smoother scales. You sat up higher on your knees and cupped some water with your hands. She watched as you let the water carefully run over her mandibles. You used the water to wash off the blood flakes that stained her mandibles and pink scales. It easily came off with your help.

A silence overcame the two of you. At first, you felt tense, unable to find your voice. We’ar-ow wouldn’t stop look away from you somehow finding your face the best thing to peer at. The stare of a predator forced your muscles to tense up. You fought against it, long enough to clean up her face and call it good.

Next, you worked on her upper torso since the water covered the soft swell of her breasts and down. The steam in the air created precipitation to run down your face. A heat you still weren’t used to. One you may never get a hang of. You ignored her gaze for the betterment of cleaning her up. Green blood of her enemies still staining her scales.

When you reached for the back of her head where the tresses had been pulled out, We’ar-ow ensnarled your wrist. You jolted at the unsuspecting move and found her gaze again. She brings your hand to her breastbone and pushes the palm to the scales. You can feel her powerful heart thump under your touch. A reminder she survived through it all.

We’ar-ow scoots a little closer to the end of the ledge was sitting on then dunked her head under the water. When she came back up, she shook her head and flung water everywhere. You gasped and turned away from the assault. “We’ar-ow!” you scolded but couldn’t hide the slight hint of playfulness in your voice. She instantly started to rub her wet features over your drying skin.

When she deemed it enough, We’ar-ow pulled back and lifted up her top two mandibles. A smirk. You pursed your lip and crossed your arms. “I was trying to be nice and help you. This is how you pay me back?” you huffed. The Yautja started to purr again. Your weakness.

One she knew when and how to use against you. A sigh left your lips. Your shoulders sagged. “You’re lucky I care so much about you.”

Her massive hands cupped your cheeks, easily dwarfing your features. “I am very lucky to have you at my side. Very much so,” she cooed and leaned again to nuzzle her forehead to yours. You let your arms wrap around her neck and stayed there in her arms, enjoying the moment of peace. One you knew would be far and few between.

Both of you clambered out of the bath. We’ar-ow using her brute strength to simply lift you out and set you down on the wet tiles. The heat of the ship and room kept you from feeling a chill. You were happy for once about how hot the mothership is kept at. We’ar-ow steps out and lets the water creates pools underneath each step she made.

After all the times in here, you find the blow dryer and stood on top of the grate. A warm gust of air helped fling off any drops of water that clung to your skin. You moved your way into her room and let the towering Yautja dry off as well. She followed after you.

Before she could stop you, you were quick to throw on some clothing. You knew if she had an opportunity, We’ar-ow would’ve denied you clothing. There was something about you being naked she enjoyed seeing. Especially in the safety of her quarters. All of your features exposed for her eyes only. She deepened her purr and crowded behind you.

Yet, you spun around and poked a finger into her stomach. “Hold up, go sit on the bed,” you demanded then pointed towards her bed. It would decrease her height and make it easier for you to care for her injuries. Her bright eyes narrowed down on your form. She snorted then stroll over to the low bed. You watched her for a few seconds afterwards before trotting back into the bathroom.

A first aid like kit was snatched from a cabinet before you were back at her side. We’ar-ow peered over her shoulder and observed what you were doing.

The kit was opened and laid out off to the side, on the bed. You found a serum and used it to rub across her side where the throwing knives were once embedded in her skin. It was rubbed into her scales and left it exposed. The wounds weren’t severe enough to warrant any bandages. You peered at the pull tresses and cringed at the painful sight.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything for your scalp?” you asked and moved to stand between her open legs. In this position, she was eyelevel with you. You cupped her cheek again and rubbed a thumb along the ridge of her upper mandible.

We’ar-ow shook her head softly. “No, there’s nothing to be done. The wounds will close but the tresses may never grow back. It all depends on if they do or don’t,” she explained and pinched your jaw between two fingers.

Being this close to her, you weren’t disturbed by the face she was still naked. A sight you’ve seen plenty of times, nearly every day. Some Yautjas liked to sleep naked. You kept your eyes strictly on her face, trying to respect her. The sight of her naked was beautiful though. A goddess carved into the most beautiful, most powerful creature to walk this universe.

“Okay,” you timidly responded. In response, We’ar-ow ensnared an arm around your waist and tugged you flush to her. A yelp surged past your lips. Your free hand was then pinned to between the two of you. She laid down on the bed and brought you down with her. Her other arm wrapped around your back, effectively pinning you to her.

You just let it happen. Your eyes slowly shut, letting the calm setting wash over you like the most soothing bath ever. Her arms were a comforting weight on your back and kept you pinned to her. One of the most safest places to be.

An unknown amount of time passed before she was shifting from underneath you. A groggily noise escaped your throat when you felt her warmth leave you. Your eyes blinked open to find We’ar-ow pulling on a simple pair of shorts. The Yautja strolled into the bathroom before heading into the main area of her quarters.

Curiosity got the best of you. You slipped out of bed and lumbered after her retreating form. She stepped into her trophy room. A place you kept a wide berth from. There were human skulls inside. It was natural to fear the fact one of those could be you. This time, you only hesitated before taking the plunge and going inside.

The room was considerably large. A work desk was built into the wall. Random gadgets and smaller bones laid about the wooden table. We’ar-ow set down Dwainet’s skull into a vat full of what had to be acid. It was angry looking and smelled like it was burning. You timidly stepped up to her side and motioned towards the vat. “What are you doing?” you asked and turned your head towards her.

We’ar-ow was watching as the acid bubbled with the added food. “Cleaning your courting gift,” she answered then plucked it from the vat. The sky-blue liquid dripped off of the now skinless skull.

White bones were all that were left in its wake. The other pieces part of the jaw and mandibles had to be scooped out as well. She brought all of them over to the desk and set the pieces down with the skull.

A stool was pulled up for you perch upon. You thanked We’ar-ow and watched. She carefully used a clear string like fishing line to reconnect the mandibles and jaw back to the main part of the skull. The way her large hands were delicate and still with the process shocked you. You didn’t doubt her. Far from it. But, for such a brute creature, We’ar-ow knew when and how to use that strength when the time calls. Including coming to your aid when you needed someone most. She became that someone.

The Yautja worked swiftly with practice. You zoned in on her work and ignored what the rest of the room held. It was best not to think about it. Or else, you’ll freak out. That would look terrible in front of her.

It didn’t take long before she stepped back from the standing desk. Despite the knowledge of who that skull is, you weren’t weirded out. Actually, it offered a sense of peace of mind. Dwainet couldn’t do anything to hurt you anymore. Now, it was just We’ar-ow and yourself to face what else the universe may throw at you. The two of you could defeat them all.

She took the skull into her hands before kneeling in front of you again. Inside the swirling emotions in her eyes, you saw the love that sparkled in them. Your name soft left her mandibles as her gaze pierced your very soul. “I wish to present this skull to you in a show of my skills and triumph of today’s battle. I show my skill and prowess to protect you. I show there is no reason to doubt me or what I can do to protect what’s mine,” she declared and lifted the skull closer to you.

Your hand rested on the dome section of the skull and smiled at her. “We’ar-ow, thank you. You don’t understand how much this means to me.” Your shoulders slightly sagged. “I don’t mean to seem like I’m doubting you but it’s human nature. I know you are strong and mighty. I don’t doubt that. I trust you, We’ar-ow, with all of my heart,” you stated, gaze softening at We’ar-ow.

The air between the two of you grew tense. You felt it squeeze at your chest.

We’ar-ow was the first to break eye contact by clearing her throat and looking away. “Do you have somewhere this should be hung up?” She stood back up to tower over you. You softly huffed through your nose with a shake of your head.

“Anywhere is good.”

The skull ended up above the bed. It’s final resting place of the male who betrayed you.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #We'ar-ow #The Monarch

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suguru-getos · 8 months ago

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//fractures// geto suguru x f!reader // chapter 2

🔗-> part one

warnings: hurt-comfort, mentions of wounds, mentions of stitches, guilt, complex emotions from suguru, panic attacks, reader is in a dark headspace, fluff too!! 🙂‍↔️💅🏻

story summary: being a monkey is the norm except when you're captured by geto sama because he needs money from your parents. however, you may just have to suffer a little extra because of the forced thinking about the right and wrongs... you're putting him through. the affection you’re forcing him through…

chapter summary: suguru tends to you after the whole ordeal caused by him, still conflicted & somehow tortured with the way his heart pangs at your condition. 🩷

a/n: please comment down below if you want to be tagged in the taglist <3 thank you ‼️ it's so evident that i'm just writing this for my own silly liddul heart TT_TT

an hour, at maximum. an hour had passed from when geto left your bleeding, tattered body on the bed. the mark of 'MONKEY' with deep, gashing cuts and the way your blood oozed out of your injured, broken skin was haunting his very core. he did it majorly for himself, just to remind himself that you're one. you're nothing but a monkey and monkeys shouldn't have the freedom of life. monkeys are filthy- monkeys breed curses- monkeys are disgusting and vile- monkeys-

his own feet betrayed him quickly when he found himself running for your room. the cream colored satin bedsheet stained with blood. your foot prints stained with blood directing towards the bathroom. his can feel his heart sink at the sheer amount of blood loss. jaw clenching and a soft wave of anxiety which ripens with every passing moment hugging him. did you… die? no, no its just been an hour-

he rushes to the bathroom door, watching you lay limp, holding a piece of gauze in your bloodied hands. you must have passed out by trying to give yourself first aid. he falls to his knees, tears in his eyes seeping through at the sight of usual color in your lip faded to discoloration. you look so peaceful when you sleep. he finally notices the wound inflicted by him on you, it was looking lethal. a striking reminder that you were a monkey and he was, well, a monster.

he doesn't understand what's happening, he was pretty clear that he needs to irradicate the whole human race, he has to. only those with superior selves, who can withstand not creating a curse should be allowed to live. how will he achieve this milestone when his heart weeps at the sight of one pathetic little human half his size losing consciousness.

his bulky and sturdy arms wrap around your body, hugging you closer to him and taking you to his room. your room was a blood bath anyway, he needs to ask the servants to clean it up. gently placing your body atop the plush mattress of his room, he took out his first aid kit, good thing you had been passed out. your wounds are deep and require stitches. he can't bear any more of your screams now without breaking like glass. his mind has already decided to punish him with repeated rings and episodes of your cries and wails when suguru did this to you. he wishes they could stop - he wishes they never stop. he needs to be punished.

bringing your wrist close to him, he decides to stitch those gashes up, watching your face every few seconds. you were knocked out cold, not an expression on your pretty face. he feels like it’s a win, when you'll be awake, at least you wouldn't see the word 'MONKEY' engraved on you… then again, it will scar, and it will scar bad. "you're pathetic" he hums at your sleeping form. "fragile, useless, powerless, pathetic." he adds on, the sentence more a reminder to his own self rather than for you. you're not listening to this anyway. "I could snap your neck like a twig and you wouldn't be able to defend yourself. anyone I call my family could." he sighs, fuck - he's tearing up again. you almost look dead over just an anger tantrum of his. he really needs to be very careful. you're like a little bunny who could die at the slightest bit of carelessness.

a few hours pass with suguru holding your hand, observing the crests and troughs of your sleeping face, how your chest barely heaves but still reminds him that you're alive. he couldn't be more glad that you're alive. he hates that. he hates that it brings him joy that your heart is still beating. he hates that you are bringing him joy and copious amounts of guilt.

"geto sama!" nanako gleams from outside his bedroom door. he wipes his tears at the sound of his adopted daughter's voice. "yes? what is it?" he hums from inside. "the monkey isn't in her room!" she pouts from outside, and suguru gets up to open his door. the teenager watching you lie down on geto's bed with a face of confusion. why were you laying down on 'their' geto sama's room? you- a monkey- the look of disgust in her face is inevitable.

"relax, nanako." he hums, "we need to return her to her parents after 9 days." he responds with his usual close-eyed feline smile. "yeah, but why is she here?" she pouts, "she's too pretty for a monkey though-" a frown envelopes her face. "I agree." suguru looks at you momentarily, a moment of longing and guilt erupting from the depths of his heart before quickly snapping out of it. "I got angry at her, and punished her." he continues, while nanako could see with the way the gauze bandage on your forearm was inflicted with dark reds of blood, that you indeed, were punished. "what did she do?" she asks instinctively and suguru gnaws at his lower lip.

nothing. you did absolutely nothing.

"well, she is a monkey after all." nanako adds, shrugging. "her purpose is as our 'money collecting monkey', isn't it?" she asks him, and he faintly nods. "well, if she really made you angry, geto sama. I suggest you can kill her after getting the money!" she chirps as if it was the most normal thing to say. suguru, on the other hand, feel sickened to his stomach at the thought. "hmm. I need some time alone, nanako" he declares, watching the teen leave his room and locking his door.

he's quick to grace himself in the sanctuary of your presence though, hand back holding yours. "just nine more days of you here, monkey." he reminds both of you. "then your parents will come and get you and this wouldn't exist." he smiles, a sadness spreading across his face.

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you don't wake up for one and a half days. the exhaustion on your body, the lack of nutrition and the loss of blood demands rest. AND, geto suguru is absolutely tweaking!

he sat next to you, watching you gently, leaning beside you against the headboard. you didn't wake up. he hasn't showered, hasn't gone out of his bed. his family thinks its weird, but they don't push him. suguru is a tantrum king after all, and a pissed off suguru chan is best avoided. the next morning, you're awake before noon. suguru hasn't budged, he has declined all his meetings, all his catch-ups, everything. why? he doesn't know that now, his mind doesn't give him the time to reason for any of it right now. the hollow pit of anxiety that was created was now a bottomless one. he wanted relief from it, he wanted to see you awake! shoko- maybe he needs to talk to shoko-

you shifted a little and his attention is immediately diverted to you, looking at you with the biggest sigh of relief possible. "ah-" a pained whimper escaped you, it hurts everywhere. your ribs hurt, you can barely breathe, tears sting your eyes as you groan, trying to get up. the lack of iron in your body making you dizzy. "good morning, it's afternoon now." suguru hums, just 7 days with you. why is he counting days like a mad man in prison?! before you could process anything, your eyes widened when you heard his voice, heart fluttering out of your very chest and breathless pants echoing in the room. you gripped your chest, it burns, your lungs burn from the lack of air your body can't get due to the whole panic of it all. what will he do? will he hurt you again? fuck- your head hurts, everything hurts- "plea- please" you gasp out, the veins in your forehead strained and popping as you began wailing again. shrieks and cries of pain and panic.

suguru doesn't know what to do about it, he needs to hug you close and tell you it's going to be okay. he wouldn't hurt you. he feels sorry- you don't have to break apart like this- does he even deserve to say that?

instinct… he is just acting on his instinct now.

"breathe with me, ssh~ listen, listen, little one. look at me, breathe with me. deep breath in- come on- follow me-" his voice is soft, but you're inconsolable. you have your very own instinct, the instinct to flee from him. the instinct to run away from him. you struggle against his hold and choke on sobs, leaning away. suguru is quick to pull you back to him, your head against his chest, soft head pats coming after. "ssh ssh ssh~ nothing's happening, no one's going to hurt you." he echoes it repeatedly. "that's it, that's it…" his own rapid heartbeats turning calmer and calmer as your shoulders slump back in exhaustion. you stop resisting after a few minutes, letting him hold you softly.

"just seven more days, and you'll be home." suguru hums to comfort you.

"I hope you die." you mumbled with equal hatred to his comfort. may as well be killed instead of spending seven whole days with him… "I hope everyone you ever knew dies, and they die in front of you." you spit out in your venom laced tone after calming down, trying to lean away from suguru's hug.

"and? who will kill them? you?" he is almost amused, but nothing you say with outweigh his guilt right now. "let’s get you cleaned up and get you to a doctor." he announces. he still has 7 ol' days with you after all.

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taleeater · 9 months ago

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Fragile Part 4

Remember Sophie from Howl’s Moving Castle? Well, that’s you this chapter :]

Generation: Bayverse TMNT

Tmnt x Reader Fanfic

Pronouns: Gender Neutral (except ‘dudette’ and ‘princess’)

Warnings: injury, wholesome, lots of cleaning, not proof read

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“You IDIOTS!” A crash resounded in the room as Stockman knocked over a table full of metal tools. “How could you let go the ONE MUTANT that survived all the testing phases!” Another crash as beakers and chemicals were knocked off a table. “I never should have left you FOOLS in charge of guarding the lab. This could set us back months of progress. If we don’t find that girl, Karai will have my head!��

With an angry huff Stockman fell into his dusty office chair and spun over to his computer. He was working on updating all the computer systems there in the old Sacks building. He had joined the Foot in taking up residence there since you had compromised their position at the warehouse laboratory by the docks. They couldn’t risk a raid from the turtles and losing all his research. This location wasn’t the most inconspicuous considering its history, but since the Shredder’s initial defeat at the hands of the turtles and April, the building had been deemed unstable and labeled condemned. Since it was difficult to dismantle such a large skyscraper in the middle of the city, it had been mostly left unoccupied for the past several years. Making it the ideal base for Foot activity.

As he was sorting through old records on the computer, he came across an interesting clip in the archived surveillance videos.

“Hmm…. interesting…. Yes, if I do that- yes…. YES! This will work nicely.” Stockman chuckled darkly to himself as he got up from his chair. Bebop and Rocksteady shared a confused look and shrugged, not understanding the sudden change in the scientist’s mood.

“Uuuuuh, hey boss, so what are we going to do about them?”

“You two aren’t going to do anything. …. yet.” Baxter’s dark chuckle echoed as he disappeared down the hallway.

It has been 2 weeks since you met the turtles.

Initially, April had brought you a duffle bag full of comfy clothes a little bit too big for you, and some essential toiletries. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a hot shower with conditioner and soft sweatpants to put on after. Leo’s bed was warm and clean, Michelangelo cooked you delicious comfort food, and Donatello downloaded all of your favorite movies and shows you had missed. Raph one night had even knit you a cozy cardigan. The boys were all making an effort to make you feel more comfortable. But you couldn’t help but notice the reason.

You were still scared.

Every night you woke to terrible nightmares. And every day you felt like you were still walking on broken glass. Startling at any sudden sound or slightest touch. You noticed how Leo looked at you with pity, and Mikey wore a faltering smile. Donnie kept busy working on tracking the Foot, aside from regularly changing your bandages, and Raph- Raph just tried to keep his distance.

You didn’t blame them. You were a stranger in their home. You were finally in a safe place, but it was like your body was still in survival mode. High strung and anxious. You wanted to do something for them. Anything, to repay them and make yourself feel useful. A distraction.

Master Splinter had on many occasions noticed your stressed and mousy demeanor. He felt the unease in their home and the distance his sons kept with their new ward. Like neither party knew how to find common ground.

One night, he requested you join him in his meditation room for tea. You obliged.

“I sense your unease.” He stated casually.

You hesitated, then nodded. You didn’t know how to respond.

“There is nothing to be ashamed about. For so long, you lived every day, not knowing if it would be your last. You lost your autonomy, your freedom. And yet you escaped all on your own. You are very brave.”

“….Thank you. I just wish I could feel that way. I feel so… scared. Like I’ll wake up back in that lab again and all of this would have been a dream. I… I don’t know what to do with myself.” You fussed with the teacup in your hands.

Splinter reached across the table and offered you his hand as a comfort. You took it gently and sighed.

“It will take time before you begin to feel like yourself again. My boys can be a little… reserved at times. It is not often we get to interact with friendly humans. Trust me when I say, they also wish for your comfort and safety. It just may take some time for them to get used to another presence in our home. In the meantime, perhaps there is something you can do that will make you feel more at home?”

You were surprised by his suggestion. They had already offered their home up to you, you wouldn’t dare ask anything more of them. But maybe…

“….a-actually… there might be something. If I could have your permission of course.”

Splinter smiled at you.

Once your injuries had fully healed, Splinter had called upon April and Casey’s help to assist you. There was some materials you needed of course, and Mikey was let in on the big secret. You felt guilty roping in so many people just to help you feel more comfortable, but there was something you wanted to do for them, as a thank you for taking you in. April seemed ecstatic at the proposition and was eager to bring you the supplies. Casey just seemed confused that this was something you wanted to do of your own free will. And Mikey- well, he was just excited to share a hobby with you.

The cooking part, that is. Not the cleaning.

Ever since you had been brought down to the lair for safe keeping, you had noticed one glaringly obvious thing. This was a man cave in every sense of the word. The lair was terribly dirty. Dust and grime everywhere. The only clean places you noticed were the dojo, Leo’s room, and Master Splinter’s quarters. You understood that they were all living in a sewer, and they had clearly made a bit of an effort to keep it clean. But you were through avoiding sticky spots on the floor and sitting on a dirty couch.

First things first: Donnie’s dirty coffee mug hoard. The purple turtle was currently napping in his room after an all nighter doing surveillance in coordination with the police, so now was the perfect time to clean up his station. You were extremely grateful to April for including a pair of rubber gloves in the bags of cleaning supplies she brought for you. Mikey helped you collect all the mugs and bring them to the sink, where he was in charge of washing them while you cleaned off all of Donnie’s work tables where he tinkered. You were careful not to move any projects, but wiped it clean of all its dust and stains. Then carefully sanitized all his keyboards and mouse, cleaned all of the monitors (yes all of them), and swept away the crumbs on the floor around his chair.

Once that was complete, you moved on to the living room. Leo was currently preoccupied meditating with Master Splinter in the dojo, so no one was around to notice you swoop in and descend on the couch. Thankfully the boys no longer had a couch made of empty pizza boxes, and had upgraded to a large sectional that Casey had found them used for cheap up top. You were certain that the couch covers had never been washed since it was brought down to the sewers. You were doubly certain that the boys probably didn’t even know the cushion covers could be removed and washed. You threw the covers into the washing machine on hot water with a healthy amount of soap. Mikey then helped you move the couch so you could clean the floor underneath, and smashed the cockroach that had scrambled out from underneath. The coffee table was wiped down, the rug was taken to a railing to be hung and the dust beat out by Mikey with his nunchucks, and the floor mopped clean.

Next was the workout room. Raph had just finished his exercise and left for the bathroom to take a shower, so you rushed in and started cleaning off every dusty and grimy sweat covered surface you could find. There was a musky scent of dirt and sweat permeating the room. All the dumbbells had a build up of grime from their sweaty hands using them for so many years. You also made sure to sanitize all of the mats and floors as well. By the time you were finished, Raph was leaving the shower and went to his room. You hid so he wouldn’t notice you as he passed by, unassuming. Then you were left with the big task.

The bathroom.

You were certain if there was a soundtrack playing in the background, dramatic horror music would be playing. You rolled up your sleeves and went in. Toilets, showers, sinks, and the massive bathtub, all scrubbed down with an unholy amount of bleach until every tiled surface shined. By the time you were finished, Mikey had come in to tell you he was ready to start on the kitchen. That was Mikey’s domain.

You were grateful that all the dishes were already clean by the time you entered the kitchen. But Mikey needed your help when it came to the cupboards and fridge.

“Mikey? ….Why do you have 3 year old expired sour cream in the fridge?”

“Huh? Isn’t it supposed to be ‘sour’? It still looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Mikey there is black mold growing in it.”

“Oh, so…. That’s not pepper then.”

By the time you had finished clearing out the fridge and cupboards of everything expired or moldy, you had filled 3 trash bags full of garbage. Mikey helpfully took out the trash while you cleaned and organized the fridge and cupboards, and wiped down all the surfaces. By the time Mikey returned, you were rifling through the brown paper bag April got you full of ingredients and spices you had requested.

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” Mikey cheerfully greeted you as he rejoined you in the now clean kitchen.

“Well… if I remember the recipe correctly, I want to make the dish my mom always made for me…”

Mikey looked at you surprised for a moment, then excitement overtook him. “Cool! Can I help?”

You perked up at the suggestion. “Will you? I’d,… I’d love that, thank you!” Your expression melted into a warm smile, and Mikey felt his heart skip a beat.

You looked so pretty when you smiled, he thought to himself.

He wanted to see you smile more, just like that.

You both washed your hands and got to work. On the freshly clean kitchen counter, you had Mikey kneed cold butter into flour to make a dough, while you cut vegetables and cooked chicken on the stove. By the time Mikey was ready with the dough, there were 6 pie tins lined up to add the crust. The oven dinged and the base crust went in to brown while you stirred a large pot on the stove. Then you took out the pies and added the filling, and covered the tops with more dough. You were surprised at how large their oven was, but they were 4 giant mutant turtles and a rat. You had no doubt that each of the boys would eat a whole pie themself. The extra 2 were for Splinter, you, April, and Casey, who would be joining everyone later.

Once the oven door closed, Mikey turned up the radio that had been quietly humming tunes in the background as a fun song you hadn’t heard before played through the speakers. (‘Bad idea right?’ by Olivia Rodrigo started playing.) Mikey’s head started bobbing and he grabbed the wooden spoon you had been stirring with and began mouthing the words into it like a microphone. You giggled at his antics as he pointed a green finger at you and beckoned you out into the open of the room. You felt drawn to join him as the pop song got your head bobbing to the beat. You felt a feeling well up in your chest as the chorus started building up. Excitement bubbling until the chorus peaked and your head bobbing turned into jumping around. Before you knew it, you were dancing around the living room with Mikey holding your hands and spinning you around. You lost yourself in the freeing feeling of the stress and anxiety getting washed away by the music. All the cleaning you had done was so stress relieving you were starting to feel like yourself again.

Little did you know, the music had drawn the attention of the other brothers. Leo and Master Splinter came out from their meditation to watch in the doorway, Leo smiled and crossed his arms as he looked at you. Raph came out freshly dressed and looked surprised but shared a look with Leo that made them smirk at you and their little brother’s antics. Then Donnie trudged out and leaned against his door frame and fixed his glasses to make sure he was in fact seeing you correctly.

You were smiling, laughing, and dancing.

“It seems as though we are seeing Miss (y/n) for the first time today.” Mused Splinter, the old rat brushing his beard.

Just then April and Casey walked in, carrying boxes they had brought down from up top.

“Hey guys, what’s going on?” April asked putting down her box.

You were happily giggling as Mikey spun you around at the end of the song. April grinned, happily surprised at the scene. Casey walked in behind her and started looking around the lair like he was seeing it for the first time, setting his box down next to April’s. This prompted Leo, Raph, and Donnie to also take a better look around their home. They slowly all walked out into the living space, looking in all directions.

“.... Where did all my coffee cups go…?”

“Hm? Oh! They’re washed and in the cupboard!” You answered cheerily.

“.... Does…. Does the gym smell like oranges?” Raph said, baffled.

“.... Where did all the dust go? ….Does the couch look clean to you?” Leo nudged Donnie to bring his attention to the freshly washed couch covers.

There was a beat of heavy silence as the boys took in the new state of their home, then the timer above the oven dinged and you ran over to put on your oven mitts.

“The food’s ready!” You called out cheerfully.

In the next few minutes, everyone was sitting around the small kitchen table. Each turtle with a full pie in front of them, and large slices cut for Splinter, April, and Casey, and a smaller cut for yourself.

“Damn, what’s this? Smells great!” Casey exclaimed.

“My mom showed me how to make this, it’s chicken pot pie. I hope you like it!” You said a bit shyly now that you had calmed down a bit.

You watched as all the boys and April picked up a spoon and dug in, taking their first bite. There was a chorus of groans of approval as the boys hummed approvingly around their bite.

“Oh my god my mouth is singing!” Mikey exclaimed, trying to shovel the pie into his mouth.

“How did you manage to get this level of flakiness into the crust? Was there any special preparation when kneading the dough?” Donnie questioned. Then Mikey mumbled out around a full mouth, ‘cold butter, dude’ which Donnie had to ask him to repeat when his mouth wasn’t full.

“Wow… I’ve never had anything like this before. Did you make this?” Leo asked. Raph was grunting in approval with each new bite he took, absorbed in his food from across the table.

You blushed and nodded. It didn’t take long for everyone to clean their plates. Casey, Mikey, and Raph all fought for seconds. Master Splinter and April were sharing very pleased looks on their faces, like they were conspiring all along. Once everyone was finished, you stood up and started to collect plates from the table.

“Oooooh no, you did enough cleaning today, let someone else take a turn, shortie.” Raph stood up to stop you.

“I don’t mind, really!” You urged, but you weren’t paying attention to where you were walking and bumped into Mikey who was taking his own plate to the sink.

The plate dropped from his hand in surprise, and faster than anyone could react, your freehand shot out and grabbed the plate. There was a cracking sound and everyone froze to look at you. There you were, balancing 5 large heavy ceramic plates stacked in one hand, while your other hand was holding onto Mikey’s plate that had cracked and fractured in your grip. You were stunned.

“Woah… what just happened?” Mikey broke the silence.

Part 5

@itsberrydreemurstuff @thecreat0r64 @eli-chris @kurlyfrasier @autisticnutcase @drenix004 @donniesgirlie @cherryp-op @foggyturtleknightangel

If anyone else wants to be tagged for the next update, let me know in the comments! :]

#tmnt fanfic #tmnt x reader #bayverse tmnt #tmnt bayverse #tmnt bayverse x reader #tmnt 2014 x reader #tmnt 2016 x reader #tmnt imagines #bayverse donatello #bayverse raphael #bayverse tmnt x reader #bayverse leonardo #bayverse michelangelo #bayverse!tmnt

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oddberryshortcake · 17 days ago

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MY DEAR i apologize for the random drabble request pls don't feel pressured to do this if you do not wish🩵

but as u know, I love how you write the Dia gang🥺 and I crave crumbs of Lilia being put in a scenario where he actually needs to drop his 'ufufu' act and be protective over a one Silver Vanrouge

which is something I have not found yet in canon materials, very sadly, (but pls correctly me if i am wrong bc I am not in-the-know of all the vignettes and such)

There is one great moment in Book 7 where Lilia literally gets shot by a cannon while shielding Silver and he didn't even remember Silver was his son, his body just reacted on its own. Such good angst 😭 and then Jade's lab vignette has a pretty cute moment between the two with Lilia thinking Silver was getting poisoned.

But yes, I have written something for you (sorry it took so long lol) please enjoy and thank you for asking!

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

‘Shouldn’t he be taking less naps by now?’ Lilia thought to himself.

In all of the human parenting books he read, most of them said that young humans tend to stop napping regularly at around four years old. Unless Silver was in the 30% margin of human five-year-olds needing naps, Lilia couldn’t find rhyme or reason for Silver to be this tired so frequently.

When Silver was a baby, Lilia often praised him for his ability to go to sleep easily. It was a far cry from Malleus, who hated naps even when he was a wee little dragon. For a while, the only problem Silver really had was something called ‘colic’ and that thankfully passed by the time he reached 6 months.

He had his suspicions it could have something to do with the state Lilia found him in…Lost in the throes of a protective sleep spell for over 400 years. The spell should’ve broken by now, otherwise Silver wouldn’t be here with him at all, tottering about in their front yard.

He felt in his gut that some of Silver’s quirks weren’t normal, but he had no way of knowing for sure. He never lived with a human before nor took care of one. He kept telling himself that maybe human children would fall asleep standing up.

He was brushing up on his reading because of his anxious observations. It was his way of dissuading himself from worrying. That’s when he heard what sounded like a heavy object being dropped down the stairs…The stairs that led up to Silver’s bedroom.

“Silver? Are you causing any mischief up there?” He asks playfully, but he got no response which was odd.

He went to inspect the sound and found Silver collapsed at the bottom of the stairs, limbs contorted in ways he’d see the deceased on the battlefield lie, not befitting for a little five-year-old.

After a moment of standing there, in shock at what he was seeing, his senses finally came back to him and he rushed over to investigate. There was a cut just above Silver’s delicate forehead, and blood was gushing out.

“Silver! Please speak to me!” He attempted, but got nothing. Then panic set in, those colorful little bandaids he had on hand wouldn’t be enough to close up this wound, and he had no healing potion on hand.

The blood reached down to his white eyelashes and wasn’t stopping. Was he gravely injured? Was he dying?

He already knew humans were fragile, but could stairs really kill him?

All these unknowns swirled in his brain and he felt like he did when Silver first got ill as a baby. Completely blind, making stuff up on the spot, a novice in the ways of raising a human, guilty of not handing Silver over to willing humans who would’ve taken him in and raised him better.

He took Silver into his arms, not caring that his blood stained his newly cleaned white shirt, and took to a broomstick to fly all the way to the nearest human clinic.

When he arrived, there was someone new at the front desk, a human employee he had never seen before instead of someone familiar.

“This child fell down my stairs. He’s bleeding and he isn’t responding, I need help.” Lilia told her with urgency.

“Sir, where did you find this child?” She asked, not knowing.

He had fallen into his usual habit of referring to Silver as ‘the kid he looked after’ like he would around Baur. This woman took one look at him and knew they didn’t match.

“He’s mine.” Lilia asserted.

“But you’re-“

“Yes, I know I’m a fae, but he’s my child and he needs help! Where’s the doctor?!” He quickly lost his patience with her.

His heart was already pounding out of his chest, feeling unworthy of calling Silver his own. The judgmental reaction he was met with had validated his feelings of inadequacy.

The usual doctor stepped out and recognized them, apologizing for his new employee’s reaction. He took one look at Silver in his arms and took him to the back where Silver would normally get his annual check-ups.

The doctor wiped the blood away to reveal that the cut Silver got across his hairline was not as deep as it looked.

“There are many tiny arteries around the head, that’s why the bleeding was so profuse at a small cut,” the doctor explained, “With some gauze, it should heal up like normal.”

“But he’s unconscious,” Lilia told him, “that’s dangerous for humans.”

“This wound isn’t deep enough for that. Children often get more hurt when they try bracing themselves for a fall, but I believe Silver went limp before he fell down the stairs as you described.” The doctor told him as he wrapped the bandage around his son’s head.

Silver didn’t necessarily look in pain, just asleep as he normally was…Except that wasn’t normal, was it?

“What do you mean? Are you saying he wasn’t conscious when he fell?” Lilia asks.

The doctor turns to him, a serious expression on his face.

“I know you’re new to this and as you’ve told me before, you haven’t interacted with humans much before adopting him…But excessive sleepiness is not normal for a child his age.” The doctor said, and Lilia felt the pit in his stomach grow.

“It’s not?” He repeats dumbly, of course, it’s not! Why did he allow so much room for doubt in his mind, pushing his concerns aside, believing that he was making up it being an issue.

“No, and the fact that his injury hasn’t woken him up is concerning. I think you should look into consulting medical mages or human doctors closer in the city about this.” The doctor recommended, “It could be an underlying neurological disorder.”

‘Or a blessing turned curse,’ Lilia thinks in his head. He couldn’t tell the doctor that, though, he couldn’t tell anyone. Not even Malleus, nor Silver even when he’s old enough to understand. This is his secret to keep close to his heart.

“If you have any recommendations, please let me know.” Lilia requests, “I’ll take him to whatever doctor or mage he needs to go to solve this.”

Would anyone be able to find out what’s wrong, though?

Ancient magic was seeped into his bones, there was no known cure for that. But if someone could find anything, then…

Silver stirred and was understandably disoriented from his change in surroundings. He started to tear up, which he hadn’t done in a long time, and Lilia pulled him into a hug where he could muffle his soft cries into his shoulder.

“Thank you for always helping me.” He thanked the human doctor, who returned similar sentiments.

“I was surprised when Dr. Zigvolt referred you to us,” he said, referring to Baur’s son-in-law, “A fae raising a human isn’t exactly common, but I can tell you both care for each other. You have a good kid, I’m sure you raised him to be that way.”

“So you’ve noticed,” Lilia replied light-heartedly. Silver turned his face to the familiar doctor, now ashamed by his tears, and wanted to thank him for patching him up. “What do we say, Silver?”

“Thank you sir,” Silver says in a small voice.

“You two take care.” The doctor bids them farewell on the way out.

As they left, Silver looked up at him with his side, auroral eyes, and tilted his bandaged head in curiosity.

“Papa, you’re gripping my hand really tight. What’s wrong?” He asks, “Is it cause I hurt myself?”

Silver could be strangely perceptive, almost wise beyond his short years. Yes, Lilia had Silver in a tighter grip than usual, afraid a possible second slip up would send them right back to where they start.

Lilia could never tell Silver about who his parents truly were or where he came from or even why he is the way he is. He would keep having to lie about that, and lying to that sweet little face was already so hard.

Silver didn’t even know he was adopted yet, it’s like everything about their little life was one big secret.

But he couldn’t lie about this.

“I’m a little worried about you, that’s all. The nice doctor told me that your sleepiness isn’t normal.” He broke the news, to which Silver looked down at his tiny feet in shame, “But it’s alright because I’m going to take you to many doctors so we can find a cure.”

“That’s good!” Silver looked up with a smile, “Then I can still be a knight, right?”

“Yes, you can.” Lilia said, swinging both their arms back and forth, “And Silver?”

Silver looked back at him.

“Please try not to scare your papa.”

#oddberry fics #twst fics #twst #twisted wonderland #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #diafam fics are my jam next to scarabia angst

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heartilywrites · 5 months ago

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is it alright if i can request some wholesome gyomei content? regardless of it being nsfw or not

،، 𝓛over of Mine ; G. Himejima

request guide | masterlist

resume: a late night talk with Gyomei.

content warning: fluff ; Gyomei x gn!reader ; established relationship ; r is not from the corps ; suggestive at the very end ; no use of y/n

wc: 0.9k

a/n: HEIYA!! im so sorry it's too short:( i rewrote it so many times and tried to made it longer, but i felt like i was just writing nonsense at some point so i decided to keep it short but sweet as they say. thank you for requesting, love !!! hope you enjoy <3

“ At the end of the road I see you with me.

The night surrounding the estate was quiet, a beautiful moon in full display at the very top of the sky dancing along with stars scattered all around her that just made her stand out more. Gyomei found himself sitting outside of your shared room enjoying the cold air and calm, in his lap a purr demanded his attention, one of the little cats you’ve adopted had followed the man.

The sound of your steps made him straighten his back, feeling your arms hug his neck almost made him melt against you.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Are you okay, darling?” hoarsely, the question came from you meaning you had just woken up from your sleep, a bit worried about why he would be outside at such hours when you realized his warmth missing from beside you.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I am, I'm sorry if I woke you up, my love.” he answered, a small kiss was felt on his cheek now. “I couldn't sleep, Yuki and I came here to breath fresh air.”

You let go of him for a second to sit beside him and take his hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Is something bothering you?”

The hashira thought his answer a bit too long. Is there? A lot of things bother him; demons, his memories, irresponsible people, people who hated cats, demons again... But that night, what was bothering him exactly? He should be at ease, he had a house to go back to, he had his friends, the now five cats you two adopted in wishes to give them a good life, he was alive and healthy, and most important: he had you by his side.

You were like the air floating around him, Gyomei needed you to keep going, he felt like he didn't deserve you, like you were totally out of his league, but there you were; by his side despite it all.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Gyomei...” his name sounded in a whisper by you, your unoccupied hand cleaning away the tears his eyes were letting roll free in his face.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “It's nothing, I was just thinking of you.” he confessed finally, your face feeling warmer at such comment. “Of how lucky I am to have you and how I will fight harder to keep you safe.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, you took the cat in your hands after letting go of the one you were holding. A tiny kiss were left on Yuki's head before leaving her to run back inside and now you took her place in your partner's lap, both hands cupped his face with such caution as if you were handling the most fragile of things and your thumbs were caressing his skin.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I'm the lucky one to be with you.” you started, his head tilted a bit to one of your hands. “You already do so much for me that I feel like I owe you this life and my next ones, Gyomei.”

His tears didn't stop at any moment, one of his hands rested on top of yours and he moved it a bit so he could leave a small kiss on your palm.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “You have such a beautiful heart that I feel like I should be the one taking care of you.” a small giggle left your mouth before sighing. “I love you, so much and with all my strength.”

Your lips met his in such a sweet kiss filled with love and care. He burned those words in his memory, he had no idea how he got so lucky to land on you.

After pulling away, the hashira wrapped his arms around your waist while yours were on his neck, making you feel secure; it didn’t matter how tall you were, you always felt small when you were with him, always feeling protected. He had become your safe place, you always looked for him when things get tough and you need comfort or when you're feeling down, seeing him could turn a bad day into the perfect one, because he had this unique way of making everything better.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “We should try to sleep, darling,” you whispered on his ear, he had his face hiding in the crook of your neck. “You have to start training the demon slayers early tomorrow.”

He made a sound that vibrated in his throat, making you shiver a little bit. “I'm not sleepy.” was answered, then his lips started to attend your skin leaving warm kisses on their way.

A sigh was heard from you, fingers tangling on his hair and your head tilted to the side so he would have more access. Gyomei tasted and smelled you like he had always loved to do smiling a little over you at the sounds you so gladly let him hear, your free hand found its way under his shirt to feel him, the sudden cold hand meddling made him let out a low moan that blended in your skin.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I think we should go inside,” you called his attention hardly putting the words together. “We'll catch a cold, we can continue there.” you nodded desperate to your own words.

The man didn’t answer, he took action by standing up with you in his arms so effortlessly that made you gasp surprised, almost like he hadn't done the same before, and made you two get back in the house to resume what had been started, he was so determined to make you feel how much he loved and worshipped you.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #gyomei himejima #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #gyomei himejima x reader #kny x reader #kny #kny gyomei

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whetstonefires · 8 months ago

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You know, I've been thinking about it, and it is absolutely essential to the narrative that Jiang Cheng is a dick and a trash fire. (Affectionate.)

Like, first of all, if he was a sainted little angel of a shidi the way Jiang Yanli is a shijie, Wei Wuxian's choices would become obvious, sort of impersonal, and boring.

Sure, lots of people wouldn't tear themselves apart for such a person in such a scenario, but they're not the protagonists of novels, are they; in a book you have to justify not doing that. So white lotus Jiang Cheng is off the table.

Jiang Cheng who isn't fragile-and-insecure but also stubborn-as-hell and violently reactive also won't wash.

If he wasn't the kind of person who sincerely tries to die under these circumstances, Wei Wuxian would have had the option of loyally supporting him in a less self-destructive way; if he was someone who could be trusted to handle the revelation without suffering a ruinous fracture of identity, Wei Wuxian wouldn't have been forced to distance himself after the war, because he could have come clean.

If Jiang Cheng wasn't the kind of person who centers on his own pride and hurt feelings and lashes out about it, it would be very hard to set up the lategame scenario where they're 'enemies' in a real, meaningful way, despite still loving each other and Wei Wuxian never wishing Jiang Cheng any ill. Even with Jiang Yanli's death.

And I mean, you could get most of the plot without doing this interesting thematic examination of the classic 'bond between martial brothers severed by one going to the dark side' trope, but I'd argue you'd lose an enormous chunk of the story.

And without Jiang Cheng's weaknesses, Wei Wuxian's motives don't cohere. His weaknesses form the foundation of at least two of the backstory's major turning points.

There's the tantalizing possibility that Wei Wuxian wouldn't have done it, if Jiang Cheng hadn't strangled him while blaming him for everything.

Probably he would have, all else being equal! But neither we nor Jiang Cheng can be sure.

Jiang Cheng sucking a lot, and knowing his own flaws perfectly well without that granting him the ability to do much about them, is heavily load-bearing. Which gives him such a fantastic implied point of view!

#hoc est meum #i love jiang cheng i do #and the way wwx backed him into a corner where he had no good choices #by withholding information to protect him #is genuinely awful for him! it's so unfair!#but he can't say wwx was wrong about any of his assessments either #can he #but also he's a shithead whose mother repeatedly reinforced the idea that being a shithead #was a necessary component of having self-respect as an elite scion #and being worthy of respect and love #but also was the unalterable reason his father would only ever consider him a disappointment #and he's a mess and entitled and cruel and he dislikes himself quite a lot #while also thinking so very highly of himself #and he's awful without being *bad*#and basically mxtx had so much fun with the category of villain in this book #even though she wasn't being as loud about it as in svsss #mdzs #meta #jiang cheng

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fortunefavourstheboldau · 20 days ago

Text

chapter 1: a familiar sunrise

"Audaces fortuna juvat, Grant."

The voice crooned, echoing around his skull. Curly’s eyes fluttered open, the forgotten warmth of a blanket weighing on his still tired body. His uniform still lay there, crinkled and sweat-soaked from presumably either another nightmare or from laying awake, unwilling to let himself fall victim to whatever Jimmy wished to do to him again. He’d told himself time and time again that it wasn’t normal for a friend to need to do that to him, that Jimmy just wanted to use him and that he didn’t care about him; but the voice in the back of his head always whimpered that he surely cares because he takes the effort to abuse him. But... Jimmy was nice sometimes. Sometimes when Curly was sick, he'd bring him lukewarm soup with a dirty bowl, but, hey it's the idea that counts? Right? He laid there, conflicted. Did he really think Jimmy cared about him, after everything? Was it some stupid thoughts from a past self echoing through his heart? He'd feel incredibly stupid if it was how he really felt. God, sometimes he couldn't recognise himself in the mirror after Jimmy was done with him. He'd always been known as a well-built, tough guy, so seeing the fragile, tear-stained face that probably should've shaved a long time ago staring back at him embarrassed him more than anything. A face more horrifying than that was his charred, burnt flesh and exposed teeth staring back at him. He hated it when Jimmy would grab Anya's mirror and force him to look at the failure of a captain he'd become. The only thing that remained the same were the piercing blue eyes, a harsh icy blue glinting back at him. Everyone always told him how it felt like he was staring through them, but he always laughed it off, not really caring for the specifics. He sat up, looking at his hands. Oh, how he'd missed having skin, and hands, and feet - Curly missed having control over his own body. He'd gotten too used to talking to himself in his skull, it made Curly feel like he was going mental, but he'd just accepted it. But.. Was he in a dream? Weird to put him back on the Tulpar if he was. A couple rough knocks echoed from his door. Probably Swansea wanting him to send Daisuke on a unnecessary job just so he could get a break from the boy's constant talking. Curly yawned, and got up, stripping yesterday's uniform and replacing it with a cleaner, longer version. Even in a dream, he didn't want to risk unnecessary attention to himself.

"Oi, Curls! What time do you call this?"

Fuck. He glanced at the calendar sitting on his desk. 3 weeks before the crash?

"Coming Jimmy. No need to get your knickers in a twist, mate."

He opened the door, greeted by a grinning Jimmy in a surprisingly freshly washed uniform. Normally it took Jimmy a little longer than normal to wash his clothes and bathe himself.

"Careful, Anya's gonna call you in for another psych eval if you keep staying in your room for so long. Everyone knows you don't sleep, you have darker undereyes than all of us combined!"

Jimmy put his hand on Curly's shoulder, squeezing it slightly.

"I don't want to watch our brilliant captain fall weakness to laziness, and neither do the crew, Curls. We're all sooo worried about you. "

Curly laughed meekly, shrugging off Jimmy's hand.

"Haha, very funny Jimmy. I'm fine, just couldn't.. find a clean uniform this morning. Laundry day came sooner than I expected."

Jimmy snickered and turned around, before walking off. Curly sighed in relief, looking around the dining room - Swansea sat in his usual chair, reading through an old textbook he was presumably going to lend to Daisuke, swirling the remainder of a cup of coffee. Daisuke was nowhere to be seen, but Curly assumed he was off in the utility room working on his new worksheets Swansea had found. Anya sat nearby Swansea, flicking through old photos on her camera, and sometimes turning it to him to show him photos of the beginning of the trip. Curly walked over to the two of them, knees cracking as he moved. Probably would need to get Anya to look at it, but he wasn't gonna bother, dream or not.

"Morning everyone. I hope you all slept well?"

Anya flinched, glancing up at him. She laughed, embarrassed. Swansea looked up at him and grunted in acknowledgement before looking back down.

"Hey Captain. Sorry, I thought you were someone else for a second. Did you sleep in late?"

"Huh? Oh uh... Yeah. I guess."

Anya squinted at him, scanning his face.

"You don't sound certain in that, and I know you have insomnia. What were you doing in there?"

Curly laughed nervously, walking over to the still working coffee machine. This all felt a little too real to be a dream. Jeez, what god had he unknowingly devoted himself to now? Could it be time-travel? No. No that would be ridiculous. He'll bring it up with Anya later. She'll probably tell him it was all some mental delusions he was having. Yeah. That sounded a lot better than "Hey Curly, you daft twat, you're now in debt to a god.'' Still, the thought lingered at the back of his mind.

"Hey, Earth to Curly? You in there?"

He blinked, only now realising Anya was standing in front of him, waving her hand across his vision.

"Ah. Yeah, yeah I mean it. I'm fine Anya."

"Still not answering my question, Grant. What took you 3 hours to do in there? You're always out at 4, maybe 5 am if you decide to shower."

She smiled softly, lowering her hand.

"I'm not going to push it, but you know evaluations are coming up tomorrow; right? You're worrying me."

Curly smiled back at her, deciding he'd lighten the mood by poking a little fun at her. He put his finger up, changing his voice to sound a hell of a lot nerdier than it normally could go.

"Erhm ackshually, evals are coming up tomoz, Anya."

She chuckled, jokingly slapping him.

"You're a dickhead, you know that, right?"

"Yeah I know. I'm funny though."

Curly grins, grabbing his cup of coffee, and sitting himself up on the counter. Anya shakes her head at him jokingly, before turning around and grabbing her camera off the table. Swansea nodded at the two of them before walking off.

"You should look at this photo I've got of when I first boarded. You look so happy there!"

He looked down at the photo. In it, he had his arm around Anya, and a massive grin plastered on his face. He appeared to have recently gotten a haircut, so his golden mop was more of a polished army cut. Anya seemed similarly happy, long black hair tied up in a loose messy bun, cheeks red from presumed cold. Curly smiled, and put his arm around her, replicating the pose in the photo.

"You reckon anything's changed, Anya?"

"Yeah, you're a sad sack of shit now!"

She smirked, looking up at him.

"Heyy, that's not fair! You know the shenanigans that Daisuke somehow gets up to when Big Swan isn't looking."

"Can't blame the wee little intern, senior Captain Curly."

He faked a gasp, clutching his chest, elbow unfortunately cracking as he moved it.

"Senior? I'm only 35! Swansea's 57!"

"Grant, I'd love to go along with your idea of you being a spring chicken buut your elbow cracked, you old dog."

He scoffed, standing up. Anya laughed, setting her camera down on the counter after stretching.

"Well, senior Captain Curly, I've got responsibilities calling. Enjoy your coffee!"

"It was nice talking to you Anya. I really missed it."

Her eyebrows furrowed at that comment, but she quickly let it go, deciding it'd be a tomorrow thing.

Curly walked over to the lounge, stepping aside to avoid the broken section of the sofa. He'd once been desperate to fix it, but Pony Express would even take complaints out of his paycheck, so he'd given it up. Sipping his now lukewarm coffee, he stared out into the artificial baby blue abyss. Fuck, he'd missed just being able to talk to his crew. He hated being stuck there, unable to give them a response, even when they sat there talking to him about everything. They'd all kept him alive even though they'd believed he was the one to crash the ship. He was sure that had happened. Though, he wasn't entirely sure whatever situation he was in now was real, however. His limbs felt like how they had before, and his face looked how it should, but he didn't feel real. Had he really spent 3 hours staring at the ceiling? Curly had never really had severe mental delusions - he'd had numerous panic attacks, and dissociated whenever he got into bed - but he'd never hallucinated months of torture?

Maybe Jimmy was right. Maybe he really was falling off the deep end, once and for all.

fic link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/61405324/chapters/157008094

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing good ending au #jimmy mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #fortune favours the bold #time travel #fix it fic

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mymegumi · 1 year ago

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SEASONALLY YOURS ෆ KAMO CHOSO

⠀ warnings: potentially ooc!choso (i dont rlly write for him:()

choso doesn’t really enjoy the winter.

he hates wearing big clunky shoes, and his doc martins don’t have any sort of grip to resist the icy streets when he has to walk places. sometimes, snow gets in his shoes and then he has to deal with terminally wet feet—of which the wrinkly little toe pads sketch him out and make him feel like he has to dry off as soon as possible. the snow melts in his hair and that means any sort of hairstyle has to be de facto shoved underneath a beanie. plus his ears get cold and he hates when his ears get cold.

there’s a few perks, like driving around and looking at christmas lights, and the late night first snow walks he loves taking—everything is so serene and untouched by humanity it makes his chest ache with the peacefulness.

he feels as though the winter cold seeps into his bones, chilling him to his core until he can’t seem to get warm. he could be standing in front of a fire and still the winter’s winds would find a way to him. he hates it. he hates being cold.

he supposes winter isn’t so bad because he met you one wintery night.

he’d been taking a slow first snow walk when he happened upon you. you were in the middle of the street, splayed on your back and making snow angels. you had your eyes closed and you just seemed so at ease, so in tune with the falling snow that he thought he had imagined you. the sound of the snow crunching underneath his feet had made you open your eyes lethargically, as if there was anything else you’d rather be doing.

you had smiled at him, all teeth and gums and sugary sweet happiness that he had instinctively smiled back. motioning to the space beside you, he had laid down and made his very first snow angle. he hadn’t worried about his hair until after you pointed at it and giggled over the way it was skewing wildly. watching you laugh, he had blurted out that he wanted to see you again and the shy smile that spilled across your face was worth all the embarrassment in the world.

and, he thinks, maybe winter is so bad but, spring isn’t any better to him.

the wintery snows melt into warm soggy rains and he hates tracking mud through the house. it’s a pain to clean every day, and he just wishes the raining would stop because his hair is always soaked when he goes anywhere, perpetually cursed to have bad hair. the spring storms are more tame than the summer ones, but he dreads the feeling of ice cold rain stinging through his clothes. the pollen is getting worse, too, and his allergies act up in such a way that his nose is constantly stuffed and it feels as though he’ll never breathe normally again.

the budding cherry blossoms and tiny, fragile blooms of flowers make him feel hopeful. hopeful for the future and brighter days and sunnier skies.

he supposes that one shining day is better than the rest in spring, as a year after you’d been together with choso, you’d moved in together.

he’s never lived with anyone but his brothers, and itadori—but he was a brother for lack of a better word. so he’s scared that his unusual oddities are going to be jarring and spook you like a shy stray cat.

but the first night he splays out on the couch, legs sprawled over the back of the couch and head draped over the seating area, he is delightfully surprised when you copy his motions. you complain that you’re getting lightheaded and end up back in a normal seated position, but lean down and press a kiss to his lips and tell him to be careful. he blames the red cheeks on the blood rush to his head. in the morning, you tease him for his snoring and he blames the spring pollen.

choso supposes he has a good memory to hold onto spring.

the days turn longer, the night hours slowly slipping away to daylight and choso finds himself restless.

choso despises summer for taking away the lonely nights. he finds solace in the dark, shadowy places he can tuck himself into when he feels as if the world is looking at him too long.

he closes the curtains tight, and cuts out the sunlight when he can. he sweats through his shirts and there’s a level of frizz happening to his hair that he thinks is just innately criminal and wants to absolutely obliterate the sun and the humidity and the stupid warm summer rains that make him uncomfortable in his own skin. he showers daily, and still it feels like the grime of the day sits on his skin and he has to scrub and scrub and scrub just to feel even slightly clean. the first time you catch him rubbing his skin raw, you hold him in the shower as tears fall down his cheeks like the shower’s water down his back.

after his showers, you always press a kiss to his forehead and hold him close, gently braiding his hair so it’s out of his face and so it’s wavy by the time it dries. ‘you look so handsome when it’s this way,’ you had said once, and he’d never done his hair any other way since. occasionally he’ll style them in his usual two buns to keep his sweating hair from sticking to his neck, but sometimes he lets his hair down at home in the air conditioning and revels in the way you tease and curl it around your fingers.

choso wishes the summer nights were cooler, so he could press against you and fake complain that you’re sticking your cold feet in between his thighs. secretly, the feeling of being needed is more important than the split-second shock of cold.

and when the days begin to bleed into fall, he thinks those are his favorite days. he hates to be cliché or even close to mainstream, but fall is truly his favorite.

there’s a feeling of satisfaction in his chest when he can go out in just jeans and a hoodie, hand wrapped tightly around yours because your hands get so cold in the fall and you refuse to wear gloves. he loves the feeling of interlacing your fingers together and kissing the back of your hand, lips cool to the touch. choso is admittedly greedy for the feeling of you, the feeling of your skin against his and the cool breeze of your laugh against his neck and the smile you always, always have when you kiss him. choso has never known being greedy in this way.

the bright green summer leaves begin to brown and he curls into the reading nook with something new—a thriller, a murder mystery, a slightly above-averagely horny book, anything he can get his hands on.

fall is, objectively, his favorite.

the weather is ideal, somewhere between cold enough to pile on blanket after blanket at night and warm enough that he doesn’t feel as if he’ll turn into an ice sculpture in the foreseeable future. the landscape is so picturesque he feels as if looking at the mountains punches the air out of his lungs. he’s living in a painting and all he can do is awe and gawk and sputter about the unreal scenery he’s surrounded by.

he also loves fall because you love fall. it’s easy to love what you love because everything you enjoy is seamlessly a part of what makes you, you.

truthfully, he might like fall the most, but every season is good enough for him because he has you in all of them. as long as your by his side, he’d weather a million blizzards, sneeze as many times as he had to in spring pollen, and sweat through every shirt he owned. his love and devotion is soft and quiet but it’s always there. he will always be there for you.

#txt!writing #lowkey word vom lol #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk choso #choso kamo #choso x reader #choso #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso x you #choso x y/n #choso fluff #choso kamo x you #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x y/n #jjk fluff

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on-my-vigilante-sht · 2 years ago

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Capitol Punishment VIII

Haymitch x Reader

Summary: The Capitol continues to torture it’s victors no matter how long ago they won through punishment, exploitation, and worst of all; their relationships.

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol.

Warnings: Canon level violence, rape (though never explicit), alcohol, murder, systemic poverty, exploitation, rebellion (?), more reliance on movie than book, suicidal thoughts, swearing, illness, pregnancy, miscarriage

Word Count: 4.4K (she’s also kind of long)

Part VII | Masterlist | Part IX

You laid on the cold, steel table of one of the styling rooms. They had stripped all the hair beneath your eyebrows, which was no longer very painful since you’d been “maintained” ever since you won 8 years ago. They had also taken care to clean you in scalding hot water and scrub your skin raw. They cut the dead ends of your hair off, keeping it long enough to reach mid back. You were sure Haymitch started fighting them as soon as he saw any kind of razor, tweezer, or wax.

Now you were just waiting for the doctors to come back with the results from your checkup. You had told them that they suspected you were pregnant and asked if there was any way that they’d be able to do a paternity test. They told you that if the father’s DNA was in their system they could tell you and that all tributes’ DNA was logged.

As the door slid open, you sat up eagerly. “Ms. L/N, you are in fact pregnant,” the nurse informed. “About six weeks along.”

“And the father?” you asked.

“Haymitch Abernathy,” she said plainly. You were sure Snow would be upset that you were pregnant with your husband’s baby but now that he was putting you in the games, you didn’t give a damn what he thought or wanted. You were also incredibly relieved it was Haymitch’s. You were never a kids person and had never wanted to have children but if you were going to have someone’s baby, it may as well be the man you love’s.

The nurse talked with you a little more about your labs, saying you were healthy and left. Next Cinna came in. “There’s my favorite mentor,” he smiled, greeting you with a hug.

“Cinna,” you replied with a smile. While you hand he weren’t nearly as close as Katniss and he were, you had very much come to appreciate his friendly face. “Good to see you.”

“You too, although I wish it was under different circumstances. Anyway here is your dress for the parade,” he turned to the door as the rest of the style team brought in your outfit. You were kind of amazed at how beautiful it was. It was a long, almost flowing, A-line, red dress. The bodice was covered in lace and featured a halter top neckline. They did your makeup dramatically with a dark red lip and a mix of reds and blacks for your eyes. As for your hair it was done in an intricate half-up, half down style. When they finally let you look in the mirror you thought you looked like an evil queen.

You were then brought to the chariots where about half the other victors were waiting. You looked around, observing your friends/future competition. Spotting red hair you realized it was Annie. You called over to her as you approached. She looked terrified until she spotted you.

“Y/N” she ran up to you as best she could in her mermaid-like outfit. She gave you a big hug which you returned.

“Where’s Finnick and Mags?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered. Her scared look appeared again as she looked around frantically for probably the only two people in the world who brought her real comfort. You noticed she was still hugging you. You were probably a stand in for Finnick until he arrived.

“He’s probably still with the stylist. How are you two?”

“We’re good, or were until the games were announced,” she murmured sadly.

“Hey, don’t think about that right now,” you tried to soothe her. She wasn’t much younger than you but she was so small and fragile looking that you felt like you needed to protect her. “And I can guarantee you Finnick won’t let anything happen to you. Neither will I,” you promised. Assuming Haymitch was right about a plan you were telling the truth. You’d fight to get this poor girl out.

“Annie?” you head a familiar voice call from behind you.

Annie immediately pulled away, recognizing Finnick’s voice. You smiled as you watched the two lovers reunite. You were sure that Finnick, like you, didn’t care about Snow’s rules about availability anymore. He was sending you to your death, who cares if the Capitol’s desire to fuck you was still high?

Soon enough the rest of the Victors were at the chariots, all except one. Haymitch.

Cinna was getting Katniss and Peeta ready when he came to you, the very last chariot. He handed you a remote. “Press this when Katniss presses hers. You’ll know when she does.”

“Wait where’s Haymitch?” you asked.

“I don’t know, probably with Portia,” Cinna explained. “I have to go, he’ll be out soon. Just make sure you look straight ahead, no waving.”

The avoxes were all ushering you into the chariots and you were sure they were frantically trying to find your partner because they were all running around. You were starting to actually get scared when the elevator doors suddenly opened, revealing Haymitch and Portia. He rushed to the chariot, pecking you on the cheek as he got in.

“Where were you? You scared me.”

“Sorry, got held up. I need to talk to you after.”

“I need to talk to you too,” you replied just as the chariots started to pull out. You took your husband’s hand, putting on a blank expression as Haymitch did too. The runway was so loud, there were so many people above you cheering. It wasn’t hard to look disinterested, you were disgusted with them for cheering as you were paraded around before you had to fight to the death.

About halfway down the runway Katniss and Peeta burst into flames. You pressed the button on the remote and out of the corner of your eye you could see Haymitch erupt into flames as well. As you approached Snow, you didn’t even bother to look up at him as the chariot rounded the end of the runway, bringing you all the way back inside where you had started.

You finally took in Haymitch’s appearance. They had cleaned up his beard so it was more cleanly cut. His hair had also been trimmed and washed properly. He was in a suit with no sleeves, showing off muscled arms, identical to Peeta’s. Both eager to hear what the other had to say you grabbed Katniss and Peeta and went to the elevators.

Just as the door was closing Johanna Mason stepped into the elevators. “Well don’t you all look amazing,” she snarled. “My stylist is such an idiot. District 7, lumber, so she dressed us as trees.” She let out a scoff as she started taking the cuffs of her costume off. “I’d like to put my axe in her face.” She stepped closer to Peeta. “Help me with the zipper?” she turned around, not allowing him to answer as he awkwardly unzipped her costume.

You and Haymitch were holding in your laughs as Katniss made a face you couldn’t even identify the emotion of.

She thanked him as she stripped off the costume, standing completely naked in the elevator. The doors opened as you reached floor 7. “Let’s do it again sometime,” as she walked out of the elevator, completely shameless.

“Thank you,” Haymitch said.

You slapped his arm playfully. “See you later,” you called after her.

“Johanna Mason, 7, if you hadn’t figured it out yet,” you informed.

“Is she always like that?” Peeta asked.

You shrugged. “I’ve never seen her strip naked before today but yeah, she hasn’t ever cared. When she was here the first time she was screaming profanities all the way down the chariot line.” The doors then opened into the penthouse, you and Haymitch immediately headed towards your bedroom to hear what the other had to say. You both stepped into the bathroom for privacy.

“You go first,” you said, hoping this was about Plutarch.

“I was late because Plutarch came to see me. Y/N I was right. About a fourth of the tributes are in on the plan to get Katniss out. We’re gonna have to carry on like a normal game at first but Beetee is going to shut down the arena and Plutarch will have us extracted.” You could cry you were so relieved. Haymitch was smiling eagerly. “We’re gonna make it, we’re gonna see a world without the games. Just make sure you stay by me so I can protect you, okay?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “And that news makes what I’m about to tell you better.” You took a deep breath, bracing yourself. “I’m pregnant.”

Haymitch’s eyes widen. “Are you sure? I kind of suspected but didn’t want to say anything.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure. The doctors tested and they were also able to tell me that you’re the father.”

His eyes widened impossibly more. He gingerly pressed his hand to your still flat stomach. “You’re gonna have my kid?” he looked hopeful, excitement fortunately creeping into his expression.

“Yeah,” you agreed. You felt a few tears of joy slip. “I had never wanted kids but the thought of having yours? I want to raise this baby with you, Haymitch.”

“I felt the same,” he agreed. “This world is too fucked up to have a baby so that’s why we have to change it. God, I didn’t know it was possible to love you more,” he kissed you, his hand still planted on your stomach. You deepened the kiss, your hand meeting his.

That night you laid in bed in comfortable silence, more in love than you had ever felt before. “What should we name it?” Haymitch asked.

You mused for a second. “If it’s a boy, I wanted to name him Asher, after my father. And for a girl I thought about Maysilee?”

Haymitch pressed a kiss to your hairline. “I like that.” He paused again. “Should we tell people?”

“The world expects at least one of us to die in about a week. No point in telling people. Besides I think Peeta would jump off that platform before the timer hit zero if he knew I was pregnant,” you explained monotonously.

“Okay, so we won’t tell anyone,” your husband agreed.

The next day at the training session was fairly intense. All of the victors (except those suffering from withdrawal, insanity, and/or age) were trying to show off how still in shape they were. You spent most of the time observing until you did the hand to hand combat station. There were real trainers who would fight you and fake weapons that could sense what wounds they’d inflict in order to simulate the arena as close as possible.

Feeling like being a little bit of a showoff you decided to do it despite your newfound condition. You had made sure Haymitch wasn’t anywhere nearby as you picked up the fake knife and stepped on the mat. The trainer gave you no warning as he suddenly attacked you, running at you with a sword. Fortunately you were still looking at him the entire time so you could easily dodge at the last second. As his momentum carried him forward, you swung your arm back, hitting him in the shoulder with your knife.

“Non fatal wound to left shoulder,” an automated voice announced.

He whirled around, swiping at you with the sword. As you were dodging you got closer and closer to the edge of the mat.

“Approaching boundary,” the voice informed. So you ducked under the sword, flailing your lugs until you caught his ankle, sending him to the ground. His sword fell which you kicked off the mat. He was up in a second though, lunging at you. Your eyes widened in surprise, trying to move out of the way but he managed to grab your arm, dragging you to the ground. You fell with a thud and before you could wrench your arm from his grip, he was on top of you, straddling your hips. He was grabbing at the knife in your hands which you were trying to keep away. You felt it scrape against both his and your arms, each time eliciting a “Non fatal wound to arm.” Eventually you managed to stab it through his hand as the simulator said, and bring it closer to you before you thrust it into his throat.

“Fatal wound to the neck. Simulation ended,” the voice announced. You looked over, noticing a few other tributes watching from their own training spots. Haymitch, however, was fuming over by the knife section.

“You’re awfully tough,” the trainer said, getting off of you. “Impressive, especially considering you won eight years ago,” he complimented.

“Oh, thank you,” you said, taking his hand to stand up. Now Haymitch was walking over. “I have to go,” you dismissed, meeting up with him. You felt like a kid again as you approached your fuming husband.

“What the hell was that?” he asked. “You could’ve mis-”

“Shh,” you demanded. “And sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“You’re damn right you weren’t thinking!”

You were normally a very patient person, especially with Haymitch. You were sympathetic both when he was drunk and sober but you never took yelling, especially after you already apologized. You let out an indignant laugh. “I just apologized and you’re really gonna yell at me? Find me when you calm down,” you scoffed, walking off.

Haymitch was still angry as he watched you walk off. He had been chatting with Chaff when Chaff had told him to turn around. He was horrified to see you fighting with a man about twice your size. But he knew better than to interrupt so all he could do was stew in worry and anger until it was over. He nearly pulled the trainer off you when he got on top of you. Worried both about your safety and his fetus’. By the time it was done he was angry. Angry that you’d risk your pregnancy. He knew he shouldn’t have yelled at you, especially in front of so many people but he was so worried. He was honestly a little scared of how much he wanted that baby.

You made; your way over to Finnick and Annie who were making fish hooks together. She had a soft smile on her face as she weaved the feathers onto the hook while Finnick had a soft smile while looking at her. You really hoped they’d both make it out.

Finnick looked up, having noticed you. “Where’s lover boy?”

“You’re one to talk,” you sneered.

“It have something to do with your little show off session?” he asked.

“I wasn’t showing off. I was training,” you scoffed. “Besides, once again, you’re one to talk.”

“What do you mean? I've been doing this the whole time.”

“Don’t act like you don’t fully intend to get in there with a trident.”

He scoffed, a look of mocking offense painted on his face. “I would never.”

You laughed, taking a spot next to Annie, observing her work. You spent the next half hour learning how to make fish hooks, occasionally glancing up to watch Haymitch. He mostly stuck to the survival stuff but tried some combat and weapons training. It pained you to watch him fumble in those areas. He definitely wasn’t the most unathletic tribute but he was far from the most athletic. And while you had faith in Plutarch’s plan, not every victor was in on it and athleticism was still very much a part of the game.

Eventually Katniss wandered over, making fishhooks with Mags until she migrated to the archery station. As more tributes went over to watch the newest victor in action, you followed too. You had seen Katniss shoot last year but with so many simulated targets at once you were impressed by how good she was. Everyone else was too as Mags clapped for her when she had completed her round.

You eventually headed back upstairs, not really sure what to do. You had done lots of weapons training, especially knife throwing which had been a skill you utilized in your original games. Knives were always guaranteed to be in the Cornucopia and being able to put distance between yourself and others made the most sense. You worked with a few other weapons, Haymitch giving you worried and disapproving looks the entire time. You got so sick of his looks you moved onto survival but got bored of that quickly so you just went upstairs to lay down.

Haymitch appeared in the doorway sometime later. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“Thank you,” you said sitting up. You knew he was coming from a place of love and concern so you were done being mad. Besides, you had been a couple for so long that your arguments could almost always be resolved in a couple sentences.

“Half the tributes want to be our allies. They of course assume we’ll be allies with Katniss. Peeta too but mostly Katniss.”

“Okay well who of the potential allies know about the plan?”

“Wiress and Beetee, Finnick, and by association Mags and Annie,” he answered. “Although Enobaria wants Katniss too but she and none of the other careers know. And a couple others from 5 through 10.”

“Did Katniss say anything?”

“She wants Wiress, Beetee, and Mags. But no Finnick. I told them she’s still considering.”

“What about Johanna, Blight, Chaff, and Seeder? I thought they knew.”

“They do, they just don’t necessarily want to get on Katniss’ crazy train,” he explained, taking a seat on the bed and throwing an arm around your shoulder. “That girl is a piece of work.”

You laughed a little. “She’s not that bad. Yes, a little volatile but so is Johanna and I like her. I like them both,” you added.

Haymitch hummed in agreement. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired but fine. I think everything is fine,” you placed a hand on your stomach. “I’m pretty sure fetuses can take a little knocking around. How would we have survived so long if they couldn’t?”

“Yeah, yeah, just take it easy. No getting punched in the gut,” he chided.

“Aw man, there go my dinner plans,” you jokingly whined.

“Shut up,” he chucked.

The next couple days were largely uneventful. You and Haymitch kept trying to convince Katniss to ally with Finnick or even Johanna but she refused, thinking that they’d stab her and Peeta in the back as soon as the biggest threats were taken out.

Eventually it was finally time for interviews the night before the games. With your permission Cinna tapped into the femme fatale look that had been part of your selling point your first games. It was a satin black dress with gold chains laid across the bodice and forming the straps. It had a high slit that came almost to your hip but your modesty was protected by delicate gold chains that held the top of the slit in place.

Your makeup was done dramatically again. Your red lips had been a part of your look the first games so Cinna had wanted to keep them this year. Your hair was done up in intricate braids with gold weaved through it so as to “not cover up too much of Cinna’s design,” one of the hair stylists told you.

You watched the other interviews as you got ready. You could see through all of them, whether they be extremely calculated or not, they were all a desperate cry to stop the games. Some were subtle like Cashmere and Gloss’ joint interview as “the family of the Capitol.” Johanna’s however, was not at all subtle as she screamed at the crowd and Snow for putting her back into the games. Some just made you outright feel bad for them. Like Annie and Finnick’s joint interview where she clung to his arm, hardly able to get out two words.

Eventually it was your turn. You stood in front of the stage entrance, trying to calm yourself down as Caesar introduced you. “Please welcome the winner of the 67th Hunger Games, Y/N L/N!”

You could hear the crowd erupt into cheers as the doors opened, blinding you. But you stepped out confidently nonetheless, eventually regaining partial sight. “Y/N, stunning as ever, wouldn’t you agree, folks?” Caesar began.

The crowd once again erupted into cheers. “You’re too kind Caesar.”

“I understand you have many sponsors who supported you in your original games and even after,” he explained. You hoped your face didn’t show it but you felt your heart stop. Was he really bringing up your torture in your very public interview? “Let’s hope they’re just as generous this year.”

“Oh I promise them I’ll make it worth their while,” you smirked into the microphone. You’ve been playing this game for a long time. What’s one more night?

“Now I have to ask as the mentor to the lovebirds of 12, is there anyone special in your life?” What kind of questions were these? You gave a polite laugh, shaking your head no. “Oh c’mon, really? With your looks? I find that hard to believe.”

“No not anyone,” you once again denied. “I’ve been on a few dates with some Capitol citizens but nothing serious. I guess eight years after the games still isn’t enough time to get over it.” You left the innocent look on your face.

It was sobering to the audience but Caesar quickly tried to bring the mood up again. “Well I just have a few more questions for you. We’re all very familiar with your protégée’s stylist. Tell me, are you working with Cinna too?”

“I am,” you agreed excitedly, giving them back the Capitol darling they had loved so dearly eight years ago. “No offense to my previous stylist but I think Cinna just gets me more.”

“I agree, this dress and the chariot parade dress suit you very well. And I have to say, you in flames? Breathtaking.”

“Aw thank you,” you smiled. “I’m sure Cinna appreciates it too.”

“Yes and we’re excited to see more of his work soon. Thank you Y/N, it’s been a pleasure. Give it up for Y/N L/N!” The crowd once again gave their cheers as you walked up the stairs, taking your place next to Chaff.

“Our next guest was the winner of the last Quarter Quell. Give it up for Haymitch Abernathy!” You watched as Haymitch approached, only able to see his back from your vantage point. “Haymitch, it’s been too long.”

“Not long enough in this context,” he laughed.

“Ah yes, but wouldn’t it be such an honor to win both Quarter Quells?” Caesar pressed. He probably already knew this would be a difficult interview for the Capitol.

“In theory I suppose. I’m mostly concerned about getting some of the younger victors out though.” The crowd let out cries of sympathy.

“How considerate,” Caesar said solemnly. “And tell us, what was it like to mentor our lovebirds coming up next?”

Haymitch pondered for a second, not quite sure how to answer. He has spent the whole night trying to decide if he’d tell the Capitol about your relationship. “Well I can tell you it wasn’t easy. Katniss can be a little headstrong.”

“Oh well we all know that,” Caesar laughed. “And Peeta?”

“He’s a very kind boy. They’re great together.”

Caesar laughed. “Yes well it’s nice to hear that from someone close to the couple. Now what about you? We’ve already heard from your original protégée about her love life, what about yours? We haven’t heard much from you in the past 25 years.”

Haymitch really thought about dropping a bomb like Peeta did last year but realizing how valuable your sponsors could be in the games, he thought better of it. “Not really. Y/N said that eight years isn’t enough time to get over being in the games. Twenty-five isn’t enough either.”

“Ah well I wish you the best of luck. Ladies and gentlemen, Haymitch Abernathy!”

He joined you up on the platform, squeezing your hand quickly before turning his attention to Katniss as she walked out on stage. Her dress was beautiful, a little over the top but Cinna had outdone himself. The crowd was losing their minds realizing that was Katniss’ unused wedding dress. The audience was completely captivated by her, especially when she revealed the Mockingjay dress that Cinna had weaved into the wedding dress that Snow no doubt made her wear. A daring display of defiance that you unfortunately knew someone would pay the price for.

Next came Peeta with his suave attitude from last year. They spoke for a moment until Caesar brought up the unfulfilled wedding.

“Actually we got married. In secret,” he revealed. You glanced at Katniss as inconspicuously as possible. Fortunately she kept her expression neutral. “We want our love to be eternal. Katniss and I, we’ve been luckier than most. I wouldn’t have any regrets at all if it weren’t…” Caesar pressed him. The entire Capitol was in the edge of their seats, hell you were too. “If it weren’t for the baby.”

The Capitol was shocked, you were shocked, the other victors were shocked, even Katniss was shocked. The audience was losing its mind, some even shouting to stop the games. You half wondered if Peeta knew you were pregnant. He made his way up to the stage, hugging Katniss. You still faced the audience when you felt Haymitch’s hand grab yours. Looking over you could see Katniss holding his other hands so you grabbed Chaff’s wrist. Once everyone was linked you all lifted your arms up. The Victors joined in solidarity against these games and the Capitol.

Part VII | Masterlist | Part IX

#haymitch #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x reader #thg #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 1 month ago

Text

Another Feldcroft Christmas | Sebastian Sallow x OC #34

it is officially December and that means I can share the christmas chapters heheh please enjoy all the upcoming fluff <3

Summary: Evangeline spends another Christmas in Feldcroft. Sebastian gets a very unexpected surprise:)

Words: ~10,400

Tags: Extra Fluff, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Mutual Pining, Friends To Lovers, Slow Burn, Longing, Unspoken Feelings, Fluff Again, Romance, Mentions of Smut, Trope-y, Idiots in Love, Soft Moments, Christmas

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

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The snow fell softly over Feldcroft, blanketing the small village in a hushed stillness. Hogwarts had been chaotic in the weeks leading up to the holiday break, and the quiet here felt like stepping into a sanctuary. The air smelled clean, crisp with winter, and as he guided Evangeline up the path to his cottage, the familiar sight of its weathered stone walls and modest roof brought a flicker of warmth to his chest.

Home.

A place with no rumors. No whispers about Evangeline. No Boggarts. No Alaric Thornton or Clearwaters. No Muldoons or Noctivus Gaunts. Just peace. And Evie.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, carrying her trunk while the cold nipped at her nose and flushed her cheeks pink. She was bundled in her traveling cloak, her long hair peeking out from beneath her hood, catching bits of snow that shimmered like tiny jewels in the pale light. She looked—Merlin, she looked perfect, though Sebastian quickly shoved that thought into the deep recesses of his mind before it could linger too long.

“You alright back there?” he called, his voice light, though his heart gave an extra thud at the way she smiled at him.

“Perfectly fine,” she replied, a little puff of frost escaping her lips with the words. “Though if you keep slowing down to check on me, I might beat you to the door.”

He smirked, turning back toward the cottage. “You wish.”

The past month had been an unrelenting storm for Evangeline, and true to form, she’d weathered it all with resilience. But it had been a lot. Too much.

She needed this break as much as he did.

Here, in Feldcroft, they could breathe. And maybe Sebastian would find a moment to untangle the mess of emotions that had knotted up inside him since... well, since forever.

Because that knot had tightened unbearably over the past month. When Evangeline had been poisoned, he’d been forced to confront the terrifying fragility of it all. He had spent every possible moment by her side, desperate for her to open her eyes, to laugh at him for worrying so much. Those endless hours had stripped him bare, made him realize just how much he couldn’t lose her.

And then there had been the rumors. For that brief, agonizing moment when he’d foolishly believed that she might have been with another man, that she might be carrying Alaric's child... Merlin, the thought had ripped him apart. The jealousy, the pain, the crushing regret—It had put things into perspective. How quickly circumstances could change. How easily the ground could fall out from beneath him.

Sebastian reached the cottage first, pushing the door open and stepping aside to let her in. The warmth of the fire hit them immediately, the crackling hearth illuminating the modest space in a golden glow. He set her trunk down near the door, watching as Evangeline shed her cloak and stepped inside, her hazel eyes scanning the room with quiet appreciation.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice gentle but sincere. “For inviting me again.”

Sebastian nodded, feeling a lump rise in his throat that he quickly swallowed down. "It's your home as much as it is mine, you know that."

Evangeline’s gaze softened, her fingers lingering on the clasp of her cloak as she turned to look at him. Her hazel eyes, warm and touched with gratitude, conveyed more than words ever could

She moved toward the hearth then, holding out her hands to warm them as Sebastian busied himself unpacking the few provisions he’d packed. It wasn’t much, but it would do until they had a chance to swing by the store.

“So,” he began, breaking the quiet as he glanced over his shoulder at her, “what’s first on the agenda? A walk through the village? A quiet afternoon by the fire? Or,” he added with a sly grin, “do you want me to drag out the old chessboard so I can absolutely annihilate you again?”

Evangeline raised a brow, the corners of her mouth twitching with amusement. “Excuse me, I distinctly remember trouncing you the last time we played.”

“You cheated.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Please,” Sebastian scoffed, turning fully to face her, "You charmed the pieces! Admit it now while I’m still feeling generous.”

Evangeline laughed, a soft, melodic sound that filled the small cottage and warmed the space more than the fire ever could. She turned from the hearth, crossing her arms with mock indignation. “I would never stoop to such levels. Maybe you’re just bad at chess.”

“Bad at chess?" He laughed, "You've never beaten me fairly. Not once."

“Well,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face as her smile lingered, “perhaps we’ll just have to play again."

He smirked, leaning against the table with his arms crossed. “Oh, it’s on.”

For a while, the two of them slipped into an easy rhythm—chatting, teasing, settling into the cozy familiarity that had always existed between them. Sebastian found himself watching her more often than he intended, catching the way the firelight danced in her eyes, or how she tucked her hair behind her ear when she thought he wasn’t looking.

He completely thrashed her in chess, not that she seemed to mind much—her laughter spilling across the room as she dramatically bemoaned her defeat.

“Honestly, I think you enjoy humiliating me," she said, leaning back in her chair with a huff.

Sebastian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, a smug grin plastered on his face. In the recesses of his mind, he found himself tempted—just for a moment—to push the teasing a little further.

How’d you know that’s what I’m into? The thought danced at the edge of his tongue, almost slipping out, almost too easy to say with her sitting there, her cheeks flushed from laughing, her eyes bright and warm.

But he stopped himself.

“Well, humiliating you in chess is hardly a challenge,” he said instead, his tone light, casual. “You make it so easy.”

Evangeline tossed a pawn at him, and he caught it midair, chuckling. “I’ll get you next time,” she promised, her mock-serious tone only making him grin wider.

“Sure. Next time, I’ll play you without my queen,” he teased, standing to clear the board.

As he moved to set the chess pieces back on the shelf, he glanced over his shoulder at her, still perched by the fire. The soft glow of the flames illuminated her features, her expression softened by the warmth of the room. She looked... content.

That’s what he wanted for her. Peace. Safety. A reprieve. But he also wanted—Merlin, he wanted so much more.

The thought lingered, unspoken, as the evening stretched on.

Evangeline had insisted on making dinner, shooing Sebastian away when he offered to help. She’d taken over his modest kitchen with efficiency, her sleeves rolled up and her brow furrowed in concentration. He’d watched her from the doorway, his heart catching in his throat more than once as she hummed softly while stirring a pot.

Dinner had been simple but satisfying, and now Sebastian was settled in his favorite armchair by the fire, a book open in his lap. He wasn’t paying much attention to the words, though. His mind wandered too easily tonight, lingering on the warmth of Evie's laugh, the domesticity of her standing in his modest little cottage as if she belonged there. She did belong there.

Evangeline, meanwhile, was fussing over his bookshelf, her frustration growing by the minute. “I can’t believe I forgot my books,” she muttered under her breath, scanning the rows with an annoyed frown. “I was so sure I packed them.”

Sebastian smirked, glancing up from his page. “Tragic, really. Guess you’ll have to make do with my collection.”

She cast him a mock glare over her shoulder. “As if your taste could ever compare to mine.”

“I’ll have you know, my taste is impeccable."

“That remains to be seen,” she retorted, trailing her fingers along the spines of his books. Her eyes skimmed over titles, most of them unsurprising: spell theory, magical history, a few adventure novels. She was just about to give up when her fingers paused on something unexpected, something shoved towards the back.

“Sebastian,” she said, her voice laced with barely contained amusement. “What's this?”

He glanced up, his brow furrowing. “What’s what?”

Evangeline turned, holding up a thin book with a gold-embossed title. Intimacies and Affections: A Guide to Healthy Romances.

Sebastian’s stomach dropped.

Her eyes were wide with mock disbelief, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “This?” she asked, shaking the book lightly. “This is yours?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Put that back.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” she said, her voice lilting with barely restrained laughter as she flipped it open, skimming the first page. "You relentlessly teased me last year for having this, and you've had it all along?!" Her voice pitched slightly higher in disbelief.

“It’s a useless book," he said quickly, though the faint blush creeping up his neck said otherwise.

“Useless? You seemed to have kept it well-preserved,” she teased, holding the book up to the light and inspecting it as if she were appraising a rare treasure. “Not even a cracked spine. You’ve been keeping it pristine.”

Sebastian huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I haven’t touched it since I got it.”

“Oh?” Her smirk widened, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “So you’ve never flipped through it? Not even once?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“For Christ’s sake,” he muttered, dragging his hands down his face as if he could physically hide from her relentless teasing.

Evangeline’s grin only widened, her amusement spilling over in soft laughter. “Oh, this is too good. I thought you were a romance and intimacy expert, Sebastian? Surely all your late-night rendezvous with Chelsea have—”

Sebastian’s head snapped up, his scowl sharp enough to cut through stone. “Don’t,” he said flatly, his voice clipped. “Don’t bring her up.”

Evangeline paused, her smirk faltering as she caught the unmistakable irritation in his tone. “What? Why not?”

Sebastian let out a slow, measured breath, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Because she’s irrelevant.”

“Is she?” Evangeline pressed, her brow furrowing slightly. “She seemed pretty relevant when you were ditching our study sessions."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, the memory alone enough to irritate him all over again. “Chelsea has a tendency to get... possessive. And irrational.”

“Ah, yes,” Evangeline said, her tone turning dry. “The qualities everyone looks for in a partner.”

“She wasn’t a partner,” Sebastian snapped, sharper than he intended. He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as he tried to temper his frustration. “It was casual. Always casual. She knew that from the start.”

Evangeline raised a brow, setting the book down on the armrest as she leaned slightly closer, curiosity sparking in her hazel eyes. “Did she, though? Because for the past month, she looked at me like she wanted to hex me out of existence.”

Sebastian’s lips pressed into a thin line. Chelsea’s reaction to him spending countless hours at Evangeline’s bedside after her poisoning had been... unpleasant, to say the least. She’d shown up in the hospital wing more than once, demanding to know why he was so fixated on Evangeline, why he wasn’t prioritizing her. Every time, he’d calmly reminded her, firstly, Evageline was his best friend, and secondly, that their arrangement had no strings attached.

But clearly, Chelsea hadn’t gotten the memo.

“I ended things weeks ago,” Sebastian said, his voice firm but weary. “She wasn’t happy about it, obviously, but I made it clear where I stood.”

Evangeline’s expression shifted. “I didn’t know that,” she said quietly, her fingers tracing the edge of the book without really looking at it. “I thought... I don’t know what I thought.”

Sebastian scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t know why you thought anything about her in the first place. She never mattered.”

Evangeline blinked, her gaze flickering to his for a moment before she looked away, her voice hesitant. “Well... she clearly thought you mattered.”

He sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped loosely. “She caught feelings. I didn’t. That’s all there is to it.” His voice softened slightly, his frustration ebbing. “I couldn’t keep leading her on."

Evangeline studied him for a long moment, but she didn’t push further. Instead, she leaned back, her fingers tapping lightly against the book. “Well,” she said, her tone turning lighter, “at least you’ve got this guide to help you figure out what not to do in the future.”

Sebastian groaned, letting his head fall back against the chair as she started laughing again. “Alright, alright. You’ve had your fun. Now put it back.”

“Oh, no. This is staying out.” She grinned, flipping through the pages again, her fingers trailing over the neatly printed text. “It’s a treasure, Sebastian. I can’t believe you’ve kept it in such pristine condition. You even dog-eared a page!”

“What?” He froze, his brows knitting together. “I did not.”

“Oh, but you did.” Her smirk widened as she held the book up, tilting it just enough to show the faint crease in one of the pages. “Right here. Let’s see what wisdom you were so desperate to keep.”

“Give me that,” he said, lunging forward, but she pulled it away, laughing as she hopped off the chair and darted toward the other side of the room.

“Evangeline, I’m serious! Hand it over.”

She twirled around a corner, holding the book high above her head like some coveted prize. “Oh, no. If I had to suffer your teasing, then it’s only fair you endure the same.” Her laughter bubbled through the air as she darted around the small cottage.

“Evie,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous, “I’m not above wrestling it out of your hands.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” she called back over her shoulder, narrowly dodging him as he reached for her.

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” He grinned, now chasing her around the table. She ducked and weaved, her movements lithe. The book wavered in her grasp as her laughter turned breathless.

“You’ll have to try harder than that!” she teased, but her triumphant smirk was short-lived. As she dashed toward the sofa, she misjudged her footing on the rug, her momentum causing her to stumble. Sebastian, hot on her heels, didn’t have time to stop, and the two of them collided.

“Merlin’s—” His words were cut off as they both tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Evangeline let out a surprised yelp, the book slipping from her grasp and landing with a soft thud a few feet away. When the world stopped spinning, Sebastian found himself flat on his back, Evangeline sprawled across him, her hands pressed against his chest as she tried to steady herself. Her hair had come loose in the fall, spilling around them like a dark curtain, and for a moment, the only sound was their breath mingling in the quiet space between them.

Sebastian blinked up at her, momentarily disoriented but acutely aware of every point of contact—the warmth of her body against his, the satisfying weight of her perched on his lap. His hands, which had instinctively shot out to catch her mid-fall, were now settled lightly on her waist.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian asked finally, his voice low, his tone hovering somewhere between genuine concern and teasing amusement.

Evangeline froze, her wide hazel eyes locking onto his. Her cheeks flushed a deep red, a stark contrast against her pale skin. “Fine,” she managed, her voice a little breathless. “Just… not exactly where I planned to end up.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Oh, so this wasn’t part of your master plan?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, though the flush on her cheeks deepened. “Shut up.”

Sebastian’s grin widened, and before he could stop himself, he let his head fall back against the floor with a chuckle. “Merlin, you’re dangerous. Who knew a book thief could be so reckless?”

Her lips parted, a protest clearly forming, but then her gaze flicked down, and for the first time, she seemed to fully register their position. Her hands were still splayed on his chest, his heartbeat steady but quick beneath her palms, and his hands rested lightly on her hips, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her sweater.

Evangeline tried to push herself up, but her movement only served to shift her weight against him, drawing a sharp intake of breath from Sebastian. His grip on her waist instinctively tightened, steadying her before she could fall again.

“Careful,” he murmured.

“I—I’m trying,” she stammered, her blush creeping down to her neck as she quickly averted her gaze. “You’re the one who tackled me!”

“You tripped,” he corrected, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And, for the record, I tried to stop you from falling.”

Her eyes snapped back to his, narrowing. “Oh, is that what this is? You saving me?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a nod. “Though, I admit, the results aren’t as graceful as I’d hoped.”

She let out a huff, clearly trying to mask the nervous laugh that bubbled up in her throat. “You’re impossible.”

Sebastian tilted his head slightly, his expression softening as he studied her. “And you’re still on top of me.”

Evangeline froze, her eyes widening as the realization seemed to sink in. With a sharp inhale, she scrambled to get off him, her movements hurried and slightly clumsy as she tried to regain her footing.

Sebastian’s hands fell away reluctantly, and though he tried to hide it, the faintest flicker of disappointment crossed his face as she put distance between them. The warmth of her absence was almost immediate, leaving him momentarily bereft as he pushed himself upright.

“Right,” she muttered, smoothing down her sweater and refusing to meet his gaze. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize,” Sebastian said, his voice teasing but soft. He propped himself up on his elbows, watching her as she fussed with her hair, her cheeks still painted a brilliant shade of red. “If you ever feel like toppling over again, I’m happy to oblige.”

“Sebastian,” she groaned, turning to glare at him,

“What?” he said with a grin, leaning back casually on his hands now. “Just offering my bodyguard services.”

Evangeline let out a soft huff, shaking her head as she reached for the book that had caused the commotion. It had fallen open on the floor during the chaos, the pages splayed in a way that revealed the dogeared corner. Her eyes caught on the faint crease, and curiosity got the better of her as she bent to pick it up.

The silence in the room grew heavier as she straightened, the book now in her hands, her gaze dropping to the exposed page.

Sebastian’s smirk faltered slightly as he noticed her pause, the way her eyes flicked over the text. “What is it?” he asked, his voice more cautious now.

Evangeline’s lips curved upward in a slow, mischievous smile as she read aloud, her tone dripping with dramatic flair. “‘Effective communication is the cornerstone of any healthy relationship.’” She glanced up at him, her brows raised in mock seriousness. “‘Partners should strive to express their feelings openly and honestly, fostering a foundation of trust.’”

Sebastian groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he flopped back against the floor. “Merlin, help me.”

Evangeline’s laughter bubbled up again, bright and melodic as she hugged the book to her chest. “This is brilliant. You of all people dogeared this? A passage about open communication? Did you take notes on it too?”

“I didn’t,” he grumbled, glaring at her from where he lay sprawled on the floor.

“Sure, you didn’t,” she teased, flipping the book closed and holding it aloft like a prized artifact. “I think I’m keeping this, by the way.”

“Over my dead body,” he shot back, though there was no real bite in his tone.

Sebastian pushed himself back to his feet, towering over her in an instant. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed the stark difference in their heights, but standing this close, it was impossible not to notice again. At just barely five feet tall, Evangeline looked almost comically small compared to his own six-foot frame. Yet somehow, she carried herself in a way that made her presence feel far larger than her stature would suggest.

Now, though, with her clutching that ridiculous book to her chest and smirking up at him, the difference was striking—and, Merlin help him, endearing.

He tilted his head, crossing his arms as he looked down at her, feigning sternness. “You know, for someone so small, you’ve got a big sense of entitlement.”

Evangeline raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. “Excuse me, I prefer the term ‘perfectly proportioned.’”

“Right,” Sebastian drawled, his smirk returning. “Perfectly proportioned for sneaking around and stealing things, maybe. Like my book.”

She hugged the book tighter to her chest, her hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m not giving it back. You don’t even want it.”

“I didn’t want it until you decided to make it a trophy,” he shot back, leaning down slightly. “Now, hand it over.”

He reached for the book, and though she made a half-hearted attempt to twist away, she didn’t really try to stop him. His fingers closed around the spine, and she let out a soft huff as he tugged it free.

“There,” he said, straightening and holding the book just out of her reach. “Victory. Now, tell me, Evie,” he smirked, his voice teasing, “when you read your copy of this book, did you happen to skim past the chapter on boundaries?”

Evangeline froze for a moment, her eyes narrowing as a playful gasp escaped her lips. “Sebastian Sallow,” she said, her voice tinged with offense, “are you accusing me of being inconsiderate?”

“Not at all,” he replied smoothly, though the smirk on his face suggested otherwise. “I’m simply pointing out that perhaps you could use a refresher. You know, since you seem to think my copy of the book is fair game.”

She stepped closer, planting her hands on her hips as she peered up at him. The slight tilt of her head, coupled with the determined set of her jaw, gave her the look of someone about to launch into a righteous tirade—despite the fact that she barely reached his chest.

“I’ll have you know,” she began, her tone full of indignation, “I’m well-versed in boundaries. In fact, I read my copy of this book cover to cover.”

“Did you now?” he replied, arching an eyebrow, his smirk unwavering. But despite his casual demeanor, Sebastian could feel a flicker of something unexpected stirring in his chest—something he quickly tried to tamp down.

Because he knew exactly what was contained in Intimacies and Affections. Every chapter. Every page. Every overly detailed suggestion about cultivating intimacy in all its forms. Because he, too, had read it front to back, and the thought of Evangeline reading those same passages made his throat feel inexplicably dry.

His smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second, but Evangeline didn’t miss it. Her hazel eyes narrowed, and her lips curved into a knowing grin as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Something wrong?” she asked, her voice dripping with faux innocence.

“Nothing at all,” he said quickly, schooling his features back into a smug expression. “I’m just trying to imagine you actually sitting down and reading it without laughing yourself to tears.”

“Oh, I laughed plenty,” she admitted, her grin widening. “Some of those scenarios they suggest? Ridiculous. Like that bit about setting up candlelit baths and feeding each other chocolate-dipped strawberries.”

Sebastian let out a snort, the tension in his chest loosening just slightly. “Yeah, that one’s a bit much. Honestly, I think that’s the author’s fantasy more than anything practical.”

“Right?” Evangeline agreed, rolling her eyes. “And don’t even get me started on the section about ‘discovering emotional intimacy through prolonged physical proximity.’”

They both laughed, the kind of laughter that filled the space like warm sunlight cutting through winter's chill. The book rested in Sebastian’s hand now, but neither of them seemed in a rush to put it away. Instead, they leaned against the back of the sofa, flipping through its pages like conspirators uncovering a treasure trove of absurdities.

Evangeline leaned over, flipping through the pages at random. Her eyes lit up as she found another section. “Oh, oh, this one!” she said, laughter already bubbling in her voice. “‘Spending an entire day together without speaking—communicating only through meaningful gestures.’” She paused to let the absurdity settle before glancing up at him. “Could you even imagine?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but his grin widened. “Not a chance. A day without talking? I’d lose my mind.”

“And the gestures!” she exclaimed, giggling. “What counts as meaningful, anyway? A dramatic eyebrow raise? A very intense thumbs-up?”

Sebastian snorted, flipping to another random page. “Ah, here’s one: ‘Reading romantic poetry aloud to each other under starlight.’”

Evangeline pretended to swoon dramatically, clutching the book to her chest. “Oh yes, I'd love it if my partner were secretly practicing his sonnet-reading voice.”

Sebastian huffed a laugh, “This might be the most pretentious thing I’ve ever read.”

“It might not be that bad,” she teased, elbowing him lightly. “I mean, if the stars were nice enough, and the poetry wasn’t too tragic…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes glinting mischievously. “I bet you’d enjoy it.”

“I’ll pass,” he muttered, though the image of sitting under a sky full of stars with her, his voice soft as he read her lines of poetry, lingered for just a beat longer than it should have. If he were honest, it really wouldn't be so different to when he read Mansfield Park to her over the summer.

Evangeline laughed again, her fingers skimming through the book until she stopped suddenly. “Oh no,” she said, her tone dripping with exaggerated disbelief. “This one, Sebastian. This one is the peak of ridiculous romance advice.”

He arched a brow, curious despite himself. “What ridiculous fantasy is the author suggesting this time, serenading each other while riding brooms?”

She shook her head, smirking as she read aloud. “‘Cooking together to strengthen bonds—one partner blindfolded, relying entirely on the other’s guidance.’” She snapped the book shut with a flourish, her grin widening. “Can you even imagine? Blindfolded while chopping vegetables? That’s not romance; that’s a trip to St. Mungo’s waiting to happen.”

Sebastian opened his mouth to agree, but the words caught in his throat. The image the passage conjured in his mind wasn’t absurd, not entirely. In fact, the thought of guiding her hands, standing close as they navigated the chaos of cooking together, felt far too intimate. Too real. Too much like something he wanted.

He could picture her clearly—blindfolded, trusting him completely, her hazel eyes hidden but her lips curved into that playful, crooked smile that always left his stomach in knots. He could almost feel the tentative way her fingers would grip his forearm for balance, how she’d lean into his touch just enough to send sparks down his spine.

And, oh, the control. That was the part he couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard he tried. The idea of being the one to guide her, to hold her steady, to ensure her every move was safe, careful, precise—it stirred something deep and primal inside him. Evangeline was fiercely independent, always quick to take charge and chart her own course, and yet here she would be, willingly surrendering that control to him.

The thought was intoxicating.

It wasn’t about dominance in a crude, thoughtless way. It was the trust behind it that made his chest tighten—the knowledge that someone like her, someone so capable and self-reliant, would let him lead her, would depend on him even for a moment.

And there was something undeniably alluring about the way her usual confidence might falter in the blindfold’s darkness, how she might seek reassurance in his touch, her fingers brushing his as she fumbled for the next step. He could almost hear the nervous laugh she’d let out when she made a mistake, feel the warmth of her cheek against his as he leaned in to guide her, whispering instructions softly near her ear.

Her submission wouldn’t be weakness—it would be a gift, a fleeting moment of vulnerability offered to him alone. And Merlin, the thought of it sent a rush of heat through his veins, leaving his throat dry and his heart racing.

“Sebastian?” she prompted, her tone lighter, teasing. “What, no witty retort? Are you picturing it?”

His eyes snapped to hers, wide with alarm. “What? No. Absolutely not.”

Her smile widened, her curiosity piqued as she watched him fumble, his usual quick wit suddenly absent. “Oh my God, you are picturing it.”

“I’m not!” he insisted, but his voice cracked slightly, betraying him.

“You are!” she crowed, laughing as she stepped closer, holding the book up like it was evidence. “You’re actually into this idea! Merlin's beard, Sebastian... do you have a thing for blindfolds?!"

Sebastian groaned, dragging a hand through his hair, the telltale warmth creeping up his neck as Evangeline’s laughter filled the small cottage. She had that wicked gleam in her eye, the one that meant she wasn’t going to let this go anytime soon.

“I’m not into blindfolds,” he shot back, crossing his arms defensively. “It’s just—”

Evangeline tilted her head, her grin widening as she studied him like a puzzle she was determined to solve. “You’re blushing,” she pointed out, her tone sing-song and delighted.

“I am not,” he muttered, though he refused to meet her gaze now, his arms tightening across his chest as if he could physically shield himself from her relentless teasing.

“You are,” she insisted, her laugh bubbling up again. “My god, you’re so bad at hiding it. Should I read it to you again?” she teased, her voice lilting with faux sweetness. “‘Blindfolded cooking to strengthen bonds—’”

“Evie,” he warned, his voice low and desperate, but she just grinned wider, undeterred.

“—allowing your partner to guide you through every step, fostering trust and, dare I say, intimacy.;” She looked up at him, her hazel eyes alight with amusement. “Sebastian Sallow, is this a kink?"

Sebastian felt his entire body go rigid, his breath catching in his throat as Evangeline’s words hung in the air, her teasing grin practically glowing with mischief. A kink? He opened his mouth to respond, to shut the idea down immediately, but the words simply refused to cooperate.

“I—what?!” he finally sputtered, his voice cracking slightly, which only made her laugh harder.

“Oh, Merlin, it is!” she exclaimed, her tone positively gleeful.

Sebastian thought he might die on the spot.

“You’ve got to tell me," she continued, "What is it about blindfolds that gets you so flustered? I mean, I thought you were unshakable, but apparently all it takes is a bit of fabric and some trust exercises to send you reeling.”

Sebastian crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his scowl doing little to mask the growing embarrassment simmering just beneath the surface. “I’m not flustered,” he muttered, though the crack in his voice betrayed him.

“Oh, you definitely are,” she teased, inching even closer, her gaze locked onto his like a predator who had cornered her prey. “Come on, spill it. What about it has you turning red? Is it the idea of being blindfolded yourself, or...?” She trailed off, her voice lilting with curiosity.

“It’s not—” Sebastian started, his voice sharp but faltering. He let out a frustrated sigh, raking a hand through his hair as he realized there was no escape. She wasn’t going to let this go, not without an answer. And, Merlin help him, he couldn’t come up with a convincing lie fast enough to deflect her.

So he gave in.

“It’s not about me being blindfolded,” he said finally, his voice low, measured. He looked away, focusing on the flicker of the fire instead of her face. “It’s... the other way around.”

Evangeline tilted her head, her smile softening slightly but her curiosity still alight. “Oh?” she prompted, clearly not satisfied with his vague explanation.

Sebastian sighed again, his shoulders sagging slightly as he shifted his weight. “It’s just... there’s something about it, alright? Someone willingly giving up control, letting you guide them. It’s...” He hesitated, the words sticking in his throat. He glanced at her briefly, his gaze sharp and searching, before continuing. “It’s intimate.”

The word lingered in the air between them, heavier than he’d intended. Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling too warm despite the winter chill that still clung to the room.

Evangeline blinked, her teasing grin faltering as her cheeks turned a faint shade of pink. “Oh."

Sebastian risked a glance at her, and what he saw made his stomach flip. The playful spark in her eyes had dimmed, replaced by a wide-eyed uncertainty.

Sebastian quirked a brow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. “Look who's blushing now."

Evangeline let out a huff, clearly scrambling for a way to regain the upper hand. With a dramatic flourish, she tossed the book into his lap, the sudden motion making him grunt in surprise as the tome landed unceremoniously against his stomach.

“I’m going to get changed.”

Once she'd disappeared down the hallway, Sebastian sighed, dragging a hand down his face. Tonight was going to be a long one.

The next few days passed in a blur of quiet routines and the kind of easy companionship that Sebastian had come to cherish. The book—and their conversation about it—didn’t come up again. If anything, it was as if the moment had never happened. Evangeline didn’t tease him about blindfolds, and Sebastian didn’t bring it up, though the memory lingered like a faint ember, glowing quietly in the back of his mind.

Instead, they fell back into their well-oiled domestic rhythm. Evangeline helped prepare meals with the kind of confidence that suggested she was already used to the space, darting around the kitchen as though it were her own. Sebastian found himself lingering more than he should, watching the way she moved, the way her brow furrowed in concentration, or the little hums of approval she let out when she tasted something she’d made.

If she noticed him staring, she didn’t say anything.

They spent the mornings braving the crisp winter air, venturing into the village for errands or a bit of fresh air. The locals were accustomed to seeing Sebastian around this time of year, but Evangeline’s presence added a new layer of warmth to their exchanges. She was effortlessly charming, her laughter ringing out as they greeted familiar faces, and Sebastian couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of pride whenever someone asked about her.

The afternoons, though, were his favorite. They’d spent one entire day setting up the Christmas tree—a modest but charming pine they’d dragged in from the woods near Feldcroft. Sebastian had teased her about her meticulous placement of the ornaments, claiming she was worse than Professor Sharp when it came to precision. She’d rolled her eyes at him, laughing as she threw a handful of tinsel in his direction.

By the time the tree was done, they’d both been covered in glitter and pine needles, and the room had been filled with the kind of warm, unrestrained laughter that made Sebastian’s chest ache in the best way.

Despite himself, Sebastian awoke on Christmas Eve morning with a faint sense of unease, a heaviness he couldn’t immediately place. The morning light filtered through the small, frost-covered windows of his room, casting soft patterns on the walls, but it did little to lift the dull ache settling in his bones.

The holiday was passing by too quickly.

He stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, willing the feeling to dissipate, but it lingered stubbornly, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. There was still over a week left of break, he reminded himself, plenty of time to savor the peace and quiet of Feldcroft—and Evangeline’s presence.

But the thought of returning to Hogwarts, to the chaos and routine of school life, made his stomach twist. A life without her here, moving through his home as though she belonged, felt unbearable.

With a sigh, Sebastian swung his legs over the side of the bed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the unwelcome weight in his chest. There was still time, he told himself firmly. No sense in ruining the day by brooding over the inevitable.

He pulled on a sweater and some thick socks, the cold floor biting at his feet, and made his way toward the sitting room. The faint crackle of the fire reached his ears before he stepped into the room, and what he saw when he rounded the corner stopped him in his tracks.

Evangeline was already awake, curled up in the armchair closest to the hearth, her legs tucked beneath her and a book resting open in her lap. But it wasn’t the book that caught his attention—it was her outfit. She was wearing one of his sweaters, a dark, oversized thing that hung off her shoulders and nearly swallowed her whole.

Sebastian froze, his breath catching in his throat as a rush of warmth spread through his chest. She looked so at ease, so perfectly at home, that for a moment, he allowed himself to forget that this wasn’t permanent. That in just over a week, she’d be back in the Gryffindor common room, and he’d be pacing the Slytherin dungeons, missing her with a desperation he could already feel creeping in.

As if sensing his presence, Evangeline glanced up from her book, her hazel eyes soft and bright in the firelight. A small smile tugged at her lips as she spotted him lingering in the doorway.

“Morning,” she said, her voice warm and still tinged with sleep. “I didn’t think you’d ever get up.”

Sebastian forced himself to move, to step further into the room and shake off the daze her presence always seemed to put him in. He smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. "Comfy?"

Evangeline rolled her eyes, though her smile widened slightly as she set the book aside. “Your clothes are warmer than mine,” she said simply, as if that explained everything. "If you don't want me borrowing them, you shouldn't leave them out all over the place."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he pushed off the doorframe and made his way closer to the fire. “So it’s my fault now? For existing in my own home?”

“For one thing, you said it's my home too,” Evangeline replied with mock seriousness, tugging the sweater around her like a cocoon. “And anyway, it’s called common courtesy, Sebastian. If you leave perfectly cozy sweaters lying around, what do you expect me to do? Freeze?”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he dropped onto the sofa across from her. “I don’t know,” he drawled, leaning back and stretching his legs out. “Maybe pack your own warm clothes instead of raiding my wardrobe?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” she shot back, her grin widening. “Your sweaters are ridiculously oversized. It’s like wearing a blanket.”

Sebastian’s gaze lingered on her for a moment too long, his smirk faltering slightly. She wasn’t wrong—the sweater did swallow her whole, the fabric pooling at her wrists and shoulders in a way that made her seem impossibly small. There was something achingly endearing about it, something that made his chest tighten.

He cleared his throat, forcing his thoughts back into safer territory. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” he teased, “because that’s my favorite sweater.”

Evangeline’s eyes widened, her expression turning mock-apologetic as she clutched the sweater dramatically. “Oh no. Your favorite? Now I feel terrible.”

“Sure you do,” he said dryly, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“I mean it,” she insisted, though her tone betrayed her amusement. “Terrible enough to keep it for the rest of the break.”

Sebastian let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. Next, you’ll be claiming my socks too.”

Evangeline stretched out one of her legs, and one of his woolen socks, far too big for her small feet, peeked out from beneath the hem of her pajama pants. The sight was both absurd and heart-stoppingly endearing.

"Too late." she said with a shrug.

Sebastian barked a laugh, rolling his eyes as he settled on the couch. He stretched his legs out to rest on the coffee table. “So,” he said, breaking the quiet, his tone lighter. “What’s the plan for today? Another walk through the village? More decorating? Or,” he added with a sly grin, “should I dig out that chessboard so I can crush you again?”

Evangeline rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

“I was actually thinking we could bake something. You know, since it’s Christmas Eve and all.”

Sebastian arched a brow. “Bake? Like cookies?”

“Exactly like cookies,” she said, nodding firmly. “I... I found a recipe in one of your mum’s old cookbooks yesterday.”

Sebastian’s smirk softened at the mention of his mother’s cookbooks. He hand't touched any of the dessert recipes in years—not since Anne had stopped baking around the holidays. The thought of Evangeline flipping through the worn pages, her curious fingers skimming over his mother’s handwritten notes, sent a quiet pang through his chest.

“You did, did you?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said, the faintest hint of a blush coloring her cheeks. “But then I realized I’d need your help because the instructions are... let’s just say vague. Your mum must have been one of those cooks who just knew how things were supposed to turn out.”

Sebastian chuckled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Sounds like her."

"Sounds like you," Evangeline chuckled, and she gave him a teasing smile.

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I’ll warn you now—I’ve learned to cook for Anne, but baking? That’s a different beast. I wouldn’t call myself an expert.”

“Well,” she replied, standing and motioning toward the kitchen with a flourish, “lucky for you, I happen to be an excellent teacher."

With that, Sebastian rose to his feet and followed her into the kitchen. Evangeline was already rifling through the cupboards for mixing bowls and measuring spoons, her energy infectious. Sebastian leaned against the counter, watching her with a fond smirk as she muttered to herself about where he kept the vanilla extract.

“You’re the guest,” he teased. “I should be the one doing the prep work.”

She turned, hands on her hips, a wooden spoon dangling precariously from her fingers. “Then start measuring the flour, Mr. Holiday Spirit.”

He let out a low chuckle, pushing off the counter to grab the flour container. “Yes, ma’am.”

The two of them quickly fell into a rhythm, Sebastian handling the measuring while Evangeline dictated the steps, occasionally stopping to glance at the scribbled notes in his mother’s cookbook. The kitchen was soon filled with the warm scent of cinnamon and nutmeg, mingling with their shared laughter as they debated the merits of raisins in cookies (Sebastian was firmly against it; Evangeline insisted they added “character”).

Sebastian had just started measuring out sugar when the sound of wings fluttering against glass caught his attention. He looked up, frowning as he spotted a small owl perched on the windowsill, its feathers fluffed against the cold.

“An owl?” he said, setting the sugar aside and wiping his hands on a towel. “Didn’t know we were expecting post.”

Evangeline’s head shot up, her eyes widening slightly before she quickly turned toward the window. “Oh! I think it’s for me,” she said, her voice just a little too bright as she rushed over.

Sebastian watched as she unlatched the window, letting the owl hop inside. It held out its leg, a neatly folded letter tied with a simple red ribbon attached. Evangeline untied it quickly, murmuring a soft “thank you” before the owl gave a low hoot and flew back out into the snow.

“Who’s it from?” Sebastian asked casually, leaning back against the counter.

Evangeline hesitated, her fingers brushing over the ribbon as she glanced at the letter. “Oh, just... something I was expecting,” she said lightly, folding the parchment and tucking it into her pocket before he could read the address.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed slightly, his curiosity piqued. “Something important?”

“No, not really,” she said quickly, flashing him a small smile as she turned back toward the counter. “Let’s finish these cookies, shall we?”

Her tone was breezy, but the way she avoided his gaze told him otherwise. Sebastian didn’t press, though the question lingered in the back of his mind. What was in the letter that had her so eager to deflect? And why did she look so... excited?

Shaking the thought aside, he grabbed the sugar container and poured it into the bowl, keeping one eye on Evangeline as she busied herself with the spices. She was hiding something—of that, he was certain. But whatever it was, he would find out eventually.

For now, though, there were cookies to bake. And if she thought she was getting away with sneaking raisins into the batter, she had another thing coming.

By late afternoon, Sebastian leaned back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed lazily at the ankles. The coffee table between them bore the aftermath of their baking endeavors—crumb-filled plates, the now nearly-empty cookie tin, and their half-drunk cups of tea. His stomach was comfortably full, though he suspected he’d regret indulging in so many cookies later.

Not that he cared.

Across from him, Evangeline was curled up on the sofa, her frame tucked beneath one of the well-worn blankets they’d pulled out earlier. Her head rested against the arm of the couch, and the firelight cast soft, flickering shadows over her features, and the faintest rise and fall of her chest told him she was dozing.

She looked so peaceful, her lips parted slightly as her breaths came slow and even. The day’s events had left a faint blush on her cheeks, remnants of the laughter they’d shared while wrestling over the dough and debating the merits of cookie shapes (Evangeline had insisted on stars, while Sebastian stubbornly fought for dragons).

She looked… content. Warm, safe, and utterly at ease in a way that made something deep in Sebastian’s chest twist and ache.

He quite liked her like this. Here, in Feldcroft, with him. Multiple cookies deep and perfectly cozy.

Sebastian let his head fall back against the chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he stared at the ceiling. How many times had he wished for this? For a version of life where Evangeline was simply here, part of his home, filling it with her presence and relentless teasing? Where they weren’t running from one disaster to another, but instead simply... existing together?

Too many times. And now that it was here, fleeting as it might be, he wasn’t sure how he’d let it go.

His gaze flicked back to her, and he felt his chest tighten again. The sweater she wore—his sweater—had slipped slightly from her shoulder, revealing the delicate curve of her collarbone. One of her hands peeked out from beneath the blanket, her fingers resting lightly on the edge of the cushion, her nails still dusted faintly with flour from earlier.

She looked... perfect. Too perfect. Like something out of one of those ridiculous romance novels Anne used to read by the dozen.

And she was here. With him.

Sebastian reached for the tin on the table, retrieving one of the last cookies. He bit into it absentmindedly, his eyes never straying far from her. She shifted slightly in her sleep, curling deeper into the blanket, and the soft sound she made—a barely audible sigh—sent an unsteady warmth spreading through his chest.

He swallowed hard. How could he possibly make it through the rest of the holiday without these thoughts consuming him? Without wanting more than what he could ever hope to have?

Sebastian didn't have long to think about it before there was a knock at the front door.

Sebastian froze at the sound, his brow furrowing as he glanced toward the door. A knock? Here? In Feldcroft? His first instinct was to ignore it—visitors to the village were rare, especially this time of year, and he wasn’t exactly in the mood for company. But the knock came again, firmer this time, and his curiosity got the better of him.

Evangeline stirred at the sound, her eyes fluttering open as she blinked sleepily in the direction of the door. It took her a moment to fully wake, but when she did, Evangeline’s face lit up in a way that sent Sebastian’s heart stumbling in his chest. She sat up, the blanket falling away, and before he could say anything, she was already on her feet.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her hazel eyes gleaming with something he couldn’t quite place. “Come on,” she said, her voice warm and excited as she reached for his hand.

“What—Evie, wait,” Sebastian stammered, caught off guard as she tugged him toward the door. “Who is it?”

She didn’t answer, her grin widening as she pulled him along, her small hand wrapped firmly around his. He stumbled after her, his curiosity mounting with every step. The third knock came just as they reached the door, and Evangeline threw it open without hesitation.

Sebastian blinked, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the figure standing on the snowy doorstep.

Ominis. And-

“Anne?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

His sister stood there, hand in hand with Ominis, bundled in a thick traveling cloak, her cheeks pink from the cold. Snowflakes clung to her hair, and she gave him a tentative smile, her brown eyes shining with a mix of joy and emotion.

“Surprise,” Anne said softly, her voice trembling just slightly.

Sebastian stood frozen for a moment, his mind struggling to catch up. Anne. His sister. Standing here, in Feldcroft, after all this time. He hadn’t seen her since that tragic day in the catacombs nearly two years ago. The sight of her on his doorstep sent a wave of emotions crashing over him—shock, relief, disbelief, and something else, something warm that tugged at the edges of his chest, almost too overwhelming to name. For a moment, he forgot to breathe,

Evangeline gently nudged his hand, pulling him back to the present. “Are you going to invite them in, or leave them standing out there to freeze?”

Sebastian blinked, the haze of disbelief breaking as he stepped forward. “Anne, Ominins—Merlin’s beard, come in,” he said quickly, reaching for his sister's trunk and pulling her inside. The warmth of the cottage enveloped them as he shut the door behind her, the sharp chill of the outside world replaced by the familiar crackle of the fire.

“What—” Sebastian finally managed to find his voice, though it was hoarse and uncertain. “What are you doing here? Both of you?”

Anne arched an eyebrow, her smile widening slightly. “What, no hug for your sister after all this time?”

That broke through the fog. Sebastian’s expression softened, and in two strides, he closed the distance between them and pulled Anne into a fierce embrace. She let out a small laugh, her arms wrapping tightly around him as she buried her face against his shoulder.

“Merlin, Anne,” Sebastian murmured, his voice thick with emotion. So thick, his eyes were beginning to well up. "How... how are you? You should have told me you were coming.”

“Well, that would have ruined the surprise,” she replied, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. Her smile was softer now, her eyes, eyes that looked just like his, scanning his face as though memorizing every detail. “You look... better than I expected.”

Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh, wiping at his eyes before he stepped back. “You’re one to talk. You look... healthy.”

Anne smiled, her cheeks dimpled with warmth, and she shrugged modestly. "I’ve had some help," she said, glancing briefly at Ominis, who stood quietly near the door, a soft smile on his face.

Evangeline, sensing that Sebastian was too overwhelmed to act, stepped forward with a quiet smile, her voice calm and reassuring. "Come on, let’s get you all settled by the fire. It’s freezing out there."

Anne glanced at her, her smile softening with gratitude, and allowed herself to be gently guided further inside. Ominis followed, his steps measured as he made his way toward the warm glow of the hearth. Evangeline quickly gathered extra blankets and fluffed the armchair cushions, her movements efficient and thoughtful.

Sebastian stood frozen for another moment, his gaze locked on Anne as though she might vanish if he looked away. But as Evangeline gestured for him to join them, her hazel eyes silently urging him to focus, he snapped out of his stupor and followed.

Anne lowered herself into the armchair closest to the fire, her eyes wandering around the room as she took it all in. Her expression shifted from curiosity to quiet amazement, her smile growing as she noticed every small detail. “It’s... beautiful,” she murmured, her voice full of wonder. “It looks bigger than I remember. And so well cared for.”

Sebastian, who had taken the seat directly across from her, barely registered her words. His attention was fixed solely on her—on the way her cheeks were fuller, rosier than the last time he’d seen her; on the way her posture, though still delicate, no longer carried the weight of constant pain. He reached for her hand, his grip firm but trembling slightly as his thumb brushed over her knuckles.

“Why are you here?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His brow furrowed, a mix of worry and hope flickering in his dark eyes. “How are you here?”

Anne’s gaze shifted to him, her smile faltering for just a moment as she squeezed his hand. “Because I've missed you,” she said gently. "And I... I'm ready to move forward."

Anne’s words hung in the air between them, delicate and raw. Sebastian stared at her, his mind racing to grasp the weight of what she’d said. She had chosen, after everything, to come back. To see him again.

To forgive him?

His chest tightened, the familiar pang of guilt surging to the surface, threatening to drown out the cautious hope he felt. He swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he finally spoke. “Anne... I—”

“I know,” she interrupted gently, her smile soft but unwavering. “I know what you’re going to say, Sebastian. That you’re sorry. That you regret what happened. That you wish things could have been different.”

He nodded, unable to meet her gaze. “Because I do. Every single day.”

“I know,” she repeated, her voice steady despite the emotion lacing her words. She reached out, placing her free hand over his. “And I need you to know that I believe you. I just... I needed time. Time to figure out how to live with everything that happened.”

Sebastian’s breath caught, the weight of her words settling heavily in his chest. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I just wanted to save you.”

Anne’s expression softened further, her eyes shimmering as she squeezed his hand. “It’s alright. Sebastian. I’m here now. It’s time to move on.”

Sebastian felt like the floor had shifted beneath him. The room was the same—the warm glow of the fire, the soft scent of cinnamon from their earlier baking—but the weight of Anne’s presence, her words, made everything feel surreal. If he wasn’t so shocked he’d almost certainly be crying. He barely noticed Evangeline disappear into the kitchen or the way Ominis watched on with an uncharacteristically warm smile.

“How long?” Sebastian finally asked, his voice thick as he turned his gaze to his oldest friend. “How long have you all been planning this?”

Ominis tilted his head, his pale eyes staring unseeingly at the fire as a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Weeks,” he said simply, his tone betraying just a hint of satisfaction. “It was quite the logistical challenge, I’ll have you know. Timing the letters, keeping it all quiet so you wouldn’t catch on.”

Sebastian blinked, still trying to process the enormity of it all. “You’ve been keeping this from me for weeks?”

“Months, really,” Anne chimed in, her voice light with amusement. She leaned back in her chair, instinctively reaching for Ominis’s hand, her smile growing as she watched her brother’s incredulous expression. “Ominis and Evangeline did most of the heavy lifting. I just had to show up.”

Sebastian’s eyes darted toward the kitchen, where he could hear the faint clink of cups and the soft hum of Evangeline’s voice as she prepared tea. His chest tightened, a swirl of emotions—relief, gratitude, good-natured frustration—bubbling beneath the surface. “Evie knew?”

“Of course I knew,” Evangeline’s voice floated from the doorway, light and teasing. She appeared moments later, balancing a tray laden with steaming cups of tea, a small plate of crackers, and a bowl of sugared nuts. She set the tray down on the coffee table, her movements practiced and efficient, as if she’d done this a hundred times before.

Sebastian watched her carefully, his gaze lingering on the way she handed Anne a cup of tea without hesitation, her touch gentle and her smile easy. Anne took the cup with a quiet “thank you,” her own smile mirroring Evangeline’s in a way that made Sebastian's cehst ache.

He’d always known, in an abstract way, that Anne and Evangeline had grown close over the past two years. The letters, the occasional mentions in conversation—it was all there, a quiet acknowledgment of their friendship. But seeing it in person, watching the way they interacted so effortlessly, was something else entirely. They were comfortable together in a way that spoke of countless shared moments, of trust and understanding that ran deep.

For two years, while Anne hadn’t spoken to him, she had been speaking to Evangeline. While he had been left to wrestle with the silence, Evangeline had been there, building something meaningful with his sister. The thought was overwhelming, bittersweet, and... oddly comforting.

Because if anyone could bridge the gap between him and Anne, it was Evangeline.

As he watched them, the firelight dancing across their faces, something inside Sebastian shifted. It wasn’t a grand realization, but a quiet, steady confirmation of something he already knew: he loved Evangeline. Not just for who she was with him, but for how seamlessly she fit into his life, into his family. Seeing her and Anne like this, so at ease, only solidified that truth.

Evangeline glanced at him then, her hazel eyes curious but fond. “Something on your mind?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Sebastian hesitated, the words tangled in his throat. There was so much he wanted to say, but he simply shook his head, offering her a small, lopsided smile. “Just... glad you’re all here,” he said finally, his voice soft but sincere.

Evangeline’s expression softened, her lips curving into a quiet, knowing smile. She didn’t press him for more. Instead, she simply nodded, her fingers brushing briefly against his as she settled onto the sofa beside him.

Anne and Ominis were deep in conversation now, their voices low and intimate as they discussed the trip to Feldcroft. Anne’s eyes lit up as she recounted a small mishap on the journey—something about Ominis nearly hexing a Ministry official who’d gotten too close to her trunk. Ominis, for his part, looked utterly unrepentant, his smirk only growing wider as Anne swatted his arm playfully.

Sebastian watched them, a faint smile tugging at his lips, his eyes growing misty. Ominis, always so reserved, so careful, seemed so much lighter around Anne. His usually meticulous posture softened whenever she leaned toward him, and the way his hand rested on her knee as they spoke was a silent testament to how much he cared for her.

And Anne? Anne was glowing. She teased Ominis with the same sharp wit she’d always used, but there was a certain softness to it, a kind of warmth that Sebastian hadn’t seen before. She looked at Ominis like he hung the stars.

“Can you believe them?” Evangeline’s voice broke through his thoughts, soft and amused as she leaned closer. She gestured subtly toward Anne and Ominis, her hazel eyes sparkling with mirth. “They’re disgustingly perfect together.”

Sebastian nodded slowly, trying and failing to blink away his tears. “Yeah,” he murmured, his chest tightening again. “They really are.”

The four of them fell into an easy rhythm, something as natural as breathing. Anne and Ominis told Evie and Sebastian all about it their Christmas break so far, their voices blending seamlessly with the crackle of the fire. Evangeline leaned back against the sofa, her head resting lightly against Sebastian’s shoulder as they listened. And Sebastian didn’t move, didn’t dare disturb the delicate balance of the moment.

This was what he’d been missing. This was what he’d spent the last two years longing for. His sister, his best friend, and Evangeline—all here, all safe, all his.

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