#[ I’m tired and it’s so deeply discouraging. makes me not want to come back.. ]

[cursedxartist]

Woah tumblr completely changed the order that my following / followers lists were in on mobile. They’re completely jumbled.

[cyndavilachase]

I’m Looking Forward Now 💖Thank you and good bye

So, it’s been a little over a week since Steven Universe Future ended… 

I’ve been hesitant to write this, honestly, but I’m tired of holding myself back from properly expressing myself in fear of appearing overly invested in the media I consume, even in private. Writing helps me organize my thoughts and feelings, and I feel like these thoughts in particular may resonate with many, so I want to share them. I want to talk about what Steven Universe has done for me personally, both as an artist, and as a person.

I’ve been around since the day the first episode of the original series aired. I actually remember when Steven Universe was just a logo on Wikipedia’s “List of Upcoming Cartoon Network Shows” list, back when I was a freshman in high school. It piqued my interest, but when commercials finally dropped for it, I thought it was going to be bad because of the way marketing handled introducing Steven as a likeable character. There was still something about it that made me want to give it a chance though, so I went online and watched the pilot before the first episode's release. I was hooked immediately. I knew I was going to love it, and I did. I fell so absolutely in love with Steven as a character, and the world that he and the gems lived in. I became obsessed. I was always so excited for new episodes to come out. Little did I know what else it would do for me as I went through my adolescence alongside it.

As the show progressed, it was evident that what I wanted out of a western animated childrens’ cartoon was finally coming into fruition: this show was becoming serialized. There was continuity, there was plot, there was character development-- it was getting deep. It was pushing the groundwork that Adventure Time laid out even further (thank you, Adventure Time).  

I will give credit where credit is due: earlier western childrens’ cartoons I grew up with like Hey Arnold, and Rugrats, among others, also touched on heavy topics, but Steven Universe was able to take similar ideas (and even more complex ones, concerning mental health and relationships) and expand on them outside of contained episodes and/or short arcs. These themes, which were a part of the show’s overarching story, spanned across its entirety. Continuity was rampant. 

What did this mean? It meant kids cartoons didn’t have to be silly and fun all the time and characters weren’t just actors playing a part in 11-minute skits. Steven and the gems would remember things that happened to them, and it affected them and how they would function and play a part in their story. This was a huge deal to me as a teenager. I always wanted the cartoons I grew up with featuring kid characters to feel more. In my own work, I often felt discouraged when combining a fun, cutesy western art style with themes as dark or layered as anime would cover. I always thought it had to be one or the other because an audience wouldn’t take a combination of the two seriously enough, based on discussions I had with classmates, friends, and online analysis I read at the time. Steven Universe proved to me otherwise. This show was opening the door for future cartoons exploring in-depth, adult concepts. I felt so seen as a kid, and was inspired to stick with what I love doing.

I was actually very worried about the show’s survival. It was in fact immensely underrated and the fandom was miniscule. Then in 2014, JailBreak dropped, and it’s popularity exploded. Part of it was because of the complex plot and the themes it was covering like I mentioned, but also because of its representation. 

I remember when fandom theorized that Garnet was a fusion due to grand, tragic reasons. Turns out, she’s simply a metaphor for a very loving w|w relationship. This was huge. I cannot stress how important it is that we continue to normalize healthy canon queer relationships in childens’ media, and Steven Universe finally was the first to do that proper. Introducing these themes offers the chance for a kid to sit there and ask themselves, “Why is this demonized by so many people?” I asked myself exactly that. Ruby and Sapphire were my cartoon LGBT rep. They were the first LGBT couple I ever ecstatically drew fanart of. I was dealing with a lot of internalized homophobia at the time, and they showed me that I was allowed to love women and feel normal about it. The process of overcoming this was a long one, but they played a part in my very first steps into becoming comfortable with my sexuality. I could go on and on about it’s representation in general-- how it breaks the mold when it comes to showcasing a diverse set of characters in design, in casting, and in breaking gender roles. It’s focus on love and empathy. Steven himself is a big boy, but he's the protagonist, and the show never once makes fun of his weight, or any other bigger characters for that matter. It wasn’t hard to see why the fandom had grown so large.

Fandom was always a joy for me. It was a hobby I picked up when I was in middle school, like many of us here did. I would always cater my experience to fun, and fun only. I only started getting more deeply involved in SU’s fandom when I had just turned into an adult. During the summer of 2016, between my first and second year of college, I drew for the show almost every day non-stop when the Summer of Steven event was going on and posted them online. This was a form of practice for me in order to become not just more comfortable with experimenting with my art, but also to meet new artists, make new friends, and learn to interact with strangers without fear. I dealt with a ton of anxiety when I was in high school. When I was a senior applying to art school for animation, I decided I was going to overcome that anxiety. I made plans to take baby steps to improve myself over the course of my 4 years of college. Joining the fandom, while unforeseen, was definitely a part of that process. I started feeling more confident in sharing my ideas, even if they were fan-made. I fell in love with storyboarding after that summer, when I took my first storyboarding class, and genuinely felt like I was actually getting somewhere with all of this. I remember finally coming to a point in my classes where I could pitch and not feel hopelessly insecure about it. I was opening up more to my friends and peers. 

But this process, unfortunately, came to a screeching halt. 

My life completely, utterly crumbled under me in the Fall of 2017 due to a series of blows in my personal life that happened in the span of just a couple weeks. My mental health and sense of identity were completely destroyed. All of that confidence I had worked for-- completely ruined. I was alone. I nearly died. My stay at college was extended to 4 and half years, instead of the 4 I had intended. I lost my love for animation-- making it, and watching it. I could no longer watch Steven Universe with the same love I had for it beforehand. It’s a terrible thing, trying to give your attention to something you don’t love anymore, and wanting so desperately to love again. I dropped so many things I loved in my life, including the fandom.

Healing was a long and complicated road. I continued to watch the show all the way up until Change Your Mind aired in the beginning of 2019, and while I still felt empty, that was definitely a turning point for me with it’s encapsulation of self-love. I was hoping James Baxter would get to work on Steven Universe since he guest-animated on Adventure Time, and it was incredible seeing that wish actually come true. The movie came out and while I enjoyed it and thought highly of it, I was still having issues letting myself genuinely love things again, old and new. It was especially difficult because cartoons were my solace as a kid, when things got rough at home. I remember feeling sad because the show ended, and not getting the chance to love it again like I used to while it was still going.

By the time Steven Universe Future was announced, I was finally coming around. I was genuinely starting to feel excitement for art and animation again. I wasn’t expecting there to be a whole new epilogue series, but happily ever after, there we were! Prickly Pear aired, and the implications it left in terms of where the story was going did it. I was finally ready to let myself take the dive back into fandom in January of this year. My art blew up, something I wasn’t expecting considering my 2-year hiatus. Following this, I was invited into a discord server containing some of the biggest writers, artists, editors, and analysts in the fandom. I had no idea there were so many talented people in the fandom, some already with degrees, some getting their degrees-- creating stuff for it on the side just for fun. The amount of passion and productivity level here is insane, and so is the amount of discussion that has come out of it.

I didn’t realize it at first, but it was actually helping me gain back the courage to share ideas. I lost my confidence in pitching while I was taking the time to heal, and graduating meant there would no longer be a classroom setting I could practice in. This group helped immensely. 

I have made so many friends through this wonderful series, and I have so many fond memories talking to like-minded creatives, getting feedback and a myriad of sources for inspiration, as well as all of the memes and jokes and weekly theorizations that came about as we all waited on the edges of our seats for episodes to air. I needed this so badly, I needed to get back in touch with my roots, when I would go absolutely hog-wild over a cartoon I loved with people who loved it as much I did. Future has been a blessing for me in this way. I graduated feeling like I was back at square-one, but now I feel like I’m on my way again.

It’s 2020 and while I’m doing great right now, I am honestly still recovering from the total exhaustion that followed after graduating a few months ago, and finally leaving the campus where my life fell apart behind. Needless to say, watching Future was like looking into a mirror. Watching one of my favorite characters of all time-- one that grew up with me-- go through so many of the same things I went through not too long ago was absolutely insane to watch unfold. It’s such an important thing too, to show a character go through the process of breaking down over trauma and all the nasty things that come with it, and to have them go on the road to healing. Steven got that therapy. He wasn’t blamed. The gems were called out. The finale was everything I could have ever hoped for. The catharsis I experienced watching it was out of this world.

As I continue my own healing journey, I will always look up to the storyboard artists, revisionists, and designers that I have been following over these past 7 years, as well as the new ones introduced in Future. It's been such a joy watching these artists release their promo art for episodes, talk about their experiences working on the show, and post the work they've done for it alongside episodes airing.

Thank you Rebecca Sugar, the Crewniverse, and the fans, for making this such a truly wonderful and unique experience. Thank you for reminding me that I am, and always will be, an artist, a cartoonist, and a fan. Thank you, my followers, for the overwhelmingly positive response to my artwork. I have had so much fun interacting and discussing the show with you all again over these past few months. Steven Universe and it’s fandom will always have a special place in my heart, and it will always be a classic that I will return to for comfort and inspiration for decades to come. I am sad that the cartoon renaissance is over, but so many doors have been opened thanks to this show. I am so, so excited to see what this show will inspire in the future, and I hope one day I get the opportunity to be a part of that. 

Goodbye Steven, thank you for everything. I wish you healing, and I wish Rebecca and the team a well-deserved rest. ♥️

-Cynthia D.

[1plus1kiyoomi]

Chapter 5: One Year

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[masterlist]

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“You’re 5 minutes late,” Kuroo speaks as soon as you near the gate of his mother’s house. Irritated by his words, you stop yourself from hitting him. Your lower body parts are hurting from running in heels and your whole body is aching due to being pushed around in the train and crowd.

“Sorry...” is all you could say. You are too tired to argue with him. He spares no more time and enters the house so you have no other choice than to follow him. As you take off your heeled shoes you sigh in satisfaction, finally free from the pain it’s giving you.

“Tetsuro! (Y/N)!” His cousin, Fumiko, greets the two of you as you enter the house. You spot his older sister Tomi in the living room, so you greet her with a friendly kiss on the cheek.

“Where’s mom?” Kuroo asks his sister.

“Bathroom,” Tomi answers. She and Fumiko pulls you to the hallway leading to bedroom, as she smiles at her younger brother cockily. “We’re going to borrow your wife tonight, okay?”

“Huh?” You ask confusingly. Tomi doesn’t wait for his answer and pushes you to what you think is her room. “We’re not having dinner?”

“We, girls, are going to go out and drink tonight!” Fumiko and Tomi cheers. You can’t help but give out a displeased look.

“What’s with the look? Is Tetsuro the type of husband that doesn’t allow you to go out?” Tomi questions and you shake your head immediately. If only she knows what’s actually going on between the two of you... “Tonight you will forget about the pain and stress my brother is giving you. Tonight is about you!”

“Are you up to something?” The two of them ignore you. Tomi shoves a silk red dress to your chest. “I have to wear this?”

After the three of you dress up, you leave Tomi’s room. “Oh, you look very beautiful (Y/N)!” Their mother compliments you so you thank her and greet her with a bow. “Where are the three of you going?”

“Girls night out!” Fumiko does a peace sign and Kuroo snickers.

“Aren’t you too old to be going out?” Kuroo teases Fumiko and Tomi, the older girls smacking the back of his head in unison.

“Aren’t you going to compliment your wife or something? Look at her all dolled up!” Fumiko huffs as she changes the topic. Kuroo glances at you and fakes a loving stare. He doesn’t think you look attractive at all. You’re just another girl he’s so used to.

“You look good, love,” Kuroo compliments half-heartedly, so you just smile at him.

“Whatever love birds,” Tomi rolls her eyes. “Enjoy dinner with mom. We’re leaving now!”

“Bye, mom...” You bid goodbye shyly, kissing your mother-in-law on the cheek. Kuroo also leans in to give you a kiss on your cheek. Instead of feeling happy about it, you become even more discouraged about your relationship. You only act like a couple when your family is around. It’s so hard for you not to get carried away by his sweet actions.

“Bye, love.”

——————————————————————————

Kuroo is not sure if it’s stress that is clouding his mind in anger or if he’s actually jealous. He just wanted to fetch you and go home so none of his family members will see you flirting with another guy. He doesn’t anymore drama in his life, but you were stubborn and drunk and totally forgot that you were supposed to meet him outside of the club.

After waiting for you for half an hour, Kuroo entered the club and looked for you. He saw you on the dance floor with your “boyfriend” dancing as if you were the only ones in the place. Kuroo’s blood boiled. First, you’ll get caught. Second, you disobeyed him. Third, you looked so attractive under the blinding lights. He hated the thought of being of attracted to you.

The way your dresses perfectly molded your body was making him hot. Your hips swayed along to the rhythm precisely and how he hoped he was the one behind you instead. His eyes wandered and observed your whole body in awe. He didn’t feel like this when he first saw you a while ago. Why did he feel it now?

His feet dragged him to where you and Yuji were, and he yanked you off of him. “Who- Kuroo? Shit! I forgot!” He pulled you out of the club aggressively so Yuji followed you two out. The blonde saw the anger in Kuroo’s eyes so he got worried. Alisa who was just sitting near the bar saw the whole thing and also got out because of curiosity.

“Kuroo! Let go! It hurts!” You tried to pull your arm away from him, but he wasn’t giving any signs of letting go of you.

“What if you got caught, huh?!” Kuroo scolded you as you stopped in front of his car. He parked far away from the club so no one was around. Yuji and Alisa finally caught up with the two of you. “What would our parents say if they find out?! You really want them to know how much of a slut you are?”

Slap.

“You’re a fucking asshole! I can’t believe I love you!” You screamed before running away. Kuroo was glued to the ground, too shocked about your words.

You love him? But why?

Yuji was furious. He knew he shouldn’t meddle in between the two of you but Kuroo was going too far. “You’re really calling her a slut when you’re the one who’s hitting on other girls? What a prick.”

“And you know she’s married to me but you’re still dating her? Doesn’t that make you a prick as well?” Kuroo replied, grabbing Yuji’s collar in frustration.

“She’s married to you but I’m the one fucking her, so I guess I’m at better place than you,” Yuji mocked, so Kuroo threw a punch at his face that caused the blonde’s lips to bleed.

‘What is this cocky idiot talking about? He’s a virgin!’ Alisa thought as she messaged Kenma and Matsukawa in panic.

Not long after, Kenma finally shows up and helps in calming Kuroo down. He and Alisa manages to pull the two tall boys apart. Kenma forces Kuroo to get into his car while Alisa pushes Yuji back into the club.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re not the type to start a fight,” Kenma starts the conversation as Kuroo seems to calm down. The taller guy groans in anger.

“I’m just stressed from everything and let frustration over me. I’ll apologize to Yuji tomorrow,” Kuroo says as he finally relaxed himself.

“You’re not going to say sorry to (Y/N)? Alisa said you made her cry,” Kenma states in his usual tone. Kuroo leans his head on his seat and sighs.

“She said she loves me...” Kuroo says in a confused matter. Your words replay in his head and the more he repeats it, the more confused he got. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does she love me? I haven’t treated her well ever since we’ve met. I made sure she knew that I hated her. I thought she not like being married to me too, because she moved out last year and then we never saw each other after that. Then when she returned, she offered to help me with Alisa. I don’t get how she can say that she loves me,” Kuroo explains and Kenma just nods.

“How do you feel about it?” Kenma pushes the topic. Kuroo looks out of the window, thinking deeply.

“It makes me rethink of our whole marriage and relationship. I feel sorry that I treated her like that while she had feelings for me the whole time.”

Kuroo honestly doesn’t know what to do. It’s not everyday he finds out that the woman who has hated since who knows when is in love with him. He takes in a deep breath and remembers what matters at the moment: your safety.

“I have to go home and check if she’s there. Do you want me to drive you home?” Kuroo changes the topic and Kenma shakes his head no.

“I drove here so go and talk to (Y/N),” Kenma tells Kuroo before leaving his car. Kuroo thanks him and drives quickly to your place.

What if you didn’t come home? What if you passed out on the streets? You were drunk after all. Kuroo suddenly regrets his choice of words. He should not have called you a slut. His words are eating him up and the more he thinks about it, the more sorry he feels towards you.

Kuroo enters the passcode to your shared flat and relief washes over him when he sees your heels on the doorway. He takes his shoes off and gets inside. He doesn’t go to his room, but knocks on yours first.

“(Y/N). Please open the door. Let’s talk.” Kuroo says loudly so you can hear it at the other side of the wooden barrier. And of course you hear him. You’re sitting on the floor, leaning on the door. You’ve stopped crying but you’re spacing out.

You can’t believe you confessed to him. You even dropped the L-word bomb. You don’t care about how he insulted you, you are too preoccupied by the thought of what’s going to happen now. It’s better if he didn’t know of your feelings but he already does.

“(Y/N). Let’s talk.” Kuroo continues to knock. Not in your right mind due to crying and alcohol, you got up from the floor and opened your door.

Even before he can speak up, you bowed apologetically. “I’m sorry for not coming out of club when you said so. I apologize for risking our front. I’ll be more careful next time. It won’t happen again.” You tried to close the door but he placed his hand in between the frame and door so his fingers get injured.

“Ouch!” Kuroo hisses. Worry takes over you and as if on instinct, you grab his hand and take a look at it.

“I’m sorry! Let me grab ice!” You step away from him but he tugs your hand back and pins your body on the wall in ease. His damaged hand is still entwined with yours while the other is on the wall at the side of your head. Kabedon. “Kuroo...”

“Look, I know you’re trying to avoid the topic but you can’t take back what you said. And don’t reason that you’re drunk because I’m sure you aren’t. So please listen to what I’m going to say. I don’t love you back.”

“I know. So please stop. You’re hurting me,” you lower your head, stopping your tears from falling.

“Let me finish. I don’t love you back right now but I’m willing to take a chance at our relationship. One year. Let’s try working our relationship out for one year. If I end up falling in love with you, then good for us. But if I don’t, then let’s end all of this,” Kuroo proposes, cupping your cheek. You let your facade go and start to cry.

You hate yourself because you’ll allow him to do this. You hate yourself so much be ause you’ll let him get away with everything he said. You hate yourself because you’ll let him act as if he hasn’t treated you badly for the past years. You hate that you love him so much that you’ll let your toxic relationship go on for another more year. You hate that you love him so much you’re willing to get intoxicated and hurt.

“Okay...” you reply, your hand holding his that is own your cheek. “In that one year, can you pretend that you love me even if you don’t?” You’re going to get hurt anyways, so why not inflict more pain?

“I won’t just pretend. I’ll actually try to.”

This is where your love story (hopefully) begins.

——————————————————————————

Facts:

Mattsun and company’s plan goes on. It’s only 5% complete.

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[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 25

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader   CW: Language, implied sexual content, angst 

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 25: Theories of Emotions

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April 30th, 1976

“HAHAHA!” Y/N let out a scream of mirth. She laughed so hard that her knees buckled, meeting the soft grass beneath and wand slipped from her grasp. Her eyes swam with heavy tears, gasping for air as she rocked back and forth, clutching her ribs. Nonplussed and unamused, Regulus gawked at her.

“You wart. You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

It was a passing joke, that she would teach Regulus how to swim but he took it a little too literally. Now, swimming — or attempting to swim in the shallow area of the black lake, wearing bright yellow floaties to keep him afloat, Regulus kept making large splashes; his arms failed around, legs unsynchronized as he kicked to propel his body.

“When you said your swimming skills were horrific, I thought you were being humble!”

Regulus’s face turned a dark pink, but he wore a sheepish grin. He doggy paddled his way out of the lake, which made her laugh even harder and waddled on land. Y/N got up, threw him a towel and ruffled his hair.

Regulus had been looking a little more lively lately, and Y/N was just happy that he seemed to be doing better.

“We can work with this!”

Regulus tossed her a dirty look, “Promise me you’ll never become a professor.”

“Whatever you say, Reggie —” “Hey!”

Once dry, they walked back to the castle and broke off into separate directions. Y/N promised to meet Remus a little earlier than usual at the library, but before then, she stepped into McGonagall’s office and sat in the chair opposite to her. Career meetings have been going on and her scheduled meeting had been weighing her down.

“Hello, Ms. L/N. Biscuit?” McGonagall gestured to the metal tin in front of her.

“No, it’s okay.” “Don’t be absurd.” Y/N was too afraid to reject again, so she took one.

“So, how are you feeling about the upcoming exams?”

“Nervous. Anxious.”

“I can imagine. You did struggle with the change of curriculum at the beginning of the year, but you’ve consistently improved.” McGonagall flipped through her stack of notes; her little glasses perched up high. She cleared her throat again. “You've always excelled in Defense, Potions and Transfigurations — and I’ve talked to Flitwick, he’s said you’ve improved drastically. Although, you struggle with History of Magic.”

Y/N sighed and nodded. Professor Binns wasn’t exactly helpful. “It’s never been a… strong suit of mine.”

“We all have our strengths and weaknesses, no? It doesn’t concern me much. I’ve heard you and Mr. Lupin are quite amicable — you two do study with each other..?”

“Yes, I attend his study sessions.”

McGonagall flashed her a rare smile and Y/N felt immense pride fill her. McGonagall smiling was almost as rare as getting a letter from her mother. “I can proudly say I have faith in you.”

“Thank you.”

“Then, I can assume you’ve given thought to what career you want to pursue?”

This was what she was dreading; thinking about her future. She’d give thought, loads, but it felt like there was such little time to decide the rest of her life. McGonagall waited for an answer as she watched Y/N struggle. “Do you have plans of continuing your education in America or..?”

She tried to make eye contact and her palms suddenly became damp. “I’m having doubts about working in the wizarding world.”

McGonagall pursed her lips.

“It’s not like I don’t want to — I do!” She explained, “I’ve thought about being a Healer. My mother is a Muggle Doctor.”

Professor McGonagall soaked in her words. “Are you struggling because you’re not sure if you want to become one, or do you feel pressured by your mother’s decisions?”

She sat straighter at this. “Er — Yes? No? That’s not my problem — honestly, I think my mom would discourage me from becoming one. It’s just… I mean…” She looked back to McGonagall who nodded encouragingly. “It’s just… the war… I’m not sure if I can…”

“What do you mean?” Her voice shifted, becoming brittle and it took Y/N by surprise. McGonagall wore a look so unlike her. Any trace of her firm, yet strict-kindness facade vanished. It was replaced with deep exhaustion.

“I’m a New — Muggleborn… most people — wizards — aren’t kind to someone like me… and I heard that they’re training them to be medics. I would be in the midst.”

McGonagall took off her spectacles, unveiling her red-rimmed eyes like she’d lost sleep or been crying. She sighed, so sorrowful and heavy that it even affected Y/N. “I won’t lie and say you’re wrong…” Her palms rubbed her tired eyes. “But you can’t let them win. Don’t let go of your dreams to submit to them. I won’t let my students diminish their talents and dreams.”

The professor took a long pause. “I know several institutes that transfer magical credits into Muggle credits if you’re seriously considering disconnecting from Magic. But, I urge you, think about it.”

She nodded gravely. There was already a considerable disconnect from her and the Muggle world that going back seemed impossible, but it was probably the safest.

McGonagall broke the silence, reshuffling her papers.

They continued to talk for some time, jumping from courses and mark requirements for NEWT level courses and Y/N left with a stack of papers and mock schedules. With a heavy heart, she headed towards the library. It seemed like every week when exams neared, the earlier group sessions would be.

Y/N flopped down on one of the couches near the back and let her head loll to rest on the cushion. She wasn’t alone for long before she felt the couch dip beside her. She peeked open one eye; Sirius in all his glory was there. In one hand, he held the Marauder’s map before she snatched it.

“Now you’re stalking me?”

His head made a funny gesture. “You know about the map?”

“... James.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“I haven’t told anyone. I promise!”

He beamed and when Y/N flipped through the papers McGonagall gave her, she felt Sirius place a hand on her thigh, slowly inching up.

Snogging — shagging — it made life a lot more fun. Unresolved anger between each other? Broom closet with heated words between kisses. One of them was stressed? Take it out on the other. Wanted fun? Sneak up to Sirius’s dorm. Sirius being a fucking asshole? Kiss him and he’ll shut up (although, Y/N had a sneaking suspicion that he knew this and was purposely being a dick to get a reaction now). Their anger was slowly dwindling to extinction. Moreover, rather than brooding exchanges across the hall, there were one or two sly smiles.

But, they had four unspoken rules they followed:

Never talk about whatever they were,

Because surely, neither meant anything to the other,

If they were with anyone else, they would have to tell the other,

And most importantly; never, ever, tell anyone.

“You look ravishing.”

Y/N felt her face heat. “I wish I could say the same about you."

Sirius smirked, his fingers trailing dangerously close to her inner thigh.

“Here?" She hissed, "What are you doing?"

“The thrill is the fun part.” He pressed a few sneaky kisses to her jaw, “You spend too much time here with Lupin and not enough time with me.”

“Jealous?” Y/N’s brow rose and she turned to look at him. “Of Lupin?”

Sirius didn’t answer but momentarily pulls away. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”

She rolled her eyes. “Slag.”

“You know French?”

“Second official language in Canada.”

Sirius nodded. “Well, I’m a slag… for you.” She teasingly smacked him on the head with her papers.

“I can’t stand you sometimes.”

“Feelings mutual, princess.”

Y/N hid a smirk, resuming to ignore him as she flicked through the stack of papers. There was a dreadful feeling settled deep within. Everything was moving too fast and she felt like she had nowhere to turn. Overwhelmed, she pressed herself into the couch further and groaned out, “Fuck —”

“Maybe we can do that later?”

An involuntary chuckle slipped out which had Sirius grinningly like a fool. There it was again, that Sirius Black grin… it made her heart do wild flips. “You’re a literal dog.”

“And aren’t you a lovely witch?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, flipped him off and went to tug on Sirius’ hair to pull him off before a loud moan ripped from him and echoed throughout the library. Y/N’s eyes grew large, mouth agape. Sirius was unapologetic though; his smile grew bigger.

“I promise I’ll let you slap me, lightly,” he winked and wiggled his brows. “Or hard, whatever you want.”

She shook her head and shoved her things into her bag and pulled Sirius to his feet before he led her up to his dorm. His name spewed from her lips like a prayer and consumed every thought.

At some point, they flopped down on Sirius’ bed as they breathed in deeply, catching their breaths. Y/N was filled with content and went to turn on her side, facing Sirius and cuddling up to him. Gently and mindlessly, pressed a series of light kisses to his forehead while massaging his scalp.

The sun made one last feeble appearance before being engulfed by dusk. Rays of golden glow spilled in as she embraced him. Her hands ran feather-light touches up and down his bare skin and Sirius’ head hugged close to her chest. The soft touches were filled with nothing but her (not so) hidden affection and calm peace. She didn’t think much about her actions.

Something she’d come to learn during their stolen kisses and nights under white satin sheets; Sirius was beautiful in a wild, carefree way. He was wild like how wind sweeps through the branches of willows trees and meadows on a cool summer's eve or carefree in the way waves from the ocean crashed upon rocks. He was hauntingly beautiful in a turbulent, pliable way — wild in not just beauty, but essence too.

And it hurt. What were they doing?

Everything moved so quickly. Not even a month ago, she was supposed to be hating Sirius — now their limbs were tangled together. The ever-present war crept up during the worst times and she and Lily hadn’t spoken since their fight.

Lily…

Y/N tried to be indirect, catching her eyes during class or in their dorms, but nothing. She would always re-direct her gaze. It’d grown awkward in the dorms; Marlene and Dorcas caught in the crossfire.

She really missed Lily. Their late night talks, silly games, Lily keeping her in line and Y/N getting Lily to let loose; everything and more.

Usually, once she and Sirius were done with each other, they would leave, peel off each other but Y/N was so tired of — well, everything.

Trapped in thoughts, she hadn’t noticed Sirius’ body go rigid until his body began to tremble. Sirius made a small strangled noise that she originally mistaken as a laugh or snore until she felt wet droplets fall on her skin.

Y/N pulled back to find Sirius silently crying. She watched him, thinking that she should comfort him but was rooted in place and eyes drifted to the door, thinking of leaving. It felt like an intrusion being there with him and comforting someone was not on her list.

“Er — Sirius?” She whispered, alarmed. Her smile fading and his breath hitched. She awkwardly patted him before going to stiffly stroke his arm, but it only seemed to make him cry harder. She quickly ripped back her hand and put distance between them. Her mind raced a mile a minute as she listened to him. “Sirius? Hey — what’s wrong?”

“Get out.”

She froze and looked back at him. “Do you want me to get someone —”

“GET OUT!” He yelled. It scared her so much that her body jolted and Sirius hid his face with his hands. Sirius crying and screaming at her unprovoked made her panic and recline. He stayed quiet after that, rolling over, pulling his blankets above his head.

She chewed on her bottom lip so hard that a metallic taste flooded her mouth. In a rush, she quickly threw on her clothes and grabbed her bag. She shuffled towards the door but then looked back at Sirius; he looked so small and his cries made her fill with immense sadness. She debated; should she leave and respect his wishes? But the way he was crying, so hysterically and abruptly — she worried he might’ve done something impulsive and stupid.

She decided on leaving and sat right outside the door just in case. She listened to his sobs that managed to seep through the walls.

She waited there for a very, very long time that she almost fell asleep before she heard his muffled voice and swore he said her name.

She knocked twice, “You okay?”

There was a knock back.

“Was I that bad of a kisser?” She tried to joke after some time. Luckily, she heard Sirius choke out a heartbroken giggle. This time there were two knocks. A no, she assumed. 

Silence crept back in and Y/N leaned against the door and looked around the hall. Nobody else was there, but just in case put up a spell for any prying ears.

“Do you still want me to leave?” She asked. “Just say the word.” Communication with him felt weird.

Sirius remained quiet but then she heard him hop off his bed, feet coming closer to the door. She then felt a small nudge against the door as Sirius slid down to sit on the opposite side.  

“You can talk to me,” Y/N said nervously, not wanting him to blow up again. “Did I do something? I promise I didn’t mean it.” She remained still, listening to his quiet sniffling.

Two knocks. 

“Er — I won't push and you don’t need to tell me but — um, I promise I won’t tell a soul. Not even the other Marauders. It’ll be our little secret.”

It takes a long time before Sirius eventually stops sniffling and she listens to his uneven breaths; she's extremely uncomfortable and baffled. He tries to speak several times but ends up cutting himself off.

A sharp exhale came from him, shallow and irregular. In a small, weak voice that made it feel like an invisible weight pressed against her chest, he finally spoke.

“Je suis —” Sirius started before switching to another foreign language. Y/N was able to pick up on a few words: it was Italian.

“Nessuno dei miei amanti mi ha toccato così senza volere qualcosa in cambio. Non mi fai sentire usato e ne ho he terrorizza.”

More silence ensues; Y/N thinks that he might’ve walked away until he speaks again.

“Il modo in cui mi fai sentire mi spaventa e non riesco a gestirlo.” Sirius stops, taking a shaky inhale, “Non sono ancora pronto.”

Then, she hears the door click open and the knob turns. She backs away until it opens and her head peaks in. Sirius is staring at the ground to avoid her eyes, hair acting as a curtain to hide his face. She shuffles in, Sirius leans against the door and shuts it. Y/N shifts to sit in front of him. He’s dressed again, but the sleeves of his shirt were damp with tears.

She inches closer to place an encouraging hand on his but stops, remembering earlier. “Can I touch you?”

He closes his eyes — like the question was a mental battle before he nods. Y/N reaches up, pushing back the strands of fallen hair, revealing his red, puffy eyes. Her thumb strokes over his skin tenderly — intimately, but it causes a broken whimper to escape him, but leans into the touch.

“Whatever you said,” Y/N mutters, “Thank you for telling me.”

Pink floods his cheeks and he hesitantly reaches out, his arms going around her waist to pull her into a hug.

“Mi sbagliavo su di te.” He mumbled to her shoulder and Y/N was left to think.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

They both missed the study group and dinner. Eventually, Sirius fell asleep and Y/N snuck out of his room before the Marauders came in. She didn’t want to go back to her dorm to face Lily and was extremely hungry. She then thought back to Sirius before going to grab food for both of them.

She slipped out into the night, being accompanied by Nearly Headless Nick who had a worried expression on his face. Y/N didn’t think much of it, if anything, she was rather annoyed; after the day she’s had, she wanted to be alone for a while.

The house-elves helped to line a large platter of food before she thanked them, making her way out of the kitchens. Nearly Headless Nick floated close, urging her to speed up.

“Sir Nick, I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you following me?”

“Making sure you get back to Gryffindor’s tower safely.”

That caught her attention. “Safely?”

Sir Nick’s eyes widened. “My poor girl, haven’t you heard?”

She and Sirius missed a lot when they were together. Nobody was quite sure what happened to Mary; she wouldn’t speak a word of it, not even to Marlene. All anyone knew was that Mary was a victim of Dark Magic and was found in a torpid state by Hufflepuff’s Head Girl; used as an initiation for Mulciber for the Death Eater ranks.

Word ran wild around the school of Mulciber’s expulsion and everyone was left on edge. Rumours went around of the Imperius curse. Mary was fine physically, Sir Nick told her, but mentally…

Y/N’s blood ran cold while Nick had a sorrowful smile of reassurance. “You’ll be fine — your friend will be fine but you need to come with me, now.”

But out of the corner of her eye, she’d seen a shadowy figure peek out from the shadows and Y/N drew her wand, Sir Nick floating right behind her.

“Lumos!”

There, tall and unwavering was Snape.

He marched up to her, but Y/N began to quickly walk away until he reached out and yanked her back by her shoulder with bone-crushing strength.

“Lay your hands off!” Sir Nick cut in.

Snape ignored him, “What did you say to her?!” His cheeks were tear-stained; eyes glowing with something dangerous and Y/N wanted to run. “She won’t even talk to me!”

Lily must’ve finally confronted him.

“Let go of her! Let go, let go!” Sir Nick chanted, wisping through Snape until he stumbled back.

Y/N turned around, and heard Snape mutter darkly, running off. A cold wave embalmed her as every hair on the back of her neck rose.

“Come with me now,” the ghost said. She didn’t need to be told twice.

The moment she stepped inside the common room, Y/N felt every bone in her body relax. Her footsteps were quiet and rounded into the main area when she saw everyone there. James and Lily were pacing back and forth. James tugged down on his hair; Peter was by Dorcas and Remus, Marlene looked deathly pale, the two Head Boy and Girls were there. Sirius sat in a chair, his arms cradling Toulouse as he nervously swallowed, face imprinted with distress.

Remus was the first to notice, his head snapping up once he sensed her presence. He stood, “Y/N!”

Everyone’s head snapped towards her. James shouted, running up to her. “Are you okay?” His hands went straight to her face and handled her like a doll. “My Godric! We were so worried — we were about to go and search for you!”

Sirius abruptly stood up; chair screeching, eyes wide but then quickly took a seat as everyone tossed him an odd look.

“I’m fine! I’m fine! I just missed dinner and wanted to get food!”

James tackled her into a hug and she almost dropped the plate of food.

Her eyes then travelled to Lily, who looked like she was on the verge of tears. Lily made a move to go up to her, hand slightly outstretched before stopping and quickly ran up the staircase. Everyone noticed but didn’t mention it. Then the Head Girl and Boy exited wordlessly.

Lily leaving fucking hurt.

“I heard from Headless Nick, how’s Mary?”

There was a collective sigh. Marlene got up, going over to her and pulled her into another hug and pulled back. Her usually smooth skin was now littered with furrowed lines. “She’s with Madam Pomfrey, I’m going to sneak into her room now. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Should any of us come?” Peter interjected.

“No… I don’t think she even wants me there. It might overwhelm her.”

“Be safe,” Dorcas said, her eyes wide with worry. And then she left.

Y/N made her way to sit down, James practically glued himself onto her as she plopped down next to Sirius, but still far enough to avoid suspicion.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Remus said. “When you didn’t show up for the study sessions and dinner we all… thought the worst.”

“Sorry…” Then her eyes wandered to the staircase, thinking about Lily again.

Dorcas stirred in her seat. “Don’t take Lily’s absence as offence. She was really worried.”

“She suggested we go out to find you,” Peter said. “Also had a nasty row with Snape in the courtyards too. Everyone saw it. What a bell end, Snape.”

“I think, for now, we all ought to start pairing up,” came Remus. A solemn noise of agreement went around. Nobody talked for a while and Y/N placed the large metal tray of food on the table, no longer having the appetite to eat.

James was the one who broke the silence. “Where were you?”

Sirius stopped petting Toulouse and listened carefully. “I was busy talking to McGonagall. Something about careers. Then I just got tired and ended up sleeping through dinner.”

It technically wasn’t a lie and everyone seemed to believe it.

The air was tense and James wouldn’t stop fretting. Ultimately, Dorcas began to talk to Peter, Remus had a pensive look before going to crack open his book but seemed tense. It was only until she felt Sirius nudge her foot. She shifted her head gradually to examine him.

‘You okay?’ He mouthed, searching for any kind of lie or injury. His eyes were still puffy but overall looked better.

She shook her head. ‘I’m okay, you?’

A nod.

His reaction earlier had new questions arising but she saved that for another time. Her eyes darted to the plate of food and then to him. ‘It’s for you.’

But then she peered up and saw Remus watching their interaction. He seemed to be deep in thought and took a large inhale. She swore his eyes flashed a golden glow. Worried he was catching on, she initiated a conversation. “Moony?” She teased.

When he wore a judicious look during times like these, Y/N is reminded just how smart and intimidating he could be. It was like he knew everything before anyone else did.

“Sorry — thinking ‘bout something. Anyway —”

While occupied with Remus, Sirius glanced shyly over to Y/N and bent over to take a treacle tart, biting into it. The gesture was so heartbreakingly touching to him; so unexpected coming from her.

Sirius was left in a transitional phase. A lot of the inner turmoil he held — or thought he had — was released today and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Whatever irritation he held towards Y/N vanished. He looked forward to their bickering, shy forehead kisses and the feeling he got that was the opposite of dread or disgust after being with someone.

It felt nice, doing something he truly wanted for once — not engaging in intimacy out of coping rather than genuine interest.

But then, it unleashed everything else he wasn’t ready to deal with yet. His reaction to touch earlier had set off a bomb buried so deep within him but Merlin — he hadn’t realized it would’ve affected him that much.

Truth be told, now all he wanted to do was ruin her to bits and pieces but he was getting too ahead of himself — becoming attached too quickly and he already felt himself disconnecting. The only thought that lapsed in his mind was: run, boy, run.

It echoed through his head again, love wasn’t — isn’t a magic potion, far from it. So what was he doing? He needed to make a decision; continue doing whatever they were doing, work on himself or run.

Running away is easy. It’s always been easy. But he was tired of it.

And after the intense fear that paralyzed him, that made his mouth go dry and heart pound in his chest when nobody could find her when she left — after knowing what happened to Mary; it almost caused Sirius to spike and go into a panic attack.

Sirius wasn’t afraid of many things. After all, he’d already gone through so much that there wasn’t much to be afraid of anymore. But if he had to choose, and it was at the forefront of his mind, it would’ve been her.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

Y/N headed to bed early as Dorcas waited for Marlene to return to the common room. It left her alone with Lily.

It was already dark, aside from a small lit candle that seeped through the cracks of Lily’s bed drapes. She did her evening routine before slipping into bed, listening to Lily faintly scribble in her diary. Only when Y/N felt herself relax, she heard Lily get out of bed and drew closer to her.

“Y/N?” Her voice was apprehensive. Y/N’s back faced her. She pretended to be asleep. “Psst… hey?”

Lily sighed before she sat down on the edge of the bed and didn't move for a long time. When they heard footsteps coming to their dorm was when she rose and uttered, “I’m glad you’re alright…Gave me a bit of a fright there… I’m sorry.”

Lily rushed back to her bed, drawing her curtains together when Marlene and Dorcas entered.

Y/N finally exhaled heavily, balling her blankets tightly. A thousand words, questions and thoughts were left unsaid. But, when she knew everyone finally was asleep, she uttered out an inaudible, I’m sorry too, and shut her eyes.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

Translations

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?

Do you want to sleep with me?

Nessuno dei miei amanti mi ha toccato così senza volere qualcosa in cambio. Non mi fai sentire usato e ne ho he terrorizza.

None of my lovers have touched me like this without wanting something in return. You don't make me feel used and I'm terrified (of it).

Il modo in cui mi fai sentire mi spaventa e non riesco a gestirlo. / Non sono ancora pronto.

The way you make me feel scares me and I can't handle it. / I'm not ready yet.

Mi sbagliavo su di te.

I was wrong about you.

[ilcaeryx]

Cascade [Gojo Satoru/Reader]

Summary: Satoru picks you up after a wild night in Tokyo’s party districts. While he’s dying to be more than your close friend, he won’t act until he’s certain you want him, too.

Tags: Gojo Satoru/Reader, Cute, Fluff, Humor, Slight angst, Nightlife, Pining, Pre-relationship

Word Count: Almost 2k

Author’s Note: Feels good to complete something. I listened to The Rose’s cover of ILYSB while writing this.

---

Gojo Satoru’s 1AM drive to one of Tokyo’s nightlife district was strictly for serious business. While he would fit into the crowd of youthful people enjoying the neon stinging their eyes and body contact with at least four strangers at all times, he had zero intentions on partying. Indeed, his sole mission was to retrieve a package – that package being you.

Lulled into rumination by the car engines constant humming, Satoru pondered about your occupation of his mind. Even though his days were busy, he would associate the concept of you with quite literally anything. Bickering with the higher ups? He could envision himself cranking up the drama as he told you the story, smiling smugly inwards at you cooking him comfort food to soothe ‘his stressful day’. Whenever something hilarious or crazy happened, he would automatically think ‘I’ll tell Y/N this later’. One would expect it would annoy him but it was not the case; Satoru was entertained by his daily fantasies, very much enthralled by the walking-on-clouds-feeling his body would produce during his mental escapades. If one Y/N thought equalled one endorphin molecule, he was experiencing a cascade.

His first thought after awakening every morning was your face between his palms, his fingers frigid against your temples. If things between you two ever developed, one day your face would be his first experience that day, every day for the rest of his life. Right now, Satoru would pin your relationship as close friends. As much as he would overinterpret your behaviour towards him, he was quite certain you were not interested in discovering whatever else could unfold between the two of you. Not yet, his positive inner self protested. Maybe never, his negative inner self retorted.

Despite his conflicting emotions, he gathered himself up into a presentable version of himself while he walked to the nightclub your friend had mentioned. Your safety was his number one priority right now, regardless if you were into him romantically or not.

~~~

“Text me when you’re home!” you yelled over the pulsating music, bidding your friend farewell by blowing her a kiss. In a dramatic motion, she caught the invisible kiss in her palm and clutched it against her chest.

“I will! Stay safe, bitch!” she screeched back before submerging into the human current outside the club, her cursed energy swashing to and fro like a solar flare.

Even though his evening had been a cozy movie-night in his bedroom, Satoru’s limbs felt heavy from looking at you. With your shoulders drooping and hands massaging your left thigh, you were finally punished from dancing non-stop all evening. Indeed, your hair clung to your forehead, neck and upper arms, intermingling with the shining perspiration on your skin. Nevertheless, you seemed to relish in whatever banger was playing inside as you were gently swaying side to side.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you said, pre-emptively shushing him with your index finger in the air. “But I’ll take a shower once I’m home.”

“I was actually thinking that I should’ve brought a towel, considering that your sweat’ll soak the car seat,” he said and tucked some slick strands away from your face. Your mortified look cracked him up. “It’s fine, I’ll lend you my jacket.”

“Your expensive-ass jacket? Thanks, I’d rather freeze to death.”

He rolled back his shoulders as he slid his jacked halfway down his back, hands still in his pockets. A little disappointment tinged his tongue. “Are you sure? I warmed it up just for you.”

“Yeah, stop stripping and let’s get the hell out of here.” You smacked his back with an open hand, pushing him onwards. “God, I can’t wait until we get home. I’m so tired. Are we going to your place?”

Let’s not read into anything, Satoru thought. ‘Anything’ meant both your off-hand comment about his place and the fact that your hand remained steady on his back even after you two joined the crowd. Physical closeness wasn’t anything new between you but the context provided another layer of complexity to read into. Suddenly, being the completely sober adult in charge seemed like too heavy a responsibility for him...

Without meaning to, his back tensed up. “No, you weirdo. You can sleep off the alcohol in your own bed.”

You either weren’t bothered by his tenseness or you didn’t notice, as you shifted your hand around his waist. You carefully leaned against his arm. “Sounds boring. Don’t you want to talk all night?”

Like always, your presence burned his arm, enough that he was unable to feel the strangers he bumped into on his other side. This was a sign, right? Or were you flirting as a friend? In the past, he had people confess their ‘love’ for him and apparently they thought his teasing and touching meant he fancied them. Being extremely lovable wasn’t easy, especially not when any platonic affection could be re-constructed as romantic by the other part. You, too, were extremely lovable and affectionate… Had he been in your shoes, this proximity wouldn’t have had any romantic subtext. But unlike him, you had a good personality… This could be the night you two finally spoke about whatever was between you two.

Or the night where you lose a friend because of your stupidity, his negativity brought up.

It had a point. Yeah, you were a good person and a terrific friend – he’d be an idiot if he lost you. Compared to his co-workers and allies, you were awfully soft; he liked how you doted on him, even when he was a pain in the ass. If you rejected him now, your dynamic wouldn’t be the same and his life would be much harder for it.

“We can talk later today,” he said, his arm automatically shooting out to stop an accidental elbow-right-into-your-chest-accident. He settled his arm around your shoulder after giving the guy the evil guy through his glasses. Watch your limbs, man.!

“That was close,” you said, sighing. “Thank you, Satoru! I’m sorry about having to call you out this late, by the way. Did I wake up you?”

He both cursed and rejoiced on the inside now that you changed subject. “Couldn’t be helped that your friend had an emergency. Next time, try to wake me up later for an early breakfast instead.”

“Next time, you’re coming with us.”

His lips faltered slightly, smile not feeling as genuine. He adjusted the collar on his jacket to hide it. “To the nightclub?”

Your index finger jabbed into his side accusingly. “Anywhere! Last time we hung out was… uh…”

This was the first time in a few weeks you two had spoken in person by yourselves. As you both mostly met together with your friends, you tended to invite him whenever the gang planned something. He admitted to himself that he often declined because he only wanted your company, but you never offered to join him instead. Whenever he invited you out, you’d be perfectly alright with hanging out just the two of you, though.

“Two weeks ago?” He squinted into the lights of an incoming car. “It’s because of work but-“

“I’m not a hikikomori, you bastard – I’ve got a job too, but I’ll make time for you, you know?”

You’d make time for anyone, Satoru thought, somewhat discouraged.

The crowd thinned out as you entered the parking lot, though the place was jam-packed with cars. Both of you remained quiet as you passed by couples on the way to Satoru’s car. When you detached yourself from his side, he rustled your hair. You stood on your tippy-toes to return the favour, messing up his hair worse than he did yours. He liked seeing you struggle to reach his head, so he didn’t mind.

“I missed you, scarecrow,” you said, pinching his cheek. He elongated his smile to feel one knuckle touch his lips. “What is the gremlin and scarecrow duo without the scarecrow?”

~~~

Slumped against the window, you were peaceful the entire ride home. Every so often, Satoru would catch a glimpse of your sleepy face and his heart would clam up. He made the right decision in picking you up, even though he aged weeks in those twenty minutes you two had spoken. Your interactions followed a pattern: he’d look forward to meeting you, creating fantasies and expectations of what could be; when you were with him, he would attempt not to ruin your current friendship to the point where he’d feel sick; and whenever you two parted, he’d overindulge in his memories. In two days, he’d be prepared to undergo this rollercoaster once again.

He drove into your street and called your name.

You immediately woke up and looked outside. “What time is it?”

“Almost 2AM…” he exhaled deeply, hands falling into his lap. He still had to drive home, so he’d be in bed in 30 minutes.

“Everything hurts,” you said, bending forward to readjust your high heels. “My legs are killing me… I won’t be able to walk tomorrow. I’m not sure I can walk now.”

He understood what the lilting tone at the end of your sentence meant and with great effort he stepped out of the car. Your giddiness as he opened the car-door on your side was intoxicating, as was the feeling of seeing you stretch your arms towards his neck. He cradled one arm below your thighs and one behind your back.

“Watch your head,” you chided softly into his ear, covering the top of his head as he carried you out of the car.

“Gimme keys.” Satoru leaned slightly backwards to account for your weight as you handed him the key to your apartment. With your bare arms against his neck, he would be surprised if you didn’t notice how his pulse rose.

Your apartment door opened and he stepped into darkness, shutting it behind his back.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled, heading for your bedroom with his shoes on. Your teeny apartment had a teeny bedroom with a single sized bed.

“Say, Satoru,” you said, your cheek pressed below his ear, “are you sure you don’t want to stay and talk?”

“Just go to sleep, Y/N.” Satoru leaned over your bed to carefully lay you down. Your grip on his neck loosened and he thought you’d comply until you kissed his neck, his soul almost as soft as your lips.

“What about now?” you asked and released your arms, falling onto your bed. Your hair spilled around you, a gloria around your tired face. “I’ll let you sleep in my bed, if you want to.”

Honestly, he wanted this. Everything he’d thought of earlier this night could become true if he gave in, which was insane enough to send his head swimming. He’d endure this cramped bed for you, even with his feet being colder than hell and his back aching from sleeping on his side. Gojo Satoru was more than ready.

However, he did not want this to backfire. What if you were simply too horny, lonely, exhausted or intoxicated to consider the consequences right now?

You rolled towards the wall, leaning on your side. Your eyelids fluttered weakly, your exhaustion almost overtaking your body and yet you found enough strength to pat the empty space beside you. “See, there’s space. I’ll always leave space for you.”

Ah, fuck it.

Satoru’s personality was bad; his attitude was self-indulgent; his morality was concrete grey; and his discipline when it came to you near non-existent. If you awoke tomorrow and found that you had fallen asleep with the love of your life – then great, you were both on the same page. If he had completely misunderstood your intentions, he would absolutely bullshit his way out of trouble, like he always did. Whatever, everything’d be alright someday.

---

If you enjoyed this, give me a like/follow/reblog/comment/scream into the void. I hope everyone had a good New Year and let’s hope that 2021 is kind.

Started this 22/11/2020, finished 10/01/2021.

[ddaeng-danvers]

under and over

pairing: anakin skywalker x reader

genre: fluff

summary: in which anakin learns how to braid hair

warnings: mention of death, minor injuries, the reader is described as having long hair

word count: 2753

a/n: well...i’m having an anakin phase, what can i say. this is unedited and i wrote it in one sitting so i apologize for any mistakes, also!! i’m aware some things may be inconsistent with ~canon~ but i’m having a good time so leave me alone,,, there are also mentions of platonic anakin x padme as an fyi... finally!! this isn’t a part two of my last fic (dreams) but in my brain they are like the same universe,,, so yeah,,, enjoy!!

masterlist

*this gif has nothing to do with the fic but he looks GREAT so i’m using it anyway*

You left for the Jedi Order when you were quite young. You left only your mother behind, as your father died in a shipping accident on Corellia. You held on to as many memories of your mother as possible, as she was the only family you had left. One of your fondest memories of your mother was the way she did your hair. Every morning, from the moment you had a sprout of hair on your head, she attempted to braid and style it intricately. The styles were always beautiful, inspired by the different cultures of the galaxy your mother had seen in her travels with your father before he passed.

Now, over fifteen years later, you long for the feeling of your mother’s fingers weaving through your hair. Because you left for the order at such a young age, your mother was never able to teach you her braiding and styling methods. This has left you with two simple skills, tying your hair into ponytails, and braiding it into two strands on either side of your head. You longed for the ability to weave it atop your head, but now, with the war, there was little time for hair styling.

Almost immediately after passing your trials, you were thrown into the Clone War. You worked alongside Anakin Skywalker and the 501st battalion most often, but frequently bounced around to others, such as Obi-Wan’s 212th, and your former master Shaak Ti’s position on Kamino. You were never officially assigned a battalion of your own due to your opposition of the war, but remained a Jedi General for the benefit of the Republic.

After a particularly rough mission, your find yourself sneaking from the medbay (you suffered only minor scrapes and bruises) and retreated to your quarters. It is there that you find Anakin standing on the balcony.

“What’re you doing out here, Ani?” He smiles and looks back at you.

“I should be asking you that. You should be in the medbay.” You look at the ground, feeling the slightest bit guilty. You know how much Anakin cares for you. If you stayed you may have lessened his worrying slightly.

“I’m alright. It’s nothing too serious.” A moment of silence passes. “What about you? You and Snips didn’t come out unscathed either.” Anakin’s face shrinks in the slightest, the thought of his padawan’s injuries a difficult one to process.

“We’re both okay. She was checked over. Hit her head pretty hard, but she’ll be okay. She does have to stay on bedrest for a bit, which I’m sure she’s thrilled about.” You both laugh at the thought.

“She reminds me of you, y’know.” Anakin’s expression becomes puzzled.

“Really?” He asks. You nod, looking out into the Coruscant skyline.

“She’s headstrong, confident. Sometimes a bit overconfident.” Anakin lets out a chuckle. “But she’s got a good heart. And she cares about those around her, deeply.” Anakin smiles at you again.

“Well I certainly do care for you, my love.” He leans down and presses the softest kiss to your lips, and then to both cheeks, which begin to redden. He still makes you feel like a bubbling padawan.

“We should probably head to bed soon, debriefs and all in the morning.” Anakin curtly nods, continuing to gaze at the setting sun. “We can check on Ahsoka too, before we head to bed., if you want.”

Although attachments are technically forbidden by the Jedi Council, there was a strange exception granted to you and Anakin. The council knew of your relationship, and even approved it. Master Yoda claimed you had prevented Anakin from falling down a darker path. He insisted that the force willed you together. Luckily, it seems the exception of your attachment has led to some more leniency in the Council regarding the subject.

After a quick trip to the refresher and a check-up with Ahsoka, you and Anakin retire back to your quarters. (Technically Anakin has his own quarters that he is supposed to stay in, although everyone knows this is a rare occurrence). He always seemed to like your room more. He claimed it had more personality than his. Likely because he didn’t have much to bring with him from Tatooine, and materialism was generally discouraged among Jedi.

Being held by Anakin at night felt like a gift from the Maker himself. His arms warm, his chest firm, and his hands combing through the tresses of your hair.

Anakin awoke the next morning to a cold bed. He heard you clamoring around the refresher. Curious, he threw on his robe and knocked on the door.

“You alright in there, love?” He stands up against the door, waiting for a response. You open the door a moment later, a grumbly look on your face. It seems you’ve already gotten dressed. You had on a brown and black tunic and pants. Your armor for battle left at the foot of your bed, since today was to be a day filled with debriefing, strategizing, and paperwork.

“I’m fine, I just woke up early and then couldn’t fall asleep, so I decided to get up, be productive, but I just can’t do my hair right.” Anakin noticed the rough braids on your scalp, likely from failed attempts at braiding it moments ago.

“I wish I could help you, but hair isn’t my area of expertise.” Anakin looks at you through the mirror as he wraps his arms around your torso. He places a kiss to your shoulder.

“It’s fine.” You affirm. “I’m just frustrated.”

The debrief with the Council went without a hitch. Just a standard report on your success, information regarding casualties, and your new assignments. Fortunately, the Council gave the two of you a few days off before your next assignments. You planned to spend every waking moment possible with Anakin, as you were being sent to aid Obi-Wan and the 212th. You returned to your quarters shortly after the meeting to strategize a plan for your upcoming assault with Anakin on your heels. He helped you as much as he could, before becoming distracted. (He was never the best strategizer. He joked you were the brains of this relationship). He tinkered with his arm as you worked alongside him.

A knock on the door pulled you from your work. You opened it slowly, curious as to who it could be. Opening it all the way, you were met with the colors and patterns of a traditional Nabooian gown.

“Padme!” You exclaimed. It had been so long since you’d seen her. You grew quite close when you and Anakin were assigned to protect her all those years ago. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here on Senate business, and I couldn’t be here without stopping by to say hello to you two.” Anakin has since gotten up from his seat and come over to great Padme as well. “I was going to stop and see Ahsoka, but I assumed she’d be training. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Ahsoka was actually injured on our last mission. Nothing serious, just a mild concussion, she’s resting in her quarters as far as I know.” Anakin assures.

“We could stop by and see her, I’m sure she’d be excited to know you’re here.” Padme smiles at the implied compliment. You grab your robes from your bed, and usher everyone through the hallway to Ahsoka’s quarters. You knock as lightly as possible on the door.

“Ahsoka, you in there? You have a visitor.” Ahsoka fumbles behind the door, before opening it.

“Senator Amidala!” Ahsoka exclaims. The two of them envelop in a brief hug before separating. “It’s great to see you!”

“And you as well Ahsoka. You’ve gotten so tall!” Ahsoka viewed Padme as an older sister figure. She’d lost the rest of her family so young, she had little memory of them. The memories she does have however, she cherishes. You and her both.

After an hour or so of catching up, you notice Ahsoka’s eye’s begin to droop. You look up at Anakin who seems to have noticed the same thing. Through the briefest of eye contact, you understand Anakin’s request. He wants you to stay with her, make sure she’s actually resting. You nod, as Anakin whispers this information to Padme. “It’s been great catching up with you Ahsoka, but I’m afraid I have to tend to that Senate business now. Rest well.” Ahsoka nods politely, her drowsy expression only worsening.

“Thank you Senator Amidala. See you later. You too, Master Skywalker.” You stay in your standing position before guiding Ahsoka down to her bed. She practically rolls over the moment she sits down.”

“Tired?” You chuckle. Ahsoka smiles slightly.

“Yeah, this concussion took me out more than I care to admit.” You laugh again. “You are just like Anakin when he was a padawan. It scares me sometimes how similar you to are.” Ahsoka nods again.

“I guess that means we’re a perfect match.”

“I guess so.” Ahsoka seems to drift off quickly, and you begin to tidy anything out of place around her room. There isn’t much out of place, so you make your way to the door. But just before you open it, Ahsoka calls out your name.

“Master Y/L/N?” You walk over to the edge of her bed again.

“Yes Ahsoka? Is there something wrong?” Her expression is confused and guilt-ridden.

“Can you stay here with me? I haven’t gotten very good sleep lately, I’ve been having nightmares.” You looks down at Ahsoka again. She seems to be like Anakin in her sleep habits as well.

“Of course, Ahsoka. If anything you are sparing me from planning Obi-Wan’s attack later this week.”

“I’m sure Master Kenobi can figure that out himself.” Ahsoka smiles.

“Yes, I’m sure he can.”

Anakin smiles as her feels your Force presence relax, assuming because you’ve fallen asleep. Padme smiles up at him.

“You’ve got that dumbstruck look on your face, again.”

“What do you mean again?” Anakin questions.

“You were looking at her like that the whole time we were in Ahsoka’s room.” Padme laughs. “It’s okay, it’s cute. I remember you two on Naboo. Absolutely dancing around your feelings until I put a stop to it.” Anakin remembers his mission with you to Naboo fondly. You assumed Anakin loved Padme, when he never held romantic feelings for her. Only familial admiration. You and Padme spoke over dinner one night after Anakin went to bed early. She essentially pried your confession out of you, but you assured her that Anakin loved her. How very wrong you were. Padme made it her mission to set you two up while you were still on Naboo. Clearly, she was successful.

“I have a strange request.” Anakin spoke up. Padme nodded at him to continue speaking. “Can you teach me how to braid hair?” Padme stops in her tracks, Anakin continuing to walk a few steps forward before turning around. “What?”

“Nothing, just, that is in fact a strange request. Why do you want to learn?” Anakin describes the scene of you this morning, frustrated in the mirror.

“Her mother used to style it, but she left for the Order so young that she was never able to learn how her mother did it.” Padme nods along.

“I can teach you. We’ll start with some simple ones, I’ll leave you datapads to look over in the future. Does that suffice?” Anakin nods, gratefully.

“Yes, thank you Padme. When should I meet you again for my...lesson?”

“We can go back to my room right now, if that works for you?”

“Of course, but I thought you had Senate duties to attend to?” Padme chuckles.

“If this is for Y/N’s benefit, this far outweighs my senatorial duties.” Padme and Anakin laugh and continue their walk down the hall.

Anakin spent the next few hours listening to Padme’s instructions as she demonstrated a few hairstyles on her handmaidens. They allowed Anakin to practice on their hair as well. Anakin was always a fast learner, and picked up these skills quickly.

Time flew by, and Anakin suddenly felt your Force precense awaken. He ties the braid he was working on in Sabe’s hair, and received an impressed nod from Padme.

“Not half bad, Anakin. You’ve picked this all up quite fast.” Anakin gives a nod with a hint of smirk on his face. He’s impressed with himself too. He thanks everyone in the room, especially the handmaidens who have had him tugging at their hair for the past few hours, and departs for your quarters, excited to show off his new skills.

When he arrives, you’ve already made it back from Ahsoka’s room and changed into a lighter pair of pants and a looser tunic. You have battle plans strewn across the table, with your head resting in your hands.

“Thank you for staying with Ahsoka, I had a feeling she wasn’t getting the best rest.” You nod in agreement.

“She’s been having nightmares. Nothing serious, I think she’s still reflecting on the mission. I think she’s being reminded of her squadron on Ryloth. She’s afraid of it happening again.” Anakin’s expression sinks. You know him well enough to understand his thought process. He wishes to protect Ahsoka from as much pain as possible. Although he knows this isn’t possible, he beats himself up when she feels this pain. “I can practically read your thoughts, love. It’s not your fault.”

“I know, I just wished she believed in herself a little more. She’s capable, but afraid of further consequences.” You both nod and let a comfortable silence overtake the room.

Hours fly by yet again, and the sun has set behind the Coruscant skyline, signaling the end of another day. You both wordlessly get ready for bed.

As you finish drying your hair, Anakin can seethe wheels turning in your head. He knows exactly what you are about to attempt, and he has a surprise in store. He grabs your brush of the stand along your bed, and elastics gifted to him by Padme. “Love, come here.” He motions for you to sit in front of him, your bottom practically in his lap. Anakin has brushed your hair before, you used to rebraid each other’s braids during your time as padawans as well, so you weren’t suspicious when Anakin began to brush through you hair.

What did surprise you is when he began to section it off. He weaved it gently between his fingers, skillfully. He managed to avoid every knot and unnecessary tug. You felt him pin the braids intricately forming a ring over the top of your head. The rest were tucked into a bun, with braids that formed a section of their own. He placed his hands on your shoulder to signal his completion, and you looked at him eagerly.

“Can I look at it?” You asked, brimming with glee.

“Of course, love.” You rush to the mirror in the refresher. As soon as you are met with your reflection, you are rendered speechless. Anakin has since gotten out of bed and come to stand behind you in the refresher. “You like it?” Anakin asks. You nod your head. You turn your neck to see the back, and it’s beautiful, The braids flow within your natural hair perfectly. It feels both similar and different from your mother’s style. Not quite Correlian, but…

“Padme taught you how to do this.” You stated.

“How did you know?” Anakin asked, surprised you deciphered it that quickly.

“I’ve seen her wear something similar before. It also feels very Nabooian.” Anakin gleams down at you, thrilled to see your smile. You reach up and grip his cheeks pulling him into a kiss. You separate a moment later. “Can you teach me how to do this?”

Anakin laughs. “Of course my love.” The two of you retire to bed shortly after. Anakin admires his handiwork as you lay your head against his shoulder.

“Thank you, Ani. I really do appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem, love. It made me upset that you never got to learn from your mother, I know how much it meant to you, so we can learn together.” The thought of Anakin with his hands in your hair glaring at a datapad about hair styles made you giggle. “Maybe you can pass these hairstyles on to our children one day.” The thought of Anakin with a child, your child in his lap, makes you smile as you slip into sleep.

[lifeofkaze]

Fourth Time's the Charm

Bill Weasley x Fleur Delacour

Prompts: The number 4

1) (word) Initiative

2) (colour) orange

3) (dialogue) “Take a chance. What harm can it do?”

Word Count: ~ 2.300

A/N: AU where Fleur meets Bill’s family before they get engaged.

____________________________________________

Bill Weasley had never been a superstitious man.

He had never listened to his mother’s old wives’ tales, nor cared for his father’s various ways of bringing about good luck. He had always smirked leniently when Charlie had gone through his pre-match rituals back at school and had long ago stopped questioning Ron’s doubtable fear of bad omens.

But today, everything was different.

Today, Bill had found himself jumping when Ginny had broken her glass at breakfast; his heart had skipped a beat when George had knocked over the salt shaker during lunch and he had felt the tips of his fingers tingle as he had subconsciously looked for any sign of the stray black cat visiting the Burrow from time to time.

He knew he was acting ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it; ever since waking up this morning to sunlight filtering into his old room and the silky hair of his girlfriend tickling his face, he had been out of his mind with nerves.

It was the first time he had taken Fleur to the Burrow to meet his family. Given, it wasn’t love at first sight for neither party involved and the atmosphere was a little more tense than what he was used to, but he could tell everyone was trying to get along; that wasn’t the problem.

No, what was actually making him nervous was the little red box he was carrying in the pocket of his trousers. Every time he moved and felt its corners against his leg, his mouth went dry and he had to fight the urge to panic.

Ever since he had met Fleur, when he had walked into her office at the Gringotts Headquarters, he had been sure she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Not because of her looks or her inherited Veela charm – although he couldn’t deny the appeal. No, what had won him over mere minutes into their first conversation was her personality.

He had never met a person more fierce and gentle, funny and witty. She was nothing like the perfect porcelain doll people made her out to be, an image she detested to the core of her being. Bill had felt it deep down back then, she was the one to complete him.

Bill had bought the ring he intended to give to her for ages ago, on his last work trip to Egypt. It wasn’t particularly elegant or fancy, but he thought Fleur would like it. Whenever he told her of his adventures, she hung onto his every word, his stories about ancient Egypt being her favourites. So when he had seen the delicate golden ring with a stylised lapis lazuli scarab on a bazaar in Cairo, he hadn’t thought twice. Haggling for an engagement ring had felt like weird thing to do and he had wondered if that was a good start for his endeavour, but he hadn’t wanted to be impolite.

Looking back now, he maybe should have trusted his initial instinct. He had been back in England for months now and it was almost time to leave again; the ring was still sitting in his small red box waiting to be presented, however.

And it was not like he was lacking enthusiasm to propose, quite the contrary.

The first time he had tried to ask Fleur the question of all questions, they had been at her favourite French restaurant. He had ordered champagne and the candles on their table had made her hair look like molten silver. It had been perfect, just until the couple on the table next to them had decided to break up very publicly and with a lot of thrown napkins, bitter curses and spilled wine.

The second time, Bill had cooked a three course meal for Fleur, giving it his all. He had taken care to prepare her favourite dishes the way her mother had explained it to him. They had just started on dessert and Bill had nervously fingered the box in his pocket when his family’s owl had crashed against the window so badly they had to rush and get him treated.

Bill had tried not to get discouraged by all his failed attempts. In the spirit of third time's the charm, he had taken great care and called some favours to make sure everything went right this time. A friend of his, who was skilled at weather charms, had promised to write his question into the sky for him; all he needed to do was show up with Fleur at the right place and time.

But she had come home from work late that day, tired, with a headache and in no mood to go anywhere. Desperate and nervous, Bill had urged her to come with him until she had snapped and they had had one of the worst fights Bill could remember.

No, Bill Weasley wasn’t a superstitious man; but seeing how many things went wrong already, he couldn’t help but feel on edge.

He had seen a lot of places over the course of his career; seeing how his attempts to propose to Fleur had gone so far, he couldn’t shake the thought that this would be his fourth attempt. Where three times was the charm, the prospect of number four made him uneasy.

Bill remembered his first work trip to Asia; the headquarters he had been supposed to get back to had been an inconspicuously looking building along the main street bearing the house number 4. He had been surprised to see that it wasn’t even enchanted to not be seen by Muggles until his colleague had explained to him why. There was no need to hide their headquarters because people wouldn’t even look at it for fear of something bad happening. The people believed that the number 4 was an ultimate omen of bad luck, the native word for it sounding almost the same as the word for ‘death’.

And right now, on the verge of attempt number four, Bill was dying more than a thousand deaths with every second the moment was drawing nearer.

He had chosen his timing carefully; his mother had gone into the village to run some errands, his father was off for work. Charlie and Percy had long since moved out and everyone else was busy playing Quidditch in the fields behind the Burrow. For once, the ramshackled house he grew up in was empty, save for themselves.

They were sitting under the huge tree in the corner of the garden where Bill and his siblings had played with the tire swing attached to a lower branch when they were children; the old treehouse reminiscent of his childhood was still sitting in the higher parts of the treetop. A slight breeze was blowing, making the leaves around the treehouse rustle unusually loud.

He had prepared a picnic for them but even the strawberries Bill had picked from the garden himself tasted like ash in his mouth as he mentally braced himself. He set his food aside and breathed in deeply.

It was time to take the initiative, once and for all. He would make sure there wouldn’t be a fifth time.

Leaning forward, he took Fleurs hand in his, sending a prayer to Merlin himself that she wouldn’t notice how sweaty his hand had become.

She looked at him in surprise. “What’s the matter? You are looking so serious.”

Despite his nervousness, a proud smile tugged at the corners of Bill’s mouth; her French accent had almost vanished since she had moved to England but the ‘s’ were still rolling from her perfect lips like a soft song, sending a shiver down his spine.

“It’s nothing, I just wanted to tell you how glad I am that you are here with me,” he started but trailed off again. He had prepared what he wanted to say beforehand, but all the sweet words were forgotten. “You know, this is my family, my family home. You and them getting along is so important to me, I wouldn’t know what to do if you didn’t. It would be a disaster, it… “

Bill noticed he was rambling and stopped. Judging by Fleur’s sceptically raised eyebrows, he wasn’t exactly manoeuvring himself into a good position.

He took a deep breath, collected his thoughts and tried again. “What I wanted to say is, they are the most important thing to me in the world; my family. But ever since I met you, things have started to change. All my life, my family was the first thing on my mind; but not anymore.”

Bill had shifted from his seating position onto his knees, fumbling with the box inside his pocket. The wind seemed to have picked up, the leaves above them rustling louder than ever.

“The first thing on my mind is you, and it has been you ever since we met.” His heart was pounding in his ears as he took the small red box out. “That’s why I wanted to ask you – “

His words were cut short by something colourful whizzing through the air from up above him. He just had time to see two identical mops of ginger hair vanish between the branches of the tree again, before the water balloon the twins had thrown exploded right in between them.

Fleur shrieked and jumped out of the way as the bright orange liquid washed over them – Bill shuddered at the thought of what it might be.

Slowly, he raised his eyes from his own stained hands to Fleur; his eyes widened in horror as she started cursing violently. Even now, the rapid succession of angry French words spilling out of her mouth sounded beautiful to him, but her face was like thunder. The liquid had stained her silvery hair an orange colour almost the same as his own and Fleur’s tirade only intensified as she inspected the ends of it.

Bill’s heart sank at the sight and he felt a rush of burning anger at his little brothers for ruining his moment. Apparently, the fourth time was as unlucky as it was made out to be.

Discouraged, Bill hung his head. He wasn’t sure if Fleur had already seen the box before they had gotten pranked. Cursing Fred and George under his breath, he tried shielding it from her eyes with the back of his hand. But of course, she noticed the sudden change in his demeanour.

The crease between her brows softened as she reached for his hand. “I’m surprised you’re cursing them so much. This is new for me, but I thought you would be used to this.”

He shook his head. “Because they always have to ruin everything.”

Fleur’s nose wrinkled as she glanced down at her ruined hair and blouse again. “It’s a horrible prank. Just look at us, we’re looking ghastly. But I’m sure they didn’t mean bad.”

Bill sighed; he knew she was upset but was trying to make him feel better anyway. “They never do. But still, if I get my hands on them, I could kill them.”

Fleur shook her head, orange stained hair falling into her face. “No you couldn’t. You love your family just the way you love everything, with all of your heart.”

She smiled at him, the warmth in it making Bill’s heart flutter. “That’s what makes you so special.”

He blinked at her in surprise. “So you’re not mad?”

Fleur tossed her hair over her shoulder, a flicker of dismay crossing her face. “A bit; look at my hair, it’s looking just the same as yours now. But they’re your family. If I want to love you for the rest of my life, I will learn to love them, too.”

She intertwined her fingers with his and got up, pulling him along with her. “Because that is what I want to do; loving you for the rest of my life, as a part of your family. If you want that too, that is.”

Bill couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had always known Fleur to be brave, but he would never have figured her to be brave enough to take the initiative from him on herself.

He cleared his throat. “Are you really sure this is what you want? There is no me without this madness.” To drive his point home, he rubbed a smudge of orange from her cheek with his thumb. She chuckled at the sensation.

“This madness made the man that I love; how could I not want that?”

She took a step away from him and tilted her head to the side. “So, I think there’s something you wanted to ask me?”

Bill blinked incredulously. “You still want me to? Even though we’re all orange?”

Fleur’s laugh was like music to his ears. “Even though we’re all orange. Take a chance. What harm can it do?”

And just like that, looking at her smiling at him, his nervousness ceased. He felt completely calm, nothing but certainty left inside his heart.

He let go of Fleur’s hand and got down to one knee, both of them already smiling so widely it hurt his cheeks as he reproduced the now spattered red box again.

“Fleur Isabelle Delacour, do you want to give me the honour of becoming my wife, no matter how insane the ride will get?”

With a laugh bordering on a sob, Fleur sank to her knees next to him, showering his face in kisses, muttering “Yes!” over and over again.

Bill slipped the scarab ring onto her finger, the blue stone shining in the sunlight. He pulled his fiancée into a tight embrace, his face buried in her orange hair. Breathing in the lavender scent of her perfume, Bill felt a happiness wash over him greater than anything he could ever have imagined.

Maybe the old superstition was wrong after all.

Apparently, fourth time’s the charm.

[ibijau]

more of baby nhs getting sent to Gusu very early

warning for mentions of child abuse still

It’s not a very big room, especially when Huaisang is going to share it with someone else. It’s also very sparsely decorated compared to the one he has in the Unclean Realm, but he’s starting to realise that things are just like that in the Cloud Recesses.

“Please sit,” Lan Xichen says for the third or fourth time.

And for as many times, Huaisang stays standing, looking around awkwardly. He doesn’t like it here. This whole place is too quiet, and this room is too empty, and the bed looks too hard. Huaisang doesn’t like it. He misses his da-ge, and he misses a-die too, even after what happened. He is wary of the two boys with him, Lan Xichen who smiles too much, Lan Wangji who doesn’t smile at all.

“It’s really fine for you to take my bed,” Lan Xichen insists. “It’ll be more comfortable than whatever they bring in later, and you’ll need to be comfortable. This must be so inconvenient.”

Even though it’s useless, Huaisang instinctively tries to cover his wounded arm with his other hand.

At home he has stayed fairly isolated after that incident, so he hasn’t had to bear with anyone looking at his arm except Zonghui and da-ge, who he both trust implicitly. They know the truth about what happened, and even if they didn’t, they wouldn’t think ill of him for getting hurt. But the Lan brothers don’t know. 

Huaisang was dropped with them by Lan Qiren who just said that Huaisang will stay in Lan Xichen’s room until his arm is healed, and then left to make necessary arrangements. Lan zongzhu, whom Huaisang likes far better than Lan Qiren because he is much more gentle, went his own way as soon as they entered the Cloud Recesses. So Huaisang is alone with strangers who probably think he is weak for getting hurt like that. They must think he fell and wasn’t even skilled enough in martial arts to know how to land without hurting himself. They must think he got into a fight with someone too strong for him and didn’t know when to quit.

As long as they don’t guess the truth, it doesn’t really matter what they think, Huaisang knows. Still, he has his pride too, and he doesn’t like that this is the first impression he’s making.

Lan Xichen, seeing all his efforts to be nice fail, sighs deeply and turns to his brother.

“Wangji, can you go see if tea might be brought? And something to eat as well. Nie gongzi has travelled from very far, I’m sure he’d be happy to eat something.”

Lan Wangji frowns, so slightly that Huaisang wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t watching these two so carefully. In answer to that frown, Lan Xichen only smiles until his brother gives in and leaves the room. Huaisang watches him go, fascinated by the way those Lan people walk. It’s almost like they’re floating, nothing at all like the way people at home go about their business.

“Nie gongzi, let’s sit together,” Lan Xichen offers, coming closer and pushing Huaisang toward the bed.

Since it’s impossible to refuse anymore, Huaisang obeys. The bed, just as he feared, is very hard. At home, he has pillows and many blankets, because a-die spoils him.

Spoiled him.

Not anymore, not even if he bought that pretty fan.

Sitting on the bed, fidgeting with his sling, Huaisang looks down at his feet. He tenses when Lan Xichen sits next to him, and refuses to look at him. He smiles too much, Huaisang isn’t used to that and he’s not sure he likes it.

“This must be really hard for you to leave home like this,” Lan Xichen says. “I know I would be scared if I had to.”

Huaisang shrugs. He should be scared, sure. Mostly, he feels uneasy. He doesn’t like it here. But he wasn’t really liking it back home either, not anymore. He can’t say that, but he’s glad that he’s far away from a-die. If only da-ge were here too, safe too, then Huaisang wouldn’t mind so much.

“Since we’ll be sharing a room until you’re better, I think we should try to be friends,” Lan Xichen says. “It’ll be nicer like this, won’t it? Maybe you can tell me about your home. I’ve heard a lot about Qinghe, but I’ve never been there. Is it very nice?”

Huaisang energetically nods. Of course it’s nice. It’s his home, so it’s the best place in the world, with the best food in the world, and his sect is the greatest. It’s obvious.

It's why the Wens don't like them, he's heard some disciples say. Qinghe Nie is just too great, and Wen Ruohan can only wish he had a son as skilled as Nie Mingjue.

“I hope you’ll like it here too,” Lan Xichen remarks. He pauses, and laughs softly. “To be honest, most of the guest disciples don’t really like the Cloud Recesses, so maybe you won’t either. People say it’s too quiet, and there are too many rules… but I find other places are too noisy. Quiet places are nice too. Oh, and do you like music?”

“Hm.”

“That’s good then, because we use music to cultivate here. Do you play any instruments?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Too bad. Maybe you can learn, when your arm is better,” Lan Xichen offers. “A man of good birth should play the guqin at least. Do you know the other four arts?”

“I play Go with my da-ge,” Huaisang mumbles. “I’m not very good.”

“You’re still young, it will come. Wangji isn’t very good either, but don’t tell him I said that. Sometimes I let him win, just so he doesn’t get discouraged.”

Huaisang can’t help a small smile. He suspects that his da-ge does the same, to encourage him. And so even though Lan Xichen really smiles too much, Huaisang starts thinking he might not dislike him after all.

“We can play together too,” Lan Xichen suggests. “It is always nice to play with someone new.”

“Will you let me win?” Huaisang asks, looking up at Lan Xichen’s face for the first time since they sat together.

Lan Xichen blinks a few times at the impertinent question. Huaisang almost fears getting in trouble for this, even though he should know better than to misbehave, especially toward someone who has even less reasons than a-die to put up with him. He braces himself for a scolding.

Instead Lan Xichen turns away and tries to hide laughter behind his sleeve.

“Nie gongzi, shouldn’t you try to win with your own skill first?�� he teases when his laugh calms down. “Letting you win… we’ll see. I don’t think I will, not at first. I want to see if you can beat me on your own first. Isn’t that more fun?”

As long as he wins, Huaisang doesn't really care how. Winning just because someone is sad for him and lets him… that's still winning. He knows he can't say that out loud though. If Lan Xichen is like other people Huaisang knows, he'll say hard work is the only way to get anything, and he must strive to improve… And Huaisang is too tired and depressed to put up with a lecture right now.

“Then I will try hard to be worthy of a game with Lan gongzi,” he sighs. “Please be merciful if I do badly.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine. If not, I will try to help you improve.”

Huaisang knows he should smile and give thanks and be nice. Lan Xichen doesn’t have to be this kind to him, so Huaisang should be grateful, but now it’s all starting to catch up with him. He’s in this place, he’s without his da-ge for the first time in his life, he’s going to be like that for a long time maybe, and it’s scary. 

He misses da-ge so much.

Da-ge too promised to help him play better, and sometimes Huaisang did win all on his own, thanks to da-ge's advice.

Huaisang doesn’t want to be here in this new place, with new people. He wants to be home, with his brother. He wants to go find Lan zongzhu and beg him to take him back. He’ll be quiet, he’ll be good, he’ll never bother his father again. He’ll do anything, if he can just go home.

Huaisang half feels like crying.

He keeps it in though, because he can’t embarrass himself like that in front of strangers. He’s a Nie, he should only cry with people he can trust. Right now, that means only with his da-ge, who is too far away, alone with their suddenly unpredictable father.

Huaisang really, badly wants to cry.

Thankfully, Lan Wangji returns at that moment, carrying a tray with tea and some cakes. If it was impossible to cry in front of Lan Xichen, then it is even more so in front of Lan Wangji who gives off the air of never having shed a tear in his life. So Huaisang puts on a neutral face, hops down from the bed, and goes to sit at the table where Lan Wangji put the tray.

Carefully, as if he were serving some great and important person, Lan Wangji pours tea, first for Huaisang, then for his brother and for himself. His gestures are slow and elegant in a way that Huaisang can only envy. Suddenly, it makes sense, the way disciples at home speak of Gusu Lan. If someone the same age as Huaisang can be so refined, then the adults have to be even more so.

It would be nice, to be elegant like Lan Wangji.

“Lan gongzi…”

“It’s just us here,” Lan Xichen remarks, passing him his cup of tea and a share of cake. “You don’t have to be so very formal in private. Right, Wangji?”

Lan Wangji throws his brother an unimpressed look, pinching his lips somewhat. Huaisang feels a little awkward for a moment, wondering if this is an argument that those two brothers had had before. Lan Wangji seems like the sort of person who really is too formal at all times. Didn’t he call his brother xiongzhang earlier?

“You can call me by my courtesy name,” Lan Xichen insists. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Huaisang hesitates, and shakes his head.

“Lan gongzi is older, it wouldn’t be proper to address him so casually,” he mumbles. “Already Lan gongzi is going to be troubled so much because of me, I can’t be disrespectful as well.”

This seems to sadden Lan Xichen a little, but he doesn’t push any further.

"Then call him gege," Lan Wangji encourages in a monotone voice. “From you, it’s fine.”

Huaisang could swear there's a slight smile to his eyes. Intrigued by that, he doesn't notice Lan Xichen rolling his eyes and looking mildly annoyed. 

"Can I really, Xichen-ge ?" Huaisang asks.

Lan Xichen, who had opened his mouth to say something to his brother, closes it and stares at Huaisang with a somewhat funny expression. For a moment Huaisang worries that he was tricked into saying something he shouldn't have, and that he'll get in trouble already. Quickly enough, Lan Xichen breaks into a radiant smile. 

"Yes, you can. It would be very welcome, in fact,” he says, glancing at his brother and wrinkling his nose. “Oh, but drink your tea, Huaisang. You look so tired, it will make you feel better.”

It is a little awkward to pick up the cup with only one hand, but Huaisang manages without making a mess for once.

The tea is very good, a different blend from what Huaisang is used to drinking at home. It has a touch of bitterness to it, but it’s still very pleasant and refreshing. It goes very well with the cakes that Lan Wangji brought, which have a subtle flavour. Huaisang does feel a little better after.

Maybe it won’t be so bad here.

[xerxia31]

The First Christmas

Author/creator: xerxia31 Square filled and prompt: I3, evergreen (I mean, tangentially anyway) Title: The First Christmas Rating: K Summary: The Everdeens have never celebrated Christmas before... Author’s/Creator’s notes: Yeah, I went a little over the word count, because I’m a shameless rule breaker. This is canon-divergent in-Panem fluff.

“I’m worried about Peeta,” Prim says out of the blue. She and Katniss are perhaps ten paces behind Peeta on their early morning trudge to school, watching as Peeta sneaks what he probably thinks are furtive glances towards the square.

It’s been four months since the night Peeta’s mother threw him out of the apartment above the bakery, and he’s adapted to living with the Everdeen women better than any of them imagined. Life in the Seam is far different from a merchant life in town, but Peeta never complains, never seems to miss his previous life at all.

But over the past few days, Katniss too has noticed that on the long walks to school, and back to the Seam, he keeps glancing towards town, where he never used to do so before. 

“Maybe he misses his family,” Katniss muses in a hushed tone. His two brothers come by the small shack in the Seam from time to time to see Peeta, but there hasn’t been a single word from his parents. None of them ever thought Peeta’s presence in their home would be a permanent thing; when they offered him a safe haven from his abusive mother they expected his father would smooth things over in a few days. But it hasn’t happened.

“Hmmm,” Prim hums, matching her quiet tone. “I mean, I’m sure he does. But I don’t think that’s it.” 

“What then?” The snow and cold are making everyone a little grumpier lately, at school and in the Hob there are a lot of frowns, a lot of complaints. The ever-present coal dust stains the snow a sludgy grey, and it’s hard to be happy surrounded by the mess, especially someone like Peeta who has the soul of an artist. But she and Peeta sneak under the fence together on Saturdays when the weather cooperates and the fence is off, and in her woods, winter is actually quite pretty, even if the hunting is terrible. 

Ahead of them, Peeta’s shoulders slump as he reaches the fork where the path turns towards the school. Where his short view of town will disappear again.

“I think,” Prim says carefully, “that maybe he’s sad about Christmas.”

Christmas. Katniss has heard the word before. It was an ancient celebration, held near the solstice. Illegal in Panem now, as all of the old celebrations are, but there are some merchants who talk about it in hushed tones. 

“Why do you think that?” Katniss isn’t even sure when Christmas is, and she’s certain she’s never heard Peeta say the word before. Though they’ve only been dating since the spring, she’s known him forever, they’ve been schoolmates since they were five.

“I think it’s soon. I heard the miller’s son talking about it yesterday during history class.”

“Maybe,” Katniss hedges. “But what can we do about it anyway?”

“We could bring a little bit of Christmas to him,” Prim says, excitement lighting her bright blue eyes. 

“How?” Katniss grumbles. “We know nothing about Christmas.” 

“We’ll find out.” Prim quiets as Peeta realizes how far behind him they are and stops. “Christmas,” Prim murmurs again, then skips ahead, looping her arm through Peeta’s.

Both blondes hold out their free hands towards Katniss, and it makes her laugh, knocking the idea out of her head. She picks up her pace to join them. Peeta wraps an arm around her shoulder, pressing a warm kiss to her cold temple, just below the fuzzy edge of her frayed grey  hat, and the three finish their walk to school linked together.

But she’s thinking about it again later that evening. Peeta is quiet over dinner, not brooding but not his usual cheerful self. Prim enlists his help to accompany her on a delivery of salve to an injured miner on the far side of the Seam, and Katniss washes up the supper dishes with her mother.

“What do you know about Christmas?” Katniss asks, and though she’s not looking at her mother directly, she can see Mrs. Everdeen tense, the way she always does when Katniss mentions things that are forbidden in the district.

“Not a lot,” she says softly. “My mother’s parents celebrated it, but my father disapproved, so we never did.” Katniss is surprised by the hint of melancholy in her mother’s voice. She doesn’t understand how that sadness can be about her grandparents, the people who disowned their only child, who never even met their granddaughters.

“Prim thinks maybe it’s why Peeta is so sad.” There’s no point beating around the bush, Katniss isn’t interested in discussing her mother’s long lost Merchant life.

Mrs Everdeen nods. “I know Graham celebrated Christmas when we were young. I don’t know about Marissa though,” she says referencing Peeta’s parents. “But I’ve seen Christmas cookies fairly recently that must have come from their bakery.” She pulls her hands from the dishwater that’s gone cold. “Has he mentioned something?”

“No,” Katniss admits. “But you know Peeta. He would never complain.”

“That’s true,” she replies with a gentle smile. Mrs. Everdeen is very fond of Peeta, that much has been clear ever since he started coming to call on Katniss. “You and Prim are thinking about celebrating Christmas, to cheer him up?”

Katniss shrugs, putting the last dry dish away. “Not exactly,” she hedges. “We don’t know anything about it, I think that would be strange. But maybe we could do something small that would remind him of Christmas?”

“Well,” her mother starts, guiding her over to the small, threadbare couch by the potbellied stove. “Christmas was celebrated just after the solstice, on December 25.” Katniss nods, that gives her a little over a week to figure something out. “I don’t know the origins, exactly. But before the dark days, children would hang their stockings by the stove and wait for Father Christmas to fill them.”

“Fill them with what?” Katniss interjects.

“Little presents, if they were good. Coal, if they were bad.”

“The bad kids got coal in their stockings? I think I’d want to be bad.” Coal isn’t cheap, after all, and it’s useful.

Mrs. Everdeen laughs. “The good kids got treats from the sweet shop, or maybe new crayons or a little doll. A lot more exciting for a child than a bag of coal.” Katniss resists the urge to point out that she would have been excited about a bag of coal when she was a kid, in those years when she was keeping their little family together while Mrs. Everdeen wallowed in her misery. But it’s been six years since her father’s death, and she’s trying to let go of that anger.

“So Christmas is just for children?” Katniss doesn’t think Peeta would be so sad about missing out on a new tin whistle or spinning top.

“It was a little different for adults, I think. I don’t remember a lot,” she admits. “There would be a special dinner, a feast really, and decorations. And presents too, I think, if there was enough money.” There is definitely not enough money in the Everdeen household for whatever a Merchant Christmas would look like.

But maybe…

“Will you help me?” Katniss asks, with some reluctance. She loves her mother, but even after all of these years, she finds it difficult to trust her, and almost never asks for her help in anything.

Mrs. Everdeen brightens up. “Yes,” she says. “We’ll have to be careful. But I think we can put together a few things.”

“Where do we start?”

o-o-o

“Chop down a tree?” Prim’s eyes widen incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“That’s what she said,” Katniss sighs. “Apparently it’s a big deal. You chop down an evergreen tree and haul it inside the house, then decorate it with berries and popcorn.”

“That sounds beautiful,” Prim sighs, reminding Katniss that her little sister is still so young and so full of wonder. To Katniss, it just sounds like a lot of work and a waste of food.

“Sure,” Katniss says. She doesn’t have the heart to discourage Prim’s whimsy. “But how am I going to get a tree into the house without Peeta seeing?” It’s hard enough even to find occasions to chat with Prim without Peeta around, but on Mondays and Wednesdays at lunchtime he has wrestling practice. She’s not complaining about his presence, she loves having him around, and so does Prim. Madge had warned her that having Peeta living with her would probably be the end of their relationship, since Katniss was a loner by nature. But the opposite has been true. Having Peeta around all of the time, seeing his constant kindness and compassion, no matter the situation, she’s fallen even more deeply in love with him, and found a well of patience she never knew she possessed.

“I think he’s helping Leevy’s dad tomorrow afternoon for a couple of hours,” Prim says. “If the tree is little enough, we could hide it in our bedroom, then drag it out after Peeta goes to bed.” The timing is just right, he’d wake up on Christmas morning to a decorated tree, and Katniss has plans for the fat turkey she shot yesterday to become the special feast. 

o-o-o

“It looks ridiculous,” Katniss grouses. The tree, though barely a sapling, takes up almost all of the space in their tiny bedroom not already occupied by the two beds. All three Everdeen women share the room, while Peeta sleeps on a pallet in what used to be their summer kitchen. It’s drafty in there, and cold in the winter, but he never complains. 

“I think it’s magical,” Prim sighs around a mouthful of popcorn. The little tree is encircled with strings of the fluffy white stuff, which feels like a colossal waste of food, as well as cranberries, which bothers Katniss less since she’s not fond of the sour red berries anyway. Prim has cut paper dolls and nestled them into the branches too, and their mother has contributed some leftover strands of colourful wool from who knows where, pine cones dangling from the ends. 

Prim is so giddy during dinner that Katniss thinks surely Peeta will suspect something, but he’s quiet and distracted, tired from helping Leevy’s dad patch his roof and wrapped in the melancholy that’s dogged him for a couple of weeks now. Katniss hopes their Christmas surprise will cheer him up. She misses her always positive boyfriend. Her dandelion. 

It takes all three Everdeens to drag the little tree out, tiptoeing past the door to the summer kitchen, where Peeta retired early. They set it in the corner of the living area, wedged between the wall and the mantel, and though the tree isn’t even as tall as Katniss herself, it dominates the small room. 

Mrs Everdeen weaves together the small branches Katniss trimmed from the tree, fashioning a patchy garland she winds along the mantel over the stove. 

Katniss smiles. As silly as this whole exercise is, she can see how it’s going to charm Peeta with his love of whimsy. And Prim’s glowing happiness is a nice side effect. Maybe this Christmas stuff isn’t so bad after all.

She’s still smiling when she and Prim crawl into bed, even though the blankets are full of scratchy bits of popcorn.

o-o-o

She’s awake before dawn, which is typical, she wakes up early even on mornings when she’s not planning to hunt in the forest. But today, Prim is awake too, which is strange, it’s not even a school day. The excitement of Christmas morning, Katniss guesses. The girls whisper beneath their blankets, talking excitedly about Peeta’s surprise, but also about the things they don’t always have private time to chat about. The boys Prim is just starting to notice, the new dress Madge wore to school the day before, the chickens that the blacksmith is raising who always escape their coop. Sister stuff. Being forced to grow up too fast by their father’s death impacted their relationship, forcing Katniss to parent her little sister instead of being a friend. But lately things have been improving. Since Peeta moved in, really. He’s been a ray of sunshine, good tempered and helpful and hopeful, making everything easier in the little Seam shack. And their mom has been more present; Katniss is sure that too is Peeta's influence. 

When finally they hear the door between the summer kitchen and the house creak open on its old hinges, they throw back the blankets and sneak to the bedroom door. 

Peeta is standing very still in the main room, facing the tree. Prim hangs back a bit, but Katniss walks to him, the floor cold even through her socks, and lays a tentative hand on his forearm. 

He turns to face her, eyes shimmering wet. “Katniss,” he gasps. Then he’s pulling her into his arms, enveloping her in the warmth and strength of his embrace. 

“Happy Christmas,” she whispers, and he laughs softly, a broken little sound of pain and pleasure. He presses his lips to her temple, she can feel him smiling. They’re seldom physically affectionate in the house, it just seems disrespectful, but he holds her so tightly on this Christmas morning, his first without his family, and she clings to him. 

“You did all of this for me?” he murmurs against her hair. 

Katniss nods, snuggling more deeply into him, his heart beating under her ear. 

“What are those?” Prim squeaks from beside them. Katniss pulls back just slightly, unwilling to fully relinquish Peeta. It’s been so long since they’ve held each other like this, winter gives them few opportunities to cuddle without an audience. She looks around his broad shoulder, to where Prim is perched on the tips of her toes, like a bird about to take flight. Hanging from the mantel are three socks. “Why are our socks hanging over the stove?”

“Stockings.” Katniss remembers her mother calling them. “But how?”

“Father Christmas, of course.” All three young people turn at Mrs Everdeen’s voice. “You must all have been very good this year.”

Katniss and Prim both look confused, but Peeta smiles broadly. “Father Christmas brings treats for all of the good little girls and boys,” Peeta tells Prim, his smile bright. “He fills their stockings at Christmastime.”

Prim looks as pleased as Katniss has ever seen her, happier even than Peeta. Katniss glances at their mother, who is also smiling widely. Mrs. Everdeen must have snuck out after everyone was asleep and set this up. So that they could all have a special Christmas celebration.

Mrs. Everdeen insists on making tea before they look in their stockings, Katniss and Peeta sit side by side on the faded couch, his arm wrapped around her, the huge smile still resident on his face. Prim flits around, first helping her mother, then darting back to look at the stockings again, back and forth. She’s thirteen now, when Katniss was thirteen she was hunting and taking care of her family, she had no time for frivolity and no appetite for it either. But it’s so nice to see Prim acting like the young girl she is. It warms Katniss’s heart.

“You don’t celebrate Christmas,” Peeta says softly in Katniss’s ear as they watch Prim dance.

“No,” Katniss admits. “But you do.”

Peeta nods. “We weren’t allowed to talk about it. But Father Christmas always came on Christmas, even when it was a school day.” Pain flits across his features, cracking Katniss’s heart. “I miss them,” he admits. “I know I shouldn’t.”

“They’re your parents,” Katniss says simply, and Peeta nods. They’re terrible parents, by all measures. But Katniss knows that he can’t stop loving them, even if she doesn’t fully understand why. 

“I can’t help wondering if there are still three stockings on their mantel,” he whispers. “If they miss me at all.”

Katniss doesn’t have an answer for that, but she shifts to hug him tightly. 

With hot cups of tea and slightly hard biscuits from the day before consumed, Mrs. Everdeen hands each child a stocking. Prim laughs in delight, pulling each surprise from the sock and dancing around the small room to show everyone else. Katniss and Peeta poke through their stockings much more slowly, savouring the experience. Katniss keeps glancing at her mother, who looks happier than Katniss can remember. She hasn’t seen a smile like that since before her father died.

Katniss’s sock contains a stick of peppermint candy, a bottle of liniment for sore muscles, and a new knit hat in bright red wool. Peeta has lemon drops, a little pot of salve for winter-chapped hands and a green knit cap. Prim makes sure everyone gets an up close look at her new blue hat and hair ribbons, the cinnamon candy already consumed. Katniss knows how hard her mother would have had to have worked, to trade for the brightly coloured wool from which she made their new hats, and for the sweets and ribbons. And she’s torn between being horrified at the waste when all of that work could have been traded for things they really need, sugar or paraffin or cooking oil, and being genuinely delighted and touched. 

It’s been so long since she felt like a child, instead of a life-hardened person. So long since she’s seen her mother as a mother, instead of yet another mouth to feed. 

They prepare the holiday meal together, and while it’s not the first time they’re shared cooking duties in the little Seam shack, it might be the most joyful. Peeta tries to teach them a Christmas song, but he can’t carry a tune in a bucket, and the three Everdeen women simply dissolve in peals of laughter when poor Peeta warbles the nonsense phrase fa-la-la-la-la. 

It does nothing to diminish his joy.

The turkey is resting on the sideboard, waiting to be carved, when there’s a tap at the door. Katniss opens it with a big smile which falls when she sees two blond heads filling the frame.

She glances over her shoulder. Peeta has frozen in his table setting, he looks confused, but not unhappy to see his brothers. Katniss ushers the men into the shack which immediately feels crowded with the extra people, and closes the door against the winter wind.

“Came to wish you Merry Christmas, brother,” Brann, the eldest says. “But it looks like you’re already having a celebration.” He glances over at the little tree, the bright garland, and smiles broadly.

“Will you stay for the meal?” Mrs. Everdeen asks softly. “We were just about to begin.”

Katniss wants to protest, what is a feast for 4 will be much less adequate for six. But the way Peeta’s eyes light up so hopefully, she bites her tongue.

“We wouldn’t want to impose,” Rye says, but there’s a questioning lilt to his voice.

Prim, clearly also having read Peeta’s expression, jumps in. “Please stay,” she says brightly. “The more the merrier!” She’s tugging at their jackets before they’ve even agreed, leaving them little choice. Katniss bites back a smile. Prim’s jolly mood is infectious.

Brann extracts a small lump wrapped in a bit of bakery paper from his pocket before Prim takes his coat. He places it in Peeta’s hand. “Merry Christmas,” he says softly, before tugging his little brother into a hug. Rye joins, and Katniss glances away, giving the young men some bare semblance of privacy.

She has, in the past, resented Peeta’s brothers for not doing more to help him, for living their cushy merchant life while Peeta sleeps on a wood pallet far from the stove. But she knows that’s unfair, that Brann and Rye love their brother endlessly but are powerless to change things.

Peeta’s eyes are wet when the three Mellarks break apart, but his smile is as bright and wide as Katniss has ever seen.

It’s a tight fit to squeeze six people around the tiny kitchen table and there aren’t enough chairs, but Peeta perches on the stepladder and Rye balances on a wooden crate. There is more than enough for everyone, and the tiny shack fills with laughter and stories, Peeta and his brothers trading tales of holidays past, of delights left by father Christmas, of hiding Christmas cookies when the peacekeepers came by. It’s one of the nicest evenings Katniss can remember, and she finds herself thinking maybe there is something to this Christmas stuff, this celebration that has nothing to do with Panem and everything to do with family and community.

Peeta’s brothers can’t linger after the meal, their mother will doubtless be angry they’ve been gone as long as they have. The bakery is closed in the evenings, but there are always floors to mop and hearths to sweep and grievances to listen to.

Even cleaning up is lighthearted and fun, the festive feeling stretching into the mundane chores of packing up leftovers and washing the dishes. 

When they’re done, Peeta gathers them back around the table and produces the little paper-wrapped lump his brother had given him earlier. Inside is a ball, nearly black and a little lumpy. Katniss wrinkles her nose and avoids mentioning that it smells like old man Abernathy. 

“What is it?” Prim asks, her voice reverent, understanding that the unfamiliar blob is somehow important to Peeta.

“It’s called plum pudding,” he says softly, smiling. “Our traditional Christmas dessert. Will you all share it with me?”

The lump is small, and Katniss is worried just the fumes will make them drunk. But she pulls out four plates anyway while Mrs. Everdeen freshens their tea. To her surprise, when Peeta cuts into it, it’s full of fruit and nuts. Instantly, she’s transported to a cold April morning, years ago. To a kind little boy who saved her life. The start of a friendship that became so much more. 

Katniss glances at Peeta, and finds him smiling warmly at her. She can think of that day now without anger, without anguish, because of Peeta. Because of the years of goodness she’s witnessed, the hundreds of acts of kindness he’s done not just for her, but for anyone he encounters. He makes her see the world differently. He makes everything good again, even in the midst of District Twelve, and even when his own situation is so cruelly unfair. 

“There are no plums!” Prim says, interrupting her musing. Katniss inspects the cake-like lump. Raisins, nuts and currants, and what looks like orange peel.

Peeta laughs. “There never are,” he says. 

“I could get you plums, next year I mean.” There’s an ancient plum tree, not far from her father’s lake. It never produces more than a handful of purple fruit, so Katniss seldom bothers with it. But if it’s important to Peeta, she’ll pay more attention next summer. 

Peeta beams at her. “No, I mean it isn’t made with plums. Just raisins, currants and candied peel.”

“Then why do they call it plum pudding?” Prim says, nose wrinkled. “It’s not pudding, and there are no plums.”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Peeta admits. “It’s a very old recipe.”

Katniss takes a small bite. It’s… not great. The cake makes her think of illnesses, sweet like sleep syrup and burning like the white liquor their mother gives them for coughs. 

“Not a fan, love?” Peeta says softly. He never calls her that pet name in front of anyone else, but something about the festive magic has made him a little less cautious. Or maybe it’s just his happiness overflowing.

She shrugs. She’s not keen on offending him, but she doesn’t think she can choke down a whole piece of the cake, however small it might be. Peeta seems to be enjoying it though, so she slides her plate in front of him with a grin. 

“Katniss doesn’t like sweets,” Prim interjects, and she’s not wrong. Given the choice, Katniss would always choose the more savoury treats, though she did like the taste of chocolate Peeta snuck out of the bakery for her once, years ago.

“That’s because she’s sweet enough already,” Peeta teases, and all four of them laugh. Only Peeta would ever describe Katniss as sweet. ‘Prickly’ is a far more common adjective.

Mrs. Everdeen leaves the children to finish their cake and bundles up in her heaviest coat. “I have to check on Molly Birch’s new baby,” she explains. “I won’t be long.” It’s only a two minute walk to where the Birch family lives in a little Seam shack identical to the Everdeen home, so she waves off Peeta’s offer of accompaniment.

Prim, in an act of kindness so very fitting her sweet temperament, announces that she’s got homework and takes a candle into the bedroom. Katniss knows Prim doesn’t have any pressing work, expects she’ll probably lie under the blankets and read from the plant book. She’s just giving Katniss and Peeta a few precious minutes of privacy. 

Normally it would embarrass Katniss, the implication that she and Peeta might need alone time, but today she’s just grateful. He opens his arms and she walks right into them. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, lips brushing against her neck. “This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

“So far,” Katniss whispers. She’s not one for fantasizing about the future, especially when there is still one more reaping to get through. But that it will include Peeta is a given. She used to be afraid of love, afraid of losing herself, like her mother did. But not anymore. Not with Peeta by her side.

Peeta sighs, a soft, satisfied little noise, then pulls back just slightly. Katniss scowls, but he merely grins. “There is one tradition you forgot,” he says, but his mischievous expression takes away any sting to his words. There is always fun in an expression like that.

“Oh?” Katniss says, returning his smile. 

He pulls from his pocket a small ball of greenery with tiny white berries. Katniss knows what it is, some of the bolder merchant boys hang them around the school, hoping to catch merchant girls unaware. Mistletoe. 

She laughs, but softly, so as not to disturb Prim. The walls in the shack are paper thin. Peeta nods, eyes twinkling, then lifts the little weed above her head, and bends to kiss her soundly.

[advena87]

Let's bring Cat to Kaer Morhen!

I always think what would happen if Lambert had the opportunity to bring Aiden to Kaer Morhen at least one winter. How would other witchers react to him and whether Aiden would get along with them.

Of course, the most difficult thing would be with Vesemir, the old witcher still holds a grudge against Cats, doesn’t trust them and is terrified by the prospect that his youngest son is involved with one of them.

Geralt would be curious, both for Aiden himself (he is a notorious cat! Is everything that is said about them true?) and his relationship with Lambert. Lambert is an asshole, Geralt will have a hard time believing that he has made a real friend, and when he finally does, he will understand that it is not about friendship. And it would be hilarious for him.

Eskel immediately realizes what is happening here and is immediately tired of it, because Lambert and Aiden (especially Lambert) have a communication problem and cannot determine the status of their relationship. Lambert denies it, Aiden sabotages it. Eskel has no patience for watching these two morons and their stupid actions.

(I warn you right away, it will be long!)

.

*right after arriving at Kaer Morhen with Aiden*

Vesemir: Do you really trust this Cat that much?

Lambert: If I murdered someone, he’s the person I’d call to help me drag the corpse across the floor.

Vesemir: * glare *

Lambert: Oh, you think that disapproving glare works on me after all the times I've seen it?

***

Geralt: Have you been yelled at by Vesemir yet?

Aiden: I'm not scared of him.

Eskel: So that's a no.

***

Vesemir: Stay away from Lambert.

Aiden: I take that as an invitation.

***

Vesemir: Remember, no tricks, no lies, no trouble!

Eskel and Geralt simultaneously: Yes, Vesemir!

Lambert: Kiss my ass, Vesemir!

Vesemir: I wasn’t talking to you. *glares at Aiden*

*later*

Aiden: Wow, your dad really hates me.

Lambert: Don't worry, he hates me too.

Aiden: No, I think he hates me because he loves you.

Lambert: What kind of fucked up logic is that?

***

Lambert: Look guys, I need help.

Vesemir, glaring suspiciously at Aiden: Love help?

Geralt: Financial help?

Eskel: Emotional help?

Aiden: Help moving a body?

*Everyone looks at Aiden*

Aiden: ... What? You'd be surprised how often he needs this kind of help.

***

Lambert: Vesemir, not all Cats are crazy.

Aiden: Easy for you to say, you're not one.

Lambert: You don't make it easy, Aiden

Aiden: And you can't lie to them. I AM a lunatic motherfucker with lethal combat skills.

***

Aiden: *under his breath* This is bullshit.

Vesemir: Did you just curse? Because we don’t talk like that in this god-damn, mother-fucking house.

Aiden: ...

Vesemir: Shit.

***

Aiden: Son of a b-

Aiden: *notices Vesemir*

Aiden: Penis!

Aiden: That wasn't any better.

***

Geralt: You don’t know my family. What you call the Apocalypse, I call Sunday dinner!

Aiden: The Apocalypse on Stygga Castle was always on Fridays.

Aiden: My mentor served the boar for dinner.

Aiden: It was the only day of the week that we were allowed to eat meat…

Aiden: And then he made us fight for it to death.

Geralt: Man, what the fuck? Is he serious?

Lambert: I don't know. On the one hand, I hear a different version of Friday dinners every fucking time, on the other, he always cries when we have a peaceful dinner on Fridays.

***

* Sunday dinner*

Vesemir: Uhm, Cat, that's where I sit.

Aiden: So sit next to me.

Vesemir: No, I sit there.

Aiden: What's the difference?

Vesemir: "What's the difference?"

Lambert: Oh fuck, here we go.

Vesemir: In the winter, that seat is close enough to the fireplace to remain warm, and yet not so close as to cause perspiration. In the summer, it's directly in the path of a cross-breeze created by opening windows there and there. It faces the kitchen at an angle that is neither direct, thus discouraging conversation, nor so far wide as to create a parallax distortion. I could go on.

Aiden, getting up from the seat: Okay, I get it.

*Later, Aiden and Lambert in private*

Aiden: Now seriously, he really, really, REALLY hates me.

Lambert: No, he just really, really, REALLY loves that chair

***

*Geralt and Eskel try to make drunken pranks on Lambert with Aiden's help. A few things went wrong*

Geralt: You were only supposed to create a diversion, Aiden!

Eskel: That was complete destruction.

Aiden: What do you want from me?! I'm Cat witcher, man! It's what I do!

***

Lambert: MERRY CHRISTMSS MOTHERFUCKERS!!!

Aiden: FUCK YEAH BITCHES LETS GET IT POPPIN *plays Mariah Carey*

Geralt: Guys... it’s 5 am.

Eskel: Don't make me have to get out of bed and beat the shit out of you.

***

*after another drinking party in Kaer Morhen*

Eskel: What happened last night?

Geralt: Strangely, I have no idea. Wait. *tries to remember something* Nothing. Weird. Disjointed. My memory is completely blank.

Eskel: It sounds disturbingly familiar.

Geralt: Eskel, why is there a shower cap on your head?

Eskel: I'm sure there's a very easy explanation to this.

Geralt: Is there a very easy explanation as to why you're wearing sandals that aren't yours?

Eskel: Where are my boots?

Geralt: And why are you wearing a gold chain, Eskel?

Lambert, wakes up realising he is spooning Aiden: Oh fuck, please tell me this is a dream.

Aiden, waking up: Calm down, fluffkin. Come back to bed.

Lambert: Whatever you think happened last night didn't happen, because nothing happened you got it?

Eskel: That's nice, Lambert. Way to belittle the man.

Aiden: Yeah, Lambert. I do have feelings.

Geralt to Aiden: What is all over your face?

Aiden: I can't be sure. *checks his face* Oh Gods. You didn't see a mad dwarf dealing a fisstech, with a hook for an arm, did you?

Eskel: … what?

Geralt: N-no.

Eskel, to Lambert: Why do you have a black eye?

Lambert: Okay. It's nothing to freak about. Everybody relax. It's no big deal, it's just a small shiner.

Geralt: Lambert's absolutely right. His lover's spat with Aiden is really none of our business.

Lambert: Nothing fucking happened between us!

Aiden: Are you as disappointed as I am? And now seriously, we have to find that dwarf before Vesemir does.

***

Aiden: I have flaws! What are they? Oh I don’t know…

Aiden: I sing in the shower. Sometimes, I spend too much time being drugged and drunk.

Aiden: Occasionally, I’ll commit first degree murder.

Aiden: But please, please, may I date your son?

Vesemir: NO!

***

Geralt: What does Aiden think about your friendship?

Lambert: I don't know, I try not to bother him about this kind of stuff.

Geralt: You mean like your thoughts and feelings?

Lambert: Yeah.

*meanwhile*

Eskel: So, why do you put up with him?

Aiden: Because I'm desperately in love, that's why. And because Lambert is a great man, and I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, he might even be a good one.

*later*

Geralt: So what exactly is going on between the two of you?

Lambert: Nothing. Really. We're friends, that's it.

Eskel: You're idiots, the both of you.

Geralt: Are you sure you aren’t dating Aiden?

Lambert: If I am, I certainly wasn’t informed of it.

Geralt: To be fair, if any of us were dating someone without realizing it, it would be you.

***

Lambert after arguing with Eskel over Aiden: I can take care of my own... friend.

Lambert: Wait, where is he?

Eskel: *snorts*

***

*after Lambert refused to be Aiden's boyfriend*

Eskel: Let me get this straight: Aiden told you he wanted to be with you and you said ‘no’?

Lambert: I said no.

Geralt: What the hell is wrong with you?

Vesemir: Dumbass!

Lambert, Eskel and Geralt: *looks at Vesemir in surprise*

Lambert: Look, I have my reasons, okay?

Eskel: What the hell could they possibly be?

Lambert: He always wanders fuck knows where, getting into trouble and keeps flirting with other guys, and when he gets dumped, he suddenly comes running back to me? Look, I'm not a fucking rebound, all right?

Vesemir: You're too proud to take him back? What exactly do you have to be proud of?!

***

Eskel: Did you and Lambert get in a fight?

Aiden: Lambert had a fight. I was being perfectly reasonable.

Eskel: You guys are idiots, did you know that?

Aiden: In our own defense, we actually do know that.

***

*Lambert, Geralt and Eskel drink together after Lambert had a fight with Aiden*

Lambert: Guys, I don’t know what Aiden wants anymore! What am I supposed to do? 

Eskel: May I speak freely? 

Lambert: Yeah.

Eskel: I’m so bloody sick of hearing this shit day after day: “Guys, what am I to do? I told him I love him, I took it back, I’m afraid of commitment, I don't understand my own feelings!” *grabs Lambert* FOR THE FUCK’S SAKE! MAKE A MOVE! DO SOMETHING! DO YOU WANT TO REGRET THIS FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE?!

*Lambert absolutely terrified, runs away to his room without a word*

Geralt, shyly: Don't you think it was a bit harsh?

Eskel: What, you need some talk too? Because you and your sorceress  bullshit—

Geralt, scared: No, nope, I'm fine. I'm totally fine.

***

*Dandelion visits Kaer Morhen during the winter and is absolutely unaware of the on and off relationship situation between Lambert and Aiden*

Dandelion, about Lambert and Aiden: You know, you two make a cute couple.

Lambert: No, no we're not, we're not a fucking couple, we're single, two singles, like those individually wrapped slices of cheese that are friends, for the fuck’s sake!

Dandelion to Geralt: Did I pluck a nerve there?

Geralt: Yes, you did.

***

Aiden: Wait a minute! Are we hugging? Have we done this before?

Lambert: No. If you tell anyone, I'll slit your throat.

***

Lambert: Stop it.

Aiden: Stop what?

Lambert: Stop looking at me like that, or everyone here will think we did it.

Aiden: *grabs Lambert and kisses him deeply*

Lambert: Well, that'll throw them off the track.

***

Aiden: *leaving Lambert's room in the morning with Lambert's clothes on*

Vesemir, catching him: Don't you dare steal that shirt, I gave it to him for his birthday!

Aiden: Um... That's it? This is what you have to say in this situation?

Vesemir: Well...

Vesemir: Maybe you’re not a diabolical Cat sleeper agent out to infiltrate my family and destroy everything I’ve worked for.

Aiden: Truly, that’s all any guy can hope to hear from his boyfriend’s father.

***

Eskel: Someone has to tell Vesemir about this.

Geralt: Yeah.

Lambert Definitely, good luck Eskel.

Eskel: Wait, why me? It's your business!

Lambert: Because you're the scariest motherfucker.

Geralt: Eskel isn't the scariest! He just looks the scariest!

Eskel, sarcastically: Thanks Geralt, it was really uplifting.

Aiden, entering the room: What are you doing?

Eskel: We wonder how to tell Vesemir that you two cabbage heads are dating now.

Aiden: Oh, that won't be necessary. I'm pretty sure he knows about it.

Geralt: How so?

Aiden: He caught me sneaking out of Lambert's room in the morning in his clothes.

Lambert: Fucking WHAT?!

Eskel: How come you're still alive?

Aiden: I'm a cat, I always land on my feet.

***

Lambert: It's a package from Vesemir.

Aiden: What's in it?

Lambert: It's heavy. Must be his disappointment in me.

***

*After a fight with Vesemir, Lambert moved into the stable; Aiden is trying to get Lambert to move back into the keep*

Aiden: All right, I'll speak a language you understand. Five crowns if you move back in.

Lambert: Fifty.

Aiden: Ten.

Lambert: Forty-nine.

Aiden: A crown?! You went down a crown?!

Lambert: Okay, it's back to fifty.

Aiden: You know, you make it really difficult to love you sometimes.

Lambert: Yeah, that's what Vesemir says.

***

Lambert: Aiden, I need you to do me a favor.

Aiden: No, I’m not giving you anymore lap dances again.

Geralt: LAP DANCES?!

Eskel: AGAIN?!

Lambert: ANYMORE?!!!

***

Aiden about Lambert: He's got a great ass.

Geralt: Don't be gross.

***

Aiden: We have some exciting news.

Eskel: Okay.

Lambert: As you know, Aiden and I have been together for some time, and a lot of things I never thought possible now seem possible.

Geralt: Okay.

Aiden: After a careful evaluation of our relationship, we decided that the time was right to take a step forward.

Vesemir: *hyperventilate*

Lambert: Do you want to say it?

Aiden: Let's say it together.

Both Aiden and Lambert: We're getting a cat!

Eskel: This is why I've been saying we should keep champagne on ice.

Geralt: I think Vesemir is having a heart attack.

Both Aiden and Lambert: *evil laugh*

***

Aiden: We named our cat after the greatest man we know.

Geralt: What's his name?

Lambert: ...

Aiden, proudly: Vesemir.

.

[honeytea8]

La Dolce Vita • Risotto Nero/fem!Reader

A/N: I had the pleasure of doing an art trade with my sweet @string-bean-requiem and here it is!!! 💗💗 (it’s written with them in mind, but y’all can enjoy it too)

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: A fun night on the town offers the rare chance of falling for a handsome stranger...though to be fair, is he really even a stranger?

Warnings: Some kissing💀 and implied spice, nothing explicit.

Italian nightlife had never been something you had the chance to enjoy. The reason being that Passione had taken up so much of your time and each day was spent completely on work-related things. While some of your teammates, namely Formaggio and Melone made it a point to enjoy their weekends off the best they could, you did not. In fact, you seldom had the opportunity to join Napoli’s party-going masses, let alone step foot into a nightclub or bar.

So, naturally, when a wind of change had come to sweep you onto a different course, you were very much inclined to let it. Despite the inkling of trepidation growing in the pit of your stomach, you were also filled with excitement for the night that awaited you. You knew better than to squander this rare moment.

Tonight, you were out of town, miles across the Tyrrhenian sea, on the largest island south of the Italian peninsula—a place called Sicily known for its long history and traditions.

After a successfully completed mission, you choose to reward yourself, on the final night of your trip, by stepping out and enjoying whatever intrigues such a place had to offer. Who knew when you’d ever get the chance again?

A club called Bona Furtuna came highly recommended to you by a certain Sicilian native. It was a simple but newly renovated warehouse on the coast near Palermo. According to the locals, it was the place to be on a night like this.

Although a bit stuffy and filled with smoke swirling in the air like dry ice, bodies continued to fill up the dance floor, moving in tandem with the music. Girls in leotards and heels provided bottle service and cigars—all of which were somewhat of a shock to you. Initially, your carefully honed instincts kept you from enjoying yourself to the fullest, but by your third mojito, you felt yourself loosening up. Following a shot of tequila after that, you could feel the baseline thrumming against your teeth as the bright strobe lights bounced off your skin and hair.

Your hips whirled to the beat, a sheen of sweat on your neck and back. The dress you wore clung to you like second skin. It became easier for you to feed off the atmosphere; your body moved on impulse, responding to the silent cues that played off the swarm of people around you. It was spellbinding. However, the alcohol in your system did little to negate some of your more ingrained senses. The feeling of eyes trained on your back was something like an alarm in your conscience, but you were not in danger, far from it actually.

You kept dancing, swinging along with the beat, bating your silent observer. If he wanted to spectate, he could do just that. But it would be even more fun if he just cut loose and joined you on the dance floor.

In due time, the music shifted to something with a slower tempo; it was then that you felt a warm hand on your waist.

Body to body, you moved against him with practiced ease, rolling against his hips in a way that was titillating, slow, and steady as a river. He guided your movements in time with his own, like he knew your body better than you did. In a way, it didn’t surprise you. You could tell he was getting into it. Feeling impish, you skirted away from him with a spin, tossing a wink over your shoulder and strutting your way to the bar for a little reprieve.

“Water, please.” You called out to the bartender. “Light on the ice.”

Not a moment later, a glass of water was placed in front of you, but before you could reach for it, you caught sight of a mop of violet hair in your peripheral.

Your dance partner had joined you at the bar and with him came the familiar scent of Boucheron cologne and the perfect blend of citrus and spice. Finally able to see him in better light, you considered some of his most notable features. His beautiful aquiline nose; his red irises ringed in black sclera, which was unusual by nature. But held an equally intense and honest quality that made you smile a little. He was lovely to look at, dressed sharply in a crisp button up shirt with a few of them unfastened that gave a nice little peek at his chest.

He leaned against the bar, managing to tower over you still, though you remained undaunted. “Can I buy you a drink?” He asked.

“I’m okay with this.” was your simple but quick-witted reply, all the while, you eyed him sharply over the rim of your glass.

He looked amused, maybe even a little surprised by your quick denial, but not at all discouraged. That was a good sign, maybe he’d prove to be interesting company tonight. You couldn’t deny that he was attractive; the kind of sexy one didn’t have to try for. You decided introductions were in order so you offered him your name and hand, smiling when he took it and kissed it.

“My name is Risotto.” He said with a dimpled half-smile.

“A pleasure to meet you, Risotto.” And although he left you to do most of the talking, your conversation continued without a hitch. Eventually, when you asked what he was doing back in his hometown, Risotto revealed he was just here for business.

“What kind of business?”

He smirked. “Not the kind of thing I can share so easily with you.”

After that admission, you finally allowed him to buy you another drink before you both made your way back to the dance floor. You weren’t as coherent as you were prior. Inhibitions fell to the wayside and you swayed on your feet a bit, but thankfully Risotto held you firm, like an anchor in the sea of alcohol in your system.

You moved like an uncoiled rope, eyes alight with mischief, and a smile on your orange painted lips.

“Come now, Risotto.” You called over the music. “I’m sure you can dance better than that!”

“You’re really gonna keep up this act, cara?” He asked.

You looped an arm around his neck, and guided his hand onto your waist like before. In a golden moment of genuine amusement, Risotto laughed, showing off a row of perfect teeth.

“Yes, I am, even if you keep breaking character!” You carded your fingers through the hair at his nape, smiling as you leaned forward to peck his lips. “Now remember, we have never met!”

Risotto nodded, still smirking. You should’ve known he had something up his sleeve. He took one of your hands and twirled you around, then dipped you low enough that your cleavage was on display for half a second at most before he lifted you and pulled you close to his chest. It was minutes later that you noticed he was doing the tarantella, or a modernized version of this dance. It seemed the warm atmosphere brought out of the Sicilian boy that lived deep within the ever-stoic Risotto.

You and he danced all night until your feet were tender and he was left to carry your heels in one hand while holding you close with the other. His brawny arm was slung over your shoulder, and yours was looped around his waist for support.

“I love you,” you murmured into his armpit; it’s where you had managed to shove your head as he half-carried you back to your shared motel. When he didn’t immediately respond you chanced a peek at him. “Did you hear what I said?” You pouted a little, but all Risotto did was blink at you.

It was around two in the morning and the streets were empty save for the occasional civilian. Risotto pressed your back against the brick wall of a neighboring building. He guided one of your long legs around his waist just as you snaked both arms around his neck. The rough pad of his thumb brushed against your lips, the only warning you received before his mouth was on yours and kissing you deeply. The world and everything with it fell away in that single moment. One of your hands slipped down to fist his shirt. It was odd to feel him wearing one, especially with you being so accustomed to feeling his bare skin.

When he finally released you, Risotto murmured a quiet, “I love you too, always,” against the seam of your mouth before finally scooping you up and carrying you all the way home—where he could truly show you his love privately.

By morning, you were greeted with the heavy weight of an arm slung around your waist and warm breaths ghosting your neck. The sky was still blue, almost black but sounds of birds chirping was enough to confirm that it was indeed early. Groaning, you shifted in bed, feeling the muggy heat in the room and only the stifled breeze filtering in through an open window. Sicily was incredibly hot in the mornings; it was enough to make you sweat even as you slept.

Next to you Risotto’s eyes slowly fluttered open, and he was given a full view of your naked back. He pressed a feather light kiss to your bare shoulder before sitting up from the bed. It never took him long to fully wake up. When it came to vigor and strength, he was seemingly unmatched.

“We should head back in about an hour.” Risotto said, voice slightly hoarse, as he picked up his phone from where it was still charging near his suitcase. “We have a text from Prosciutto and several missed calls from Ghiaccio.” He raked a hand through his dyed hair as he spoke. You couldn’t help but notice that the purple color suited him nicely.

“Hm, that’s fine by me.” You yawned, dragging the sheets over your body, and tucking the excess under your arms.

Whatever meager strength you had was only enough to keep you barely coherent. You were tired from all the drinking and dancing, though you had fun, the morning after was one thing you could do without.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” You watched as your boyfriend scrolled through his phone, likely giving the squad a status update.

Risotto looked up from the device, lips parted and eyes wide like a scandalized old man.

“I meant the clubbing,” you corrected. “Did you enjoy our little game?”

He finally shrugged and gave a noncommittal hum; Capo Risotto was back in full effect, it seemed. You gazed at his bare chest, silently admiring the way his muscles flexed underneath his skin. You nearly missed his belated response.

“You were...a bit difficult in the beginning.”

“Oh? I didn’t notice.” You laughed.

Risotto watched as you milled about the hotel room, tossing random articles of clothes into your suitcase. You’d found a clean pair of panties and slipped them on quickly, while discarding the bedsheets in favor of an old t-shirt. When you came over to where he was standing, you held his leather coat in hand.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

He snorted lightly, before leaning in and capturing your lips in a soft kiss as thanks. Together you both dressed, forgoing breakfast so you wouldn't miss your ferry trip back to Naples.

As you gripped Risotto’s hand upon reentering the base, you leaned into him and bumped him tenderly with your hip. You toed off your shoes, suddenly greeted by the telltale sound of several arguing voices. And it was coming straight from the main room. You looked to Risotto with a heavy sigh.

“Will we ever get another night off?”

Risotto glanced down at you, understanding your pain. “We’ll try, tesoro.”

[charming-charlie]

The Worst Goodbye

Title // The Worst Goodbye

Pairing // Anthony Ramos x Reader

Warnings // Mentions of drinking, cute little fluffs

Summary // Anthony is leaving the Hamilton show and you aren’t coping well with saying goodbye.

Word Count // 2k

Prompt // Hey there! Can I request something fluffy with Anthony from Hamilton? Maybe something where the reader really likes his long hair, aka Philip hair, so when he cuts it she’s a little discouraged? // I found a cute writing prompt for Anthony Ramos. “Person A and Person B having deep conversations together on the patio / balcony at 3 a.m.”

It seemed to be a long, winded night. You were tired, not fully exhausted yet, but there wasn’t much energy in you left. It was yet another end-of-run party, this time for Chris Jackson, for Hamilton. The year was full of losses. Lin, Philippa, Leslie, Daveed, and Ariana left earlier during the summer. Anthony, one of your closest friends, was scheduled to leave next.

The next party would be in celebration of him.

You were okay with that. He wanted to further his acting and music career. Working eight shows a week sort of hindered that and often left him too tired to pursue his other interests.

But it went with the territory, especially in your line of work. You worked at the Richard Rodgers theater as a backstage hand. You made sure people got to their places on time, handled wardrobe malfunctions, and helped devise a schedule if someone was going t be out. It was truly a fun job for you because you were able to see the ins and outs of the show, and you became close with the cast members, both past and present.

The hardest part were the goodbyes, like tonight. Chris was leaving, wrapping up his final curtain call in 2 days, which meant 2 more performances from the man who played a stellar George Washington. While these parties were meant to be a celebration, they were sadder for you. You said goodbye to so many people over the past few months.

The party took place on a rooftop bar. There was the bar itself, which had high glass walls and then there was the balcony area that fenced off the roof. Due to the chilly weather, it being November and all, no one even so much as attempted to go outside on the balcony. At least, not yet. Surely after they had more drinks in them and got warmed up from the alcohol, it’ll be full of party people.

For now, you were the only occupant on the empty balcony. The sun had set, and the moon was out. You were able to see very few stars due to the heavy lights of New York City, but it was still a very nice, relaxing sight. You knew you could never give up the city. There was just something about it that you found comforting, and peaceful nights like this were part of the reason why.

You had a drink in hand, barely touched. You were more focused on the sights before you. It was almost like a scene from a movie. Your hair whipped lightly in the cold wind, but you didn’t feel the frigid breeze.

In fact, you were so lost in your little world, you didn’t hear the bar door open, the one that led to the balcony. It was only when you felt someone brush against your shoulder, you were lulled out of your trance. You turned and you saw Anthony. He was wearing a hoodie with the hood up, his hands in his pockets, and some casual jeans. “Well,” you managed to say with a smile, “you certainly dressed for the occasion.”

He turned to look at you, smiling in return. One of his arms rested on the barrier of the roof. “Yo, I came straight from rehearsal. I didn’t have time to change. Besides, you really think Chris is going to care?” Anthony responded simply. It was almost like he knew you were going to say something about his look, and he had a rebuttal prepared. You wouldn’t put it past him.

That’s right, when he wasn’t working on Hamilton, he had rehearsals for the new show he was scheduled to be on. You said nothing, turning back to the city, not wanting to think about saying goodbye to yet another friend. The theater was starting to be kind of bleak with your favorite people leaving.

“No, Chris won’t mind. I mind though. What is this?” you asked. With your empty hand, you reached out to grab his hood, but he pulled back with a laugh, ducking your grip. He looked so casual and yet it looked like he was almost wearing a disguise. Like, he wanted to blend in. It didn’t work for you though. He had a personality and a smile that could be seen and heard from across a room. He was just that type of person, one of the best people you ever had the pleasure of meeting.

“This is fashion,” Anthony said much to your surprise. You couldn’t help but laugh, truly laugh, at his dumb choice of words.

“Your fashion sense is awful. What time is it?” you grabbed his arm and pulled up the sleeve of his hoodie, looking at his watch. It was going on three in the morning. You had no idea it was so late. The party inside the bar was still in full swing. You don’t think anybody even left it yet. The notion of the time emitted a yawn from you, and you tried to swat it away out of annoyance.

“Whoa, my fashion sense is amazing,” Anthony counted back as he lightly bumped into you, nudging you gently.

You took a sip of your drink, which had long since been watered down, and waved a hand in his direction. “There’s your catwalk, go model it for me and try to change my mind.”

You were absolutely kidding, and you thought your voice was dripping with sarcasm and jokes but Anthony actually took you up on that. He nodded, walked to the end of the balcony and turned to face you. You stood there in surprise, watching as the young man strutted toward you, one foot in front of another, giving off ridiculous poses. He unzipped the front of his hoodie dramatically, giving off such ridiculous model vibes. You were not drunk enough for this.

He got closer to you and he flailed his head, pushing the hood down. Your stared at him. Both of your hands flew to your barely drunken glass, fearing you would drop it from the sudden look. Anthony had cut his hair. His beautiful, long hair that he often wore pulled back, was now short and styled, and it caught you off guard to the point where you couldn’t look away.

You definitely were not drunk enough for this.

“Oh no babe, what is that?” you pointed to his head. Anthony was taking it in stride as he ran his fingers through his shorter hair with a sheepish smile. You had a feeling you were the first person he showed his new style to, but your reaction wasn’t exactly encouraging him.

“I had to cut it for the role. Does it look that bad?” Anthony asked. His smile was slowly fading, and he turned to the glass walls of the bar, trying to catch his reflection.

It didn’t look bad. It just looked different. It was yet another reminder that he was going to be leaving the show soon. It was a reminder that things were changing, and you were not liking it. Finding a cold bench, you sat down, your breath shaky. Your put your drink down somewhere on the ground, not wanting to touch it.

Anthony’s smile had turned into a complete frown by this point and he slowly sat next to you. “I’m gonna wear a wig for the rest of my Hamilton appearances, don’t worry.” His voice sounded a bit defeated. He looked out over the scenery, watching the still buildings, trying to avoid looking at you.

You hated how you were reacting, but you sincerely could not help it. To much was changing too fast.

“It was Renee’s old wig. I’m getting it fixed and cut before tomorrow’s show,” Anthony kept rambling on, as if it would make you feel better.

You sighed. Of course, you were overreacting. You knew that. You were being dramatic. Deep down, you had to expect that this was going to happen, and it has. It wasn’t just the hair. You loved Anthony’s longer hair and you thought he could pull a ponytail off better than most girls out there. This was different. This just proved things were not going to be the same in a very short amount of time.

“It’s not the hair,” you mumbled to yourself, but Anthony heard you. Slowly his head turned to look at you, but you could not bring yourself to face his warm, comforting eyes. “It’s what the hair represents.”

That astonished him and he let out a breath, sort of scoffing your words away like he didn’t quite understand. “What does that mean?”

Sighing deeply, you turned to look at him and you grabbed his hand. Maybe it was time for you to say what you were feeling. When were you going to get another chance? Plus, Anthony seemed a bit down in spirit right now from your reaction. He deserved an explanation.

“You cutting your hair means this is really happening,” you began. You were speaking slowly, trying to choose your words carefully. You didn’t want to end up saying the wrong thing and make the evening (morning?) even worse. “I mean… it’s another reminder that you are leaving the show and leaving me. I’m just not… I don’t know, I’m just not handling it well. That’s all. Your hair looks good. I like the new cut.”

There was silence after that. You wished he would say something. Tension was growing between the two of you with each passing second and you were not sure how long you could sit there in overwhelming silence. You couldn’t take it. You exhaled and stood up, only to feel Anthony reach out and grab your hand. He tugged you back and you instantly sat down next to him.

He leaned in, letting his forehead rest against your shoulder. “Don’t leave,” you heard him whisper. His fingers inched themselves slowly and wrapped around your hand in a tight hold. You rested your head against the top of his and closed your eyes. For a moment, everything seemed to be okay. But it was only for a moment.

“We knew this was coming,” you said slowly. Now you wanted to avoid the conversation. Anthony shushed you as he squeezed your hand. You felt his head rise from your shoulder. He let go of your hand, hooked his index finger and thumb under your chin, and turned your head to look at him. His eyes were unreadable, and he had a sad smile. That did nothing to help your dejected feelings.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” you said but Anthony cut you off.

“Stop talking.”

He didn’t move, forcing you to keep looking at him. His hand shifted from under your chin to the side of your face. He was making it worse. He was stirring up things inside you that were going to be squashed like a bug on the night of his final curtain call.

“I may be leaving Hamilton but I’m not leaving your life. Don’t even think about that. You think I can just walk away and leave you behind? I can’t. I don’t want to. Shut up about saying goodbye. You aren’t saying goodbye. You may be working with a new John Laurens and Philip Schuyler, but you aren’t getting rid of me completely.” His voice took on a bit of sharpness. You could tell he did not prepare a speech for something like that, which further proved he was serious.

He leaned in, kissing your forehead softly. A cold wind zipped by, and you felt it that time. Or maybe that was just the chill that ran up your spine at his sudden, simple touch.

“Please promise me that,” you said, needing it for your own clarification.

“I promise,” he said while looking at you dead in the eyes. He held onto your gaze for a few moments. The lights of New York City were behind him and he looked like such a vision, like a painting come to life. He looked happy, his smile returned, and there was a sort of lightness behind his eyes.

Your worst fear turned out be over-exaggerated and you were thankful he was there. It’ll be hard, getting through these next few weeks knowing he was going to be gone soon, but you had faith that there was more to your friendship with Anthony than meets the eye. You knew he saw it too.

[marvelousell]

The Agreement (Part 6.)

Pairing(s): frat boy!fwb!Tom x reader, frat boy!Harrison x reader

Summary: Tom is a typical frat boy, his love for partying, drinks and girls are bigger than his ego. Y/N is a whole different dimension, she keeps her circle small, and even though she knows her best friend Tom is a total douche, she can’t say no to the little deal that was sealed between the two of them.

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: My heart is beating for Haz rn but Tom is my fave so I’m confused af ok😫. Also who tf is Emily🤡? I hope you like this chapter and I would appreciate it if you leave a comment, reblog or send a feedback!❤️

My tag list is open for this series!

Warnings: flufff, swearing, mentions of alcohol

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5.

Masterlist

“Ready?”

Monday came quickly honestly. Probably the constant overthinking during the whole Sunday and Monday morning distracted you pretty well.

And here you are now.

Fresh out of the shower, with your robe around your body staring at Anna in front of your door who was ready to ‘glam you up’.

“I don’t know, I think I’m gonna puke if we’re being honest.” You spoke, exhaling the air from your lungs.

“It’s totally normal to feel like that! That means you like him.” She winked, marching to your bedroom.

“Well I do like him and that’s why I’m worried. What if I mess everything up? I’m so awkward you know that.” You began to panic, chewing on your bottom lip nervously.

“Just be yourself, he is already smitten. Believe me, what could go wrong?”

Maybe the truth about Tom, I don’t know.

“You’re right, but I’m still sweating and I feel sick.”

“Can’t wait for you to return from the date and say to me ‘oh I was so stupid for worrying it was amazing Ann I love him!’” She mocked you, laughing along with you.

“I really hope that will be the end product after tonight’s date.”

“Harrison is a really great guy, you will have the best night with him I’m sure.”

Your mouth curved into a smile at the thought of him.

At the thought of his blue eyes and his contagious laugh that was ringing in your ears since Saturday.

Maybe he really is the one for you?

If only Tom didn’t come that night at your apartment, everything would be fine.

The thoughts were eating you up, but you tried to remain calm.

“Just remember Tom’s words. Maybe this deal won’t last that long.” You said to yourself.

“So what are we doing for tonight?” Anna spoke resting her arms on the chair, looking at your reflection in the mirror.

“Nothing extra, keep it casual.” You replied, not wanting to look like you’re going to a red carpet.

“Keep it casual got it.”

“Did you spoke with Tom yesterday?” She asked curiously, making your heart skip a beat when she mentioned his name.

You were trying your best not to react.

“No, he didn’t call me. Why, did something happen?” You asked, trying to look worried.

“No, no. Just asking I thought that he maybe apologized or something, but it seems he is still acting like a total douche.”

You kind of forgot the scene from the party, Harrison being on your mind practically every second.

But now that she reminded you, you were pissed. He could at least call and say a stupid ‘sorry’, however he was too proud. Tom would never admit he was wrong even when it was a small, unimportant thing.

“You know he is like that when he is around a girl that he wants to shag, but still I don’t approve that, I mean we’re his friends.” You responded.

“That’s absolutely right. Gosh I don’t know how could someone sleep with him? I know he is hot and all that but c’mon Tom just thinks with his thing down there and that’s disgusting.” She spoke bitterly while your face turned red.

You don’t know a thing Anna, but you’re definitely right about that.

He just knows how to make a girl say yes straight away, that’s the problem.

“U-uh yes, I agree.” Your voice coming out as a whisper.

“Let’s not ruin our night with him, we love him although he is like that so it’s not important. Did our prince charming say where you two are going?” She changed the subject, focusing on your hair that was the last thing that needed to be done.

“Didn’t drop a single clue, he just said he will pick me up at seven.” You chuckled, glancing at the clock.

Thirty minutes and he will be here.

-

“Oh shit he is outside.” You whisper yelled, heart almost jumping out of your chest.

“Listen. Don’t worry, just relax and be yourself. Harrison is fantastic and not a pompous dick like others.” She put her palms on your shoulders giving them an encouraging squeeze.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply to calm your nerves.

“Thank you so much Ann, I owe you big times. I will call you when I come home or you can stay here and make yourself comfortable whatever you want.” You said, hugging her tightly.

“Thanks for the offer but I will go home, and I will be waiting for your call. And you miss have fun.” She smiled like a proud mother, hugging you back.

Your hands were shaking, and your stomach lurched when you saw him leaned on his black car waiting for you.

You both immediately smiled at each other.

Harrison was as nervous as you were. He spent his whole day rambling to Harry that tried his best not to laugh at his friend who was totally excited to see the girl that couldn’t leave his head the whole weekend.

He was finally ready to find a girl. Someone who will be here even when things went downhill.

“Good evening gorgeous.” Harrison greeted, flashing you a broad smile.

“Well good evening to you too handsome.” You greeted him back, standing now in front of him with a shy smile plastered on your face.

“You look stunning tonight love.” He half whispered, with his eyes still on yours.

“Thank you, so do you.”

“Ready to hop in?” He asked, opening the door for you.

“Of course, how could I not be with a gentleman like you by my side?” You flirted shamelessly, making him laugh.

“Eager to know where I’m taking you?” He asked, starting a conversation.

Your eyes were glued on the road and everything around trying to guess where you were heading to.

“Definitely, hope you’re not gonna kill me or something already.”

“Too much criminal series love.” He chuckled at your response.

“And I would still want the place to remain a surprise, but don’t worry nothing will happen.” He added.

“It better not Harrison I trust you.” You continued to joke, enjoying the rest of the drive.

-

“And we’re here beautiful.” He parked his car, opening the door for you again.

Holy fuck.

The view was mesmerizing. It was like a hill, with a view on the whole city that was glowing now.

Your whole face lit up, not only because he was creative and didn’t take you to a classic restaurant on the first date but because you had such a great person next to you to enjoy the breathtaking view with.

“This is truly stupendous Harrison..Gosh.” You were so dumbfounded at the sight that you didn’t feel the warmth of his body behind you.

“I’m so glad you like it, I wanted to take you somewhere special the first time.” He spoke into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“I appreciate that a lot, and you really left me speechless here.” You giggled, turning your face to his.

Harrison put a lot of effort in this, wanting to show you how much he fancied you.

This wasn’t just an ordinary place that he googled up or something.

This was Harrison’s special place ever since he was twelve. He would often come here when he needed some time for himself or when he wanted to sit and relax looking at the whole town that was in a rush as always.

The place was unique in Harrison’s life. His gut told him he could trust you and that this was a brilliant timing to share it with you.

He hoped maybe it will be your special place by the end of the night, because he was sure you were the girl that will change his life.

“It’s actually my secret place or whatever they call it nowadays.” His eyes lit up looking at the two most beautiful sights in front of him.

“Oh no sorry, now I ruined the whole secret place thing for you.” You grabbed his hand, feeling bad in some kind of way.

“Don’t be silly love, if I thought you weren’t noteworthy I wouldn’t share it with you.” His fingers stroked your skin carefully, making your heartbeat go wild at the feeling of his gentle touch.

“Happy to hear that you think I’m that special.” You whispered, noticing the small blanket positioned on the grass behind him.

“C’mon let’s sit and enjoy the real magic from here.” His hand took yours, rubbing his thumb against your palm.

-

“So you study English Literature?” He asked, pouring the sparkling wine in your glass.

He sure planned this all well, and you weren’t complaining. In fact you loved it so much that you could sit like this forever. Just you and him.

“That’s right. Does it sound that boring?” You asked, the nervousness now long gone.

“Absolutely not! Mr. Phillips must be your favourite professor I assume?” He rose his eyebrow asking sarcastically.

“Are you like in my class or something because that would be awkward as hell. And no c’mon he is a total ass.”

“If I was with you in the same class I would definitely ask a beauty like you out a long time ago, don’t worry. My sister is taking his classes, she started her first year so you know heard some stuff.” He chuckled, sipping his wine.

“I’m sorry for her, he can be an idiot towards students but that shouldn’t discourage her at all.”

“Totally, every college has someone like that.” He added, receiving a nod from you.

You two were talking like you knew each other your whole life and that was something you craved for a long time.

Harrison couldn’t keep his eyes the whole night away from you.

It was something about your irresistible smile and how your head would fall back when you laughed that got him love-struck.

He really liked you and your sweet soul that was full of tenderness.

That was something he could never find in someone ever since Emily.

“Tired?” He gave you a half-smile when he felt your head resting on his shoulder.

“No, just loving this atmosphere and your presence. I could do this every day for the rest of my life if you ask me.” You said softly.

Harrison thought that this was the perfect timing to wrap his arm around your waist, caressing it carefully.

He was sure he wanted to kiss in you that exact moment. Even though he was distracted by his heart that was a beating mess and by his sweaty palms, he couldn’t wait more. He reminded himself if he waited and didn’t speak to you that night nothing of this would happen, so what could go wrong now?

He didn’t want it to be forced, it should be memorable for the both of you.

What’s the point if he doesn’t show you how much he liked you through the kiss?

So his hands leisurely traveled to your arm and shoulder. Your skin was landscaped with goosebumps, and you were sure he could see how your cheeks turned red although it was dark.

You relaxed in his hands, leaning your face into his neck inhaling his scent.

The grin on his face was growing bigger when he felt your body on his, he would trade anything just to be always like this with you from now on.

His fingertips brushed the skin of your hot cheek while his eyes were admiring your body that was illuminated by the moonlight.

Eventually his large palm cupped your cheek, bringing you close to his face.

His nose bumped into yours, his eyes now focused on your sparkling ones.

“Is this okay?” He asked for consent.

“Yes.” You whispered back, wrapping your hand around his wrist.

“God you’re so beautiful.” His lips were ghosting over yours, still testing the waters.

Harrison was exhilarated at that moment, closing the small space between your lips. They were moving against yours delicately. He could taste the sweet wine from your lips mixing with the taste of your cherry chapstick and it was a combination that he will always associate with you.

Your heart fluttered, and the only thing you could think is how his lips were soft against yours.

Harrison would break the kiss, opening his eyes to ensure himself that you were real and that this wasn’t a figment of his imagination before pulling you in for another short innocent kiss.

You both stayed close to each other after the intimate moment, with Harrison’s thumb still on your cheek.

“I really like you Y/N, I want to be around you more.” He spoke in your ear, nothing but the truth.

“And I like you more, hopefully this will be something more.” You responded truthfully as well.

“Thanks for the wonderful evening love, and thank you for giving me a chance to finally find and enjoy the time with someone as pretty as you, inside and out.”

“No, thank you for everything. You were the first who showed some love and interest for who I really am, not just for some fun.” Your voice getting smaller when you said the last part.

“Love, if someone doesn’t see your true beauty behind that graceful face, he doesn’t deserve a single look from you, let alone something more.”

Oh how right you were Harrison, you don’t even know.

You were a grinning mess after his statement, the only thanks you could give him was a small peck.

-

The car stopped in front of your apartment, silence now filling the space in his car.

His hand rested on top of yours through the whole ride back to the apartment.

Harrison was beaming, glancing every now and then at you, memorising every feature of yours.

“Here we are.”

There was just a little bit of sadness that could be heard in his voice, because the night was over and he was already missing you in his embrace.

“Thank you for this beautiful night. You really made it special.” You spoke once again, caressing his hand that you refused to let go.

“Please love, I already said what I really mean. You are a wonderful person and no one could prove me wrong.”

“You Y/N made this night one of my favourites and thank you for that.” He admitted, kissing you passionately.

This one was a much longer and caring. The kiss was like a perfect match and it made you smile during it.

“Thank you.” You murmured as he pulled away.

“I’m going to call you love, I can’t wait to see you again.”

“Not if I call you first.” You answered.

“I won’t complain.”

“Have a good night beautiful.” He added, pecking your lips.

“And you as well handsome.”

It was like you forgot how to walk when you stepped out of his car. Harrison’s vehicle not leaving the driveway until he was sure you entered the house safely.

The smile on your face was genuine and the whole night was repeating in your head non-stop.

It occupied your mind so much that you didn’t even notice the light being turned on in the living room.

Until a loud groan finally caught your attention.

“Who’s there?” Your voice trembling.

“Fuck, just me.” A male voice responded, mumbling the words.

Just me?

“Are you normal? How did you even enter the apartment?” You relaxed immediately when your eyes landed on a half drunk Tom.

“Key behind the flowerpot, not a brilliant hiding place if you ask me.” He laughed while his eyes remained closed.

“Yeah..right, forgot about that. What do you want?” You spitted, clearly annoyed at the realisation that you will probably not spend the night alone.

“Gotta see my favourite girl, but looks like she was busy.” Tom slurred, resting his hands on the back of his head.

“Tom if you’re drunk you can crash on the couch.” You stated, making your way to your bedroom.

“C’mon babe, wanted to spend the night with you.” He rushed next to you, grabbing your waist.

“Thought you didn’t do that.”

“I meant as friends love, but I can always make an exception for you.” Tom whispered as the smell of the strong alcohol hit your nostrils.

“Are you going to talk to me and say why are you here or?” You tried again.

“I was with Sophie today ya know. It kinda went well I guess? Or not? Because she said I’m gonna regret that decision and that tone but hey I don’t care at least her annoying ass is out of my face.” He smiled, receiving an eye roll from you.

“I told you to talk politely, now she is going to get all crazy.”

“I was polite! But she just doesn’t understand what it means I don’t want anything with you. That’s the problem.”

“Okay, you have a point here, she can get pretty hard to handle.” You believed his words knowing she was a special case.

“Thank you. Also I came to apologize for my behaviour.” Tom added, mumbling the last words.

“Oh really? Why?” You crossed your arms, waiting for him to speak.

“Because I was tipsy, and that was a shit move, you know I didn’t mean that.”

“It was.” Your mouth set in a hard line.

“I’m sorry love okay?”

“You’re forgiven, apologize to Ann as well.” You weren’t in a mood for a fight, and he at least said sorry so all good.

“Not happy to see me love?” He turned his attention to you, squeezing your hips.

“I’m tired Tom, but I appreciate your apology and everything, feel free to take the couch.”

“Where were you that late on a weeknight anyways?” Tom asked curiously, eyeing your body and how pretty you looked tonight.

“On a date.”

Date?

Oh yes Harrison.

That dolled up for him?

Why does he even care about that, you two were nothing?

“Looks like you had fun. Tell me more.”

“You really won’t let me sleep tonight am I right?” You asked, trying your best not to smile but he was making it so hard already.

“Nah, let’s make ourselves comfortable on the couch and spend the night like that hm?” He smirked, pulling you back into the living room.

“Why can’t I say no to you? You need to stop that.”

It was so hard, switching thoughts about two boys every minute. One second it was Harrison only and then Tom just shows up out of nowhere and makes everything go wild inside of you.

You didn’t want to lose Tom nor Harrison.

However you were aware that someone in the end will get heartbroken no matter what, and that was your main concern.

-

Tag List

@averyfosterthoughts @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @timey-wimey-lovi @rachaeldonnaspiteri1 @peterparker-rickybowen-mybabies @sweetestscape @quacksonhq @stuckyyrogers @kaylinfayezink @tomhollandthing @stardustom @hannahholland1811 @yoinkyourheart @magicwithaknife @thurstyforholland @quaksonhehe @fanficscuziranout @runway-to-my-aid @definitely-not-black-cat @got-to-get-away @littlebookbengal @primadonnasdream @readheadwriter @ifntelyinspirit @juliebean247 @hes-amarillo @danicarosaline @lukesbabylon @lulueliott24 @tomshufflepuff @sandtopearl @peteysbaby @lukeys-giggle @supernaturalwriter24 @synonymforlame

[jawritter]

Curves...

Requested by: @prettysourabbie​ 

Can I request a Dean Winchester x plus size reader, where she really shy and dorky but believes that she really bad at sex because she is bigger? And dean shows her that she not 😊💕 I hope this makes sense haha! I know this sound awkward turtle 🐢

Word Count: 4036

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized!Reader

Warnings: Smut!, unprotected sex, insecure reader, self-hate, plus-sized reader, unrequited/requited love, angst, self-loathing, fluff.

A/N: As always all mistakes are mine! Please don’t copy my work! Feedback is golden! Hope you guys enjoy this one. 

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!

*****MASTERLIST*****

Sitting alone in the cold and mostly dark library of the bunker, you waited for the return of your two favorite boys. 

Sam and Dean Winchester. 

You’d been working as the researcher for the Winchesters, and well most other hunters in the area, for years.  

You were raised in the life, but you weren’t ever like your average hunter. You weren’t skinny, or athletic, with perfect aim, perfect stamina that it takes to chase down and kill all that shit that goes bump in the night. Much to your father’s dismay, you were always a little on the heavier side. 

It’s not like all you did was sit on your ass, and eat or something either, it’s just how you were built, you couldn’t control it, no matter how much you exercised, ran, ate all that healthy crap; it did no good. You always maintained the same weight. 

Which was… Well… Let’s face it… 

Not exactly the standards of The Next Top Model.

Your stomach wasn’t flat and perfect, your hips were on the wider side, your thighs thicker than your average girl. You weren’t exactly small chested. You were just naturally larger than your average person. Even though you barely tipped the scales at five feet tall.

Your dad said you’d never be good for anything if he couldn’t marry you off, because you were too heavy for “breeding,” which was common in hunting compounds like the one you grew up on, and you couldn’t hunt, then you were useless to him. 

He’d left you at a bar just outside of Seattle, Washington. That’s where you meet your rescuer, and honestly, your favorite of your two favorite boys. 

Dean.

He saw you sitting outside of the side of the bar crying because you didn’t know what you were going to do, he didn’t hesitate to take you in just like you were one of them when he’d heard your story, taking you to your new home, the bunker. 

Instead of discouraging your skills in research, he embraced it. 

Sam helped you get started in this overload of information that the men of letters had collected, your personal heaven honestly, and you’d been here ever since; doing what you could to help the boys behind a computer, a lore book, or a phone. 

You were happy here with your life, mostly anyway. It suited you, and Dean always made sure you wanted for nothing. He would always go out of his way to take care of you, no matter what you needed or wanted.

It didn’t take you long to fall for the overly gorgeous elder Winchester. 

His smile, his bright jade green eyes, that adorable shading of freckles that covered his skin, dusting even his nose, and checks; giving him almost a boyish look. His infectious laugh, his soft auburn hair, the way he cared more about others than he ever could himself.

You had learned to love everything about him, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Even though there were parts of his past that were darker than he’d ever let anyone know. Even though there were things that had happened to him, that had affected him to the uttermost part of his being. 

You loved him anyway. 

Past all flaws, and beyond all reason.

Of course, you never told Dean that. Hell no. You’d never tell Dean any of that. 

Dean liked girls that were supermodel types. 

Bleach blonde, toned bodies, too much makeup, and cheap perfume. Easy lays basically. 

You were none of that. 

You didn’t have the confidence that those girls had, so you just never even tried with Dean. The two of you had a good relationship going, and you just be happy with that, and not do anything like confess your feelings to mess it all up.

The loud opening and closing of the bunker door pulled you from your self-loathing. You hurriedly straightened your glasses, fixed your messy bun, and checked to make sure your led zeppelin t-shirt, that you had borrowed from Dean and yet to have returned, had no stains on it.

You’d been researching some stuff for Garth on a strange case he was working on, probably a Djinn from the looks of it, and hadn’t really gotten yourself together today. You were still in your favorite PJ pants and fuzzy slippers.

"Hey Y/n,” Sam greeted you as he flopped down in the chair across from you, taking his boots off. 

“Hey, where is Dean?” you asked him, listening for, but not hearing the elder Winchester anywhere.

“Dean, uh... Went out. Said he needed to blow off some steam. It was a pretty rough hunt for him... I’m sorry Y/n, I know you hate it when he  goes out and does this…” Sam said, letting his sentence trail off before finishing it.

You chew on your lower lip for a moment, nod your head, reopening your laptop, burying yourself in your work. 

You couldn’t look up at Sam, who you knew was staring at you with some pitiful look, and you didn’t want his pity. You knew your place, and Dean’s arms, even though you wanted to more than anything, would never be your place.

Sam was no idiot, he knew you had feelings for his brother. He just didn’t know what to say to make it better for you right now.

So he got to his feet, patted you on the shoulder, and then made his way to his room for the night. 

You worked through the tears streaming down your face when he was out of sight until your eyes burned too bad to keep working, and your head hurt from crying. So you made your way to your room, and crawled into the bed, the cold lonely bed, and fell into a restless sleep. Your heart beating like it was going to just give up and stop any minute. 

You laid there torturing yourself. Wondering what she looked like? Would she hold him when it was over? Would she be enough to comfort him the way he deserved? Would she play with his hair while he sleeps like you want to do? Would she realize how lucky she was to be in his arms? Cause some people, like yourself, would never get that chance.

—————————–

The next morning you made your way into the kitchen. Your head is still pounding, and your eyes are still red. 

You were wondering if Dean had made it home yet, but you didn’t have to wonder very long. 

As soon as you rounded the corner there he was, probably still in last night’s clothes, pouring a cup of coffee.

For a moment you faltered by the door, and started to just turn around, and go back to your room. 

You didn’t know if you could face him right now, you knew you looked like a whole mess. Last night was harder on you with him going out than it was ever. Maybe it was because it had been so long since you’d seen him. Maybe it was because he had texted you the day before he headed back to Kansas, and promised a movie night when he got home. He must have needed to get laid more than he needed his friend.

You turned around to head back towards your room, but Dean had heard you. His hunter reflexes are faster than your feet. 

Damn him.

“Hey, sweetheart! Want me to pour you a cup of coffee?” Dean said, looking at you over his shoulder, that smile that could stop your heart on his perfect pink lips, lips that some other woman was kissing last night. The signs of that visible with the deep purple hickey that was poking out just under the collar of his shirt.

You just nod, not trusting your voice. 

Dean poured you a cup of coffee and fixed it the way you liked. You wondered how he knew that. You didn’t remember ever telling him how you liked your coffee, he just always seemed to know. 

You made your way over to the table in the corner of the room, and Dean brought your cup of coffee and set it down in front of you.

“So, I was thinking tonight we would lock ourselves in the Dean cave, and do that Harry Potter marathon you’ve been talking about. I’ll order some pizzas and…Y/n, what’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

You cursed yourself for being so damn obvious this morning. You just shrug your shoulders, refusing to meet his gaze. 

“Did some asshole hurt you? Tell me his name! I’ll kick his ass!" 

You had to hold back a snicker at that because the mental image your mind painted of Dean kicking his own ass was quite amusing. 

"No one’s hurt me, Dean, I’m fine,” you tell him, making to get up with your coffee cup, and just head back to your room. 

“Bullshit Y/N, I’ve known you for years, we’re best friends. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

He looked at you pleadingly, and you sighed deeply before looking down at your coffee cup.

“I just let myself get all in my head last night. I’m fine now. I’m just tired. I think I’m going to go and lay down for a little bit. We’ll do whatever you said you wanted to do tonight,” you said as Sam walked past you, giving you an apologetic look. 

Sam was the kind of person who was not going to get in the middle of it, so he just continued to make his way to the refrigerator after his morning run.

“Are you sure you’re okay? ‘Cause you don’t look okay, Sweetheart. Maybe I could just come keep you company, and cuddle with you like we used to while you rest, or until you feel better.” 

Dean made his way over to you while he was taking, and wrapped his arms around you.

As soon as he did you jerked back from him. He looked down at you confused and hurt, but he smelt like her perfume and it made your stomach lurch, bile rose in your throat at the thought of how it got there.

“No offense Dean, but you need a shower,” you said coldly and turned walking back to your room, leaving a very confused and hurt looking Dean, and a somewhat amused Sam. 

Probably because he thought Dean deserved that. 

You wanted nothing more than to cuddle with Dean, but you didn’t know if it wouldn’t totally rip your heart out, especially with him smelling so much like her. 

—————————————–

After about two hours of you crying yourself to the point, you weren’t able to cry anymore in the darkness of your room, hating your weight, hating that you weren’t good enough, hating the fact that you had to wear glasses all the time, hating the fact that you were a nerd, and always were a nerd. Your stomach grumbled, reminding you that you had skipped breakfast this morning, but you didn’t want to run into the boys again, so you had just resolved to lay there when you hear your door open, and close softly.

You could smell Dean’s body wash as he made his way quietly as possible over to the side of your bed. Your back was to him, and the door, cover pulled high up to your chin, your hair pretty much blocking your face from his view.

“Y/N, are you asleep?” Dean whispered. 

You didn’t move, you didn’t say anything, you didn’t really have time to before Dean pulled the cover back, and you felt the bed dip under his weight. Your heart rate jumped up through the roof as his scent surrounded you, and he pulled the covers back over himself and you.

“I showered…I… I don't smell like her anymore… I made Sam check to make sure,” he said, moving his way over closer to you in a spooning position, wrapping his arm around you gently, and pulling himself closer to you.

Your heart was beating so hard now you were sure he could feel it through your ribs, even with all your “extra padding” as you called it. 

“Sweetheart, why didn’t you say something to me before? I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t know. I would have much rather come home to you than run to some whore that literally meant nothing to me." 

You made a mental note to kill Sam.

"Sam told you didn’t he,” you almost whispered, your stomach was in a knot at this point. What the fuck was he trying to tell you? You couldn’t do for him what he needed.

“Yeah, but in his defense, you left me standing there torn between hunting down whatever random dude that had hurt you that you weren’t telling me about, and trying to scrap my pride up off the floor,” Dean said. 

It took all you had not to flinch at that. You shouldn't have snapped at Dean, but you couldn’t stand the smell of her either. 

“I’m sorry Dean, I shouldn’t have taken my feelings out on you. You have every right to have sex with whoever you want. She could probably do more for you than I ever could. I know you are not attracted to me. I’m not blind. You don’t have to come in here, and say all those things just to make me feel better,” you said, refusing to turn around and look at him. 

You felt Dean sit up, and for a moment you thought he was going to get up and leave, shattering your heart even further. 

Instead of getting up and leaving, Dean rolled you over to your back with more ease than you thought would have been possible, and straddle your hips with his thighs. Bracing his weight off of you with his hands on either side of your head. You stared into his piercing eyes for a moment in shock. He looked cross between hurt and angry.

“Let me tell you a little something about that whore that you said could do so much better than you for me. Yeah, I fucked her, I’m not even gonna try and deny it, but after she was done I got up and got dressed to go jerked myself off in the car because some whore isn’t gonna get all of me Sweetheart believe that. I’d give my damn right arm to have you, what the fuck do you mean I’m not attracted to you? Every time we’re watching TV together I’m fighting to hide my boner because I didn’t want to freak you out. I wouldn’t be in here with you right now if I didn’t want to be. Why the hell do you think so low of yourself?” 

Dean was still hovering over you, so many emotions on his face that it was impossible to read them all.

“Dean, I’m fat. I’m no good at sex. I couldn’t get you off if I tried to. You still would have ended up having to go and finish yourself off. Very few men want to touch this, very few ever have.” 

You tried to avoid his gaze out of your own shame. Hating yourself at that moment more than ever.

“What? Fat? Baby girl, you are NOT fat. You're gorgeous,” Dean said as he reached and grabbed your wrist, bringing your hand down to his crotch, and resting it over the impressive bulge that had formed his sweats. 

You did vaguely register that he’d skipped the underwear. 

He felt huge, and you couldn’t stop your eyes widening. 

You always figured that Dean was packing, but damn.

“Does that feel like someone who isn’t attracted to you? Baby, I can’t tell you the nights I’ve thought about you just to get off. About kissing every curve, every inch of skin,” his hands let go of your wrist as he trailed them down your sides, and over your up to your breast, causing your breath to hitch in your throat at his light touch.

“Dean,” you said cautiously, his hand slipping under your shirt, fingers trailing lightly over your stomach, the part of your body that you hated the most. 

“Let me show you just how beautiful you are, Sweetheart,” he said, his voice husky and deep. His tongue running slowly over his lower lip as his eyes roamed your body. “Let me show you just how much I’ve always wanted you since the night I met you.”

You laid there underneath him completely dumbfounded for a moment. Finally, all you could do was shake your head yes. 

If you were dumb enough to turn him down now, you would lose him, and your heart couldn’t handle it, it would crush you. So here you were, going to take a chance, and do what you so desperately wanted to do for so long. 

Let Dean love you. 

Dean didn’t hesitate, reaching down grabbing your shirt and pulling it off and over your head, throwing it to the floor. His eyes rack over your body, looking down at your bare chest, you immediately try to cover up, regretting not putting a bra on this morning.

“No, no, pretty girl, don’t hide from me,” Dean said, bending down, and capturing your lips in his with a sweet kiss, slowly kissing away some of the worries, and insecurity. 

Moving his hands down your body he pulled the waistband of your PJs and underwear down your body in one pull, leaving you completely exposed before him. Keeping your mouth busy as his tongue invaded your mouth, kissing you drunk, exploring every inch of your mouth like he’d never get to do it again. 

When he finally had to pull up for air you noticed that his sweats were gone. His thick length standing proudly against his shirt, and slapping his stomach as he pulled his shirt off, tossing it to the floor.

You didn’t have time to get nervous before his mouth was on you again, kissing you deeply, needier than the first time. 

Making his way from your mouth to your throat he sucked his mark onto your neck, one that you’d wear proudly, one you’ve wanted for so long. 

He continued kissing his way down your body, licking at each nipple before sucking them into his mouth, sending a sensation you’d never felt before jolting through your body. Your back arching to meet his hard chest. Little moans fell from your lips as his mouth continued the assault on your hard nipples. 

Satisfied with his work, he began to move down your stomach. Kissing and nipping at the skin there, worshiping your body like no one ever had, kissing your hips, your tights. 

That’s when it hit you where he was.

“Dean, don’t!” you said, right before his mouth made contact with your already dripping core. 

Dean stopped immediately, moving back up your body, placing his lips on yours in a sweet kiss, slower this time than before. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just not there yet. Not tonight,” you said as he pulled away to look at you, your embarrassment filling your checks.

“That’s okay Baby, we’ve got all the time in the world. If you want to stop we can stop,” he said, brushing your hair away from your face.

“I don’t want to stop, I’m just not ready for that specifically. It’s gonna take time,” you said, he nodded his head, kissing your neck and running his tongue along the shall of your ear. 

“That’s okay baby girl, I’m not going to stop loving you, and eventually, I’m going to make you forget all that insecurity you’ve got built up inside. Even if it takes years. I’m a patient man,” Dean said, slipping his fingers down your body, and finding your swollen clit with his thumb as he pushed two tick digits deep side of you, working you slowly, your hips rolling against his hand on their own as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting that stop no one has been able to reach before. 

He didn’t stop playing your body like a well-tuned instrument until you were coming undone around him, and your walls squeezing his fingers as your orgasm ripped through your body, leaving you a panting shaking mess underneath him as he worked you through your high.

Peppering your face with little kisses he let you come down completely before lining himself up with you, sinking deep inside of you in one smooth thrust. Stretching you, filling you in every way. His thick tip is sitting against your cervix. You could almost feel him pulsing inside of you.

“Fuck, your so tight baby girl,” he husks in your ear, kissing your lips in a tender kiss before grabbing your hips, and rolling you over on top of him like you weighed nothing at all. A surprised squeak leaving your lips.

“Dean, no I’m going to hurt you,” you said, feeling silly, and embarrassed as you sat astraddle of his hips, his cock buried deep inside of you.

“You’re not going to hurt me, Baby. I want you to know just how capable you are of taking care of me, please,” he said, reaching up and kissing the skin of your stomach before grabbing your hips, and rocking your hips with his strong hands. 

All thought processes flew right out the window at that point. 

His tip moves over your most sensitive spots in the most amazing, almost overwhelming to the point of painful, but still pleasurable way, your clit dragging over his hilt with each drag of your hips. Soon you were rocking back and forth against him on our own without any assistance whatsoever. Your bodies molded together like they were meant to be.

Dean’s head was thrown back against the pillow, the veins in his neck visible, and his jaw tightly locked. 

He was beautiful. 

Completely lost in what your body was doing for him.

 Something you never knew was possible, never thought you would ever see, or experience first hand. Just something they wrote about in cheesy romance novels, and fanfiction.

Before long you right at the edge your body shaking on top of him. The sounds and noises that were falling from both of your lips were enough to make a porn star blush. Dean's grip on your hips was now strong enough that you were sure it would leave bruises. You didn’t care though. You let him hold onto you as he fucked himself up into you as you rode him, closer and closer to both of your ends. 

Dean cursed he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down close to him as he slammed himself up into you and stilled. Spilling himself deep inside of you. His seed coating your walls in warm streams, throwing you into your own end. Waves of pleasure rolling over you both as he slowly thrust into you, dragging out both of your highs.

When both of you had control of your bodies again, Dean rolled you both over to your side, his arms never leaving you. He peppered your face and neck with little opened mouth kisses as he slowly pulled out of your body, and you couldn’t help but whine a little at the loss of contact.

Dean’s lips found yours in a sweet, but searing kiss as his hands started to trace the curves of your body, while still holding onto you tightly. Not breaking the kiss until the need for oxygen became to grate.

“I love you y/n, I have since the moment I met, and I know I’m not much, and I don’t have anything to offer you, the life we live… It’s just not your white picket fence life, but all I have is yours if you will have me. You know how hard it is for me to admit my feelings, but sweetheart, I’ve never been more sure of anything in all of my life.”

A single tear that made its way down your cheek. One that Dean caught, and wiped away with the gentle movement of his thumb over your cheek. 

“I love you too, I’m yours, I always have been, always will be.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tag List: 

@deanwanddamons​​ @imabitch4jensen​​ @rvgrsbrns​​ @bi-danvers0​​ @onethirstyunicorn​​ @i-love-superhero​​ @akshi8278​ @alanegaming​

[ziggyzagreus]

The Craftsman’s Son

[Note: Sorry for the slow update schedule on this baby, school is super tough!!]

[AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28960650/chapters/71960325]

[Summary: For the first time, Icarus attempts to stop Zagreus.]

~~~

Chapter 3. 

“My Prince, forgive my brash council but I must ask you to turn back.”

Icarus spoke sternly, a newfound strength to the ordinarily wispy nature of his voice. The hammer of Daedalus remained securely on his belt, unmoved and stowed away before Zagreus had taken a mere step into the room. The Prince was battered, bruised, bloody, and Varatha was dulled from what it had been through already. Once again, he arrived in the last chamber before the Lernaean Hydra, but it had been his worst attempt in a long while. Some time had passed since Zagreus last equipped the Eternal Spear, but it had been requested. And he had given his word, after all.

Despite all that, this obstacle was unexpected. Exhausted, Zagreus coughed and doubled over, catching his haggard breath before straightening to face the command. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Icarus, mate.”

“You will not make it past the next chamber anyways. Turning back could spare you a painful death.” Icarus’ posture shifted with the conviction of his words, wood and wax and leather creaking as a testament to his ethos. Zagreus’ eyes lingered on the sear of the clasps into his skin and felt sorry.

But this… this had to be some sort of test, right? There was no way that he was going to turn back, let alone at the word of someone as soft-spoken as Icarus. Yes, the shade surely had experience with being too confident; but surely in turn, he understood why Zagreus was so desperate to escape, why he needed to escape. And atop that, Zagreus had nothing but time to lose – no death, painful as it may be, was permanent to the Prince. So, surely this had to be a test. Or a joke.

Zagreus leaned on Varatha and straightened even more, taking a breath to appear stronger than he felt. “Death is of no consequence to me, I thought we’d been over that by now. I’m lucky enough to have more than one shot.”

“But there is a cost, though.” Icarus stepped closer still, the longer wing tip that remained dragging on the ground with a gritty scrape. “You’re tired. You do not know when your will to press on will break. I would not risk the discouragement.”

“Well, I’m not you.” Frustration and impatience took hold, mixed with the pulsing aggression of Ares underneath his skin. Zagreus did not mean to snap, and blinked in vague shock at the way his tone echoed around the chamber. But, at the same time… The way Icarus’ expression twitched in that same surprise struck inspiration deep in his core. Something beat.

Zagreus was going on ahead. He would slay the Hydra and forge his path through Elysium. He would conquer the Champions, move on to navigate the Satyr Tunnels, and at last – at last, he would defeat even his father. He would reach his mother.

And the last person that could possibly stop him was this quiet, timid, lurking shade – this shade whose own mistakes led to his own demise. No, Zagreus had planned his escape. He knew very well the bounds of his ability, his body and most certainly his determination; there was no question to the means he was willing to employ for merely the chance of getting out. This would not deter him in the slightest.

Icarus, jaded though his expression was, still stood at the center of the chamber. He had different ideas, an attempt to remain strong despite the shock of the Prince’s attitude. “My father warned me against complacency and hubris. But they are one in the same. Fly too low, and you get the ocean. Fly too high and you get the sun. But I- ” He cut off there, voice quivering, and swallowed before continuing, one scarred hand pointing at the Prince’s bloodied chest. “I flew too high, got the sun and then fell down to the sea. Arrogance will be your downfall, good Prince, all I’m asking is that you rest and try again.”

“Well, it’s not arrogance if I have a real reason to keep going. I’m not just flying at the sun to show off.”

Zagreus regretted it the moment the words passed his lips. Icarus recoiled, the snapping of wood and feathers following his sharp retreat a few steps from the Prince. For a moment, Zagreus feared he would stumble, but hesitated to reach out at the flare of upset anger that shown in the young man’s eyes. Icarus’ mouth hung open, a protest ready behind a gasp of needless air. Zagreus opened his mouth the same with an apology prepared.

Then Icarus gathered himself and looked down, gritting his teeth against anything and everything he wished to say. Excuses and explanations, opposition and arguments swam in those dark eyes, glistening with frustrated tears that rose to the surface. He was trying, for himself and for Zagreus… Trying fruitlessly to redeem something, find a peace from that lasting shame. From his humiliating, tragic end.

It was something neither right nor fair to bring up as an insult. It was hardly a topic to be discussed at all. Zagreus’ heart twisted in guilt.

“Icarus, mate, I’m-”

“Just – let me fix that up.” He held his winged, damned arm out for Varatha, eyes still downcast. The other hand freed the craftsman’s hammer from its place on his belt. “Magnificent spear, shame you let it get beat up like that.”

Zagreus hesitated at the sudden change of topic. He wanted to apologize, to discuss what just occurred between them and make it right. But one look at Icarus deemed the conversation over.

Reluctantly, Zagreus handed over his weapon, feeling suddenly small and tired without it by his side. A heavy weight settled on his shoulders, and he so very much wished then for something to lean on. His feet continued to sizzle against the scuffed rock despite any draw by the throes of exhaustion. Instead, the Prince listened to the soothing, sure sounds of the hammer clanging by the blessed metal of Varatha, strengthening it to cater the journey ahead.

Moments passed, what could have been seconds or hours, before Icarus was handing the spear back assuredly. His eyes met Zagreus’, though the expression there was guarded and unreadable.

“Good luck,” the shade spoke in a whisper.

“I’m… sorry, Icarus. That was inconsiderate, terrible, of me. I cannot thank you enough for all your help…”

“Do not apologize for speaking the truth. Just – do not prove me right. Do not give me that guilt. Get out of here, Prince.”

Zagreus sucked in a breath to argue again, but that blank look drained it right from him like a puncture. The Prince nodded with a hiss of his burning laurels and took the spear, hefting its now light weight. He moved past the shade silently, before calling over his shoulder, “I’m sorry. Please, take care, Icarus.”

And oh, Icarus wished he could. He watched the Prince board the raft to carry him to the following chamber, and Icarus wished he could do as Zagreus said. Ease his worry, make him proud, even. Zagreus, his father… anyone for whom Icarus had come to care for. The young shade felt deeply as if he did not know the consequences of his own actions, nor those that someone like Zagreus’ could bring. Misguided by tales of grandeur, promises from fellow shades down here and false testaments to the gods’ imperviousness, Icarus pondered his perception of the good Prince.

It was hard to look at him. To see his success, his strength, his kindness, and not be inspired. How could one gaze upon that Prince and not imagine that all is possible? But that awe was what made Icarus worry. It was a charisma and persona potentially far too grandiose to maintain.

The young shade longed for Eurydice, for her motherly company and kind words. He felt a tremble begin in his fingertips. He looked around his chamber, Asphodel bubbling hot and bright and fierce.

Like that orb in the sky, like the sun – so bright and tempting and challenging. But this place, Asphodel was contained by those dark walls. Dark and choking and claustrophobic like the crashing, drowning, sucking waves of a dark sea. Icarus shook more, feathers rustling and wood creaking as he crouched to his knees. Those tears that bordered his eyes from the harsh words of the soft-spoken Prince finally spilled over, and Icarus felt so small. Small, timid, ashamed, ashamed, ashamed.

Who was he, to stop the Prince? Who was he, to offer advice on what he thought in hindsight to be right, when even that lesson learned had not been enough to reunite him with his father? What right did Icarus have to make any statement that counted? He wept on the floor, afraid and ashamed, and wished Zagreus would return and be safe. Icarus longed to find Eurydice and her little home, to feel safe. He longed, ached for his father to come reclaim his hammer, so that Icarus may take a groveling moment to weep his sorries and feel safe.

[greensword101]

My secret santa was @freedom-barricades-bighero16! I am so sorry for the late gift, I tried to finish yesterday, but I had a sudden case of vertigo. But I am pleased with the final product and I hope you are as well. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

“No…” Hiro murmured again, balled up the paper and tossed it over his shoulder. He barely heard the thud of paper hitting paper; no doubt wondering that the wastebasket would need to be emptied again. He combed a hand through his tousled, jet-black hair and slipped another sheet of paper in front of him. The pencil scratched for a few minutes as he worked out what he wanted to draw before discouragement overcame him again and he crumbled the paper and threw it away without a second glance. He dared a glance at the clock and wanted to bang his head against the desk ad nauseum.

Wow. Washed up at fourteen. So sad. He almost heard the rustle of paper from behind before he remembered and scrunched up his eyes to keep the tears from forming. Tadashi wasn’t here to help him now, and he never would ever again. But it helped at times to think of what he would say were they living in a better world. It was effective when thinking of an idea, but every time he tried to imagine Tadashi’s voice now, it would not come to him. He tried to think of what he would say now, what sort of wisdom he would try to impart on Hiro, but he wasn’t sure if Tadashi had ever given him advice on a girl before.

Aunt Cass would be after his hide again if he didn’t put himself into bed, Hiro knew. Bitterness filled his mouth, and it was all he could do to not throw something. Instead, he pushed himself away from his desk and collapsed onto his bed in a dead heap, not bothering to change into pajamas. He just laid there, prone and tired. Seven days until Christmas, he told himself, another year without you, Big Brother.

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he knew that he hadn’t been underneath his blankets earlier. Now, Mochi was resting, curled up on Hiro’s stomach and a glance at his alarm told him it was just before eight o’clock in the morning. He managed to trudge his way downstairs for breakfast, still groggy with sleep as the hustle and clamor of the café washed over him. Aunt Cass had a plate of eggs and bacon set up for him at a single table with a tall glass of orange juice, which he began to wolf down fervently.

“How’s your little project going?” Aunt Cass asked. His mouth full of food, Hiro took a large swig of juice before he could respond.

“It’s…it’s going bad,” he said bluntly, “I got nothing that might work, and Christmas is in a few days.”

“You could always buy your Secret Santa a gift,” Aunt Cass suggested.

That would work…but I don’t it would be good enough. If it was anyone else he had to get a present for, Hiro would have leapt at the chance to go shopping. But he knew that it had to special, it had to be meaningful since it was coming from him. Tadashi still managed to get him one last Christmas gift even after passing on and it was a meaningful gift that he hoped to cherish for years. For Karmi, it had to be meaningful too.

But what could he get for her that wouldn’t come off as saying Hey, here’s a nice present for you? What’s that? Why does it have your initials engraved into it? It’s because I wanted to show off how much I like you now. Would she like jewelry? He never saw her wearing anything flashy, even during parties. Would she be alright with a stuffed toy? Hiro wasn’t certain if Karmi kept anything plushy around at her age. And what if she didn’t like the gift? Would that mean she would make fun of his efforts?

Suddenly, his appetite left him all at once. He pushed his plate away and looked down into his lap. What was he supposed to come up with in a few days as a gift?  Bells jingled as the entrance was opened and a jangle of voices came in with it. He could pick out a few of them, but the noise swallowed up the words too fast for him to follow. Thankfully, Fred was never capable of keeping his voice ‘room appropriate’ and that was the one Hiro was able to focus on.

“Come on, Wasabi! You gotta admit this was my best idea ever!”

“Fred,” Wasabi drawled, “All you did was tape mistletoe to a hat and wear it all day.”

“That didn’t stop you from kissing me!”

Wasabi chuckled deeply, “I guess it didn’t. Hey, little man. Feeling the reason for the season, yet?”

Hiro turned around and had to hold back a snort of laughter. Fred had decided that a fishing hat was most appropriate for his idea. The mistletoe dangled dangerously close to the edge and had a little strip of scotch tape keeping it there. Wasabi decided to wear a dark green, short-sleeved shirt with a Christmas tree embroidered into it instead of his usual sweater.

“Not really,” he admitted and noticed the two of them flushed, “Are you two feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Wasabi’s voice went up a pitch as he replied, “We’re…we’re good. Really good –”

“Wasabi finally kissed me!” Fred shoved his face close to Hiro’s. He pointed to his hat, “I wish I knew sooner! I’m gonna wear this every year, now!”

“Huh?” It took a moment for Hiro to register what Fred had said, “Oh! Congrats, guys. Maybe you can double date with Honey Lemon and Go Go…”

“Or, we could triple date!” Fred smiled broadly. Hiro looked at him oddly and Fred rolled his eyes, “You know…us, them, you and…”

“It’s not a thing, alright?” Hiro grimaced, “It is certainly not a thing and I don’t think it will be a thing, ever. Forget I asked.” He made to stand up, thinking that Fred would take the hint and drop the matter.

“You’re her Secret Santa, aren’t you?” Hiro stared at him incredulously and Fred just smiled, “Just because I love comic books doesn’t mean I can’t notice these things, little dude.”

Hiro looked around quickly in case he caught sight of someone who shouldn’t have been listening. He looked at Fred, feeling exhausted just looking at his friend now, “You got me. Luckiest guy on Earth. Just a few days till Christmas and I got nothing to show for it.”

Wasabi looked sympathetically at him, “Is there anything we could do to help, Hiro?”

“Not unless you could pull a time machine out of Fred’s hat so I could get back to the start of the month and have more time to get something made for her.”

“I’m serious,” Wasabi grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it over to Hiro’s table. Hiro reluctantly took his place back at his own seat while Fred leaned over Wasabi’s shoulders like a monkey. “So, you still don’t have a gift yet. You can go simple.”

“Simple? For Karmi?” Hiro was incredulous, “Like, what? Show up at her house dressed as…” He did a quick scan around the café before leaning in and whispering, “You know…”

Both men looked at each other and grinned. Hiro gulped nervously; he was used to seeing Fred smile with impish delight, he just didn’t have any idea how scary Wasabi looked with the same kind of intent on his face. Before he could begin to protest, Fred took hold of his arms while Wasabi seized his legs and hoisted the boy into the air. He tried to kick and squirm in their grip, but it was iron clad. They carried him upstairs and into the first floor.

“What are you doing?!” Hiro felt Fred release his grip on his arms and found himself dangling upside down.

“We’re doing this in Tadashi’s stead,” Wasabi was supposed to be the one convincing Fred not to pull crazy stunts, not encouraging them! That was their dynamic. “Just do your thing, little man, and look for a new angle.”

Hiro stopped struggling and allowed himself to dangle, hoping that an idea would come before all the blood went to his head. He trusted that Wasabi wouldn’t let him fall to the hard floor, and he had to trust that he and Fred were on the right track. Baymax couldn’t do something like this for him; lifting a ton in weight didn’t mean that his body was able to do “looking for a new angle” safely without letting Hiro get hurt. It would have gone against his protocol altogether to let someone in his care get hurt.

Protocol…help…Hiro’s eyes lit up with inspiration and he let out a loud whoop of delight that almost had Wasabi dropping Hiro.

“I got it!” He cheered as Wasabi righted him and barreled into the larger man’s chest, hugging him as tightly as he could, “Thanks, Wasabi! I needed that!”

“Hey, what about me!” Fred pouted. Hiro turned to him and threw his arms around Fred’s neck, threatening to choke him. He made a dash for upstairs, “Gotta go, guys! Feel free to bum around!”

The moment he got into his bedroom, Hiro swept away the mess off his desk with one arm and laid down a large sheet of paper, taking careful measurements for the designs and hoping that Karmi would like it…

(0-0)

Karmi felt the beginnings of an agonizing headache coming upon her. It always happened when she was stressed or failed to get enough sleep. This was one of those times and no drink or medicine would prevent it from overcoming her at any rate. The best remedy was to usually fall asleep, but Christmas was almost here, and her gift still wasn’t ready yet! In any case, sleep was for the weak and weary. Karmi wasn’t weak or weary and she had faced more dangers than any sixteen-year-old ought to. It had taken much pleading with her parents and the crime rate in San Fransokyo to go down before they decided to move back. Now that she was home, she wasn’t going to waste a gift like that.

She looked down at her work and frowned. Half-finished patterns, torn pieces of fabric, and loose string caked her worktable. It was always in such an orderly state that Karmi wanted to tear her hair out in frustration. Part of her missed the days where she would recline on the couch and watch Christmas specials as a kid, free of worry or care for serious work while she cherished the sparce days away from school. School was never a happy place for her, truthfully. And it had taken three years of pleading with her parents before they conceded and hired tutors to come to the house. But all she did was exchange bullies for loneliness and Karmi had taken to writing and sewing to dull the ache.

It hadn’t come easy at first; her fingers bled from needlepoints and her hands struggled to create what she would imagine in her mind. The struggle still persisted to this day, but Karmi had learned simple tricks and techniques that made her projects easier. She just prayed that it would help her now as she struggled a few days before her gift needed to be made. Why couldn’t she find an idea that would stick?

Karmi wasn’t always nice to Hiro when they met. In fact, she had been overtly hostile, reeling back from the new threat that had made itself known in SFIT. He was the parasite to her ambitions as he took the honor of youngest student to ever enroll away from her. But, like swimming for a long period in cold water, she had grown used to the boy. In fact, she began to see him as a friend before the crisis with Sycorax forced her to move away. Returning briefly for the summer made her realize how much she missed Hiro. It had been like an early Christmas present when her parents told her that they’d be moving back to the city.

Part of her wished she got a chance to know Hiro more personally. She couldn’t think of anything she knew of the boy regarding personal interests. All she knew was that he was intelligent, cheeky, headstrong, stubborn, liked hanging out with talking robots and that he was the younger brother to the Legend of SFIT. How was she supposed to make a gift based on that alone?

Her head felt like someone had crammed a large bell inside of her head now and was ringing it endlessly. She tried pinching the edge of her palm to delay it, but all she rewarded herself with was more pain. Some part of her wanted to go to find Hiro and ask to see Baymax for help. There must be some protocol in his databanks that could help her deal with her headache…

Her eyes widened with realization and the dull agony in her head was briefly forgotten. A smile crept up on her face as she cleared off her table of waste and debris before laying down a fresh sheet of paper. The measurements had to be precise, she knew it. She wasn’t used to making anything from scratch before, there was usually a reference for her to go by. That thought brought cold prickles to her toes, but she brushed it aside.

As the process continued, her movements became less halted and smoother, like grooving into a fresh block of wood. Her hesitations had lessened, and new thoughts came to mind as she created the patterns for the plushie. And she knew that when Hiro caught sight of her gift to him, it would be a Merry Christmas indeed.

(0-0)

The music was pleasantly mellow and quiet a few days later in the large Exposition Hall of SFIT. Hiro had a fierce battle with his hair earlier that evening, fighting to untangle the gnarls and knots that had been developing overtime unattended. It had taken over an hour before it was decidedly flat and malleable for a comb to attend to. He decided to dress in a red dress shirt with a dark green tie and a pair of black slacks. Fred had suggested he wear a mistletoe on his head, but Hiro had dismissed the idea. He wasn’t going to willingly invite the mockery and teasing of others.

Fred and Wasabi were already there, arms linked together and laughing at something Honey Lemon was saying. She was with Go Go, who had decided to wear a formal suit like Hiro’s, but with a green shirt instead of a red one. Honey Lemon was dressed in a lemon-yellow dress that ended just below her knees. Fred and Wasabi were dressed as alike as a cat was a dog; Wasabi had a black bowtie while Fred had a white tie. Wasabi had a white dress shir Fred wore a black sweater.

Somehow, a pang of jealousy hit Hiro and he tried not to show it. He looked at Baymax warningly in case the robot decided to announce his emotional readings to the rest of world.

“Hiro!” Honey was the first to see him and glomped him, planting a peck on each cheek as they embraced. Once, that would have had his cheeks flaming, but now he just smiled and chuckled. Honey Lemon saw the roll of paper he held under one arm, “Is that your Secret Santa gift, Hiro?”

“Maybe,” Hiro chuckled nervously and tried finding Karmi’s face in the crowd, “I actually need to go find them right now. Catch you later!” And with that, he ran off into the crowd, muttering apologies and pardons to each person he accidentally rammed himself into.

Karmi slowly entered the hall just a moment later, holding a sloppily wrapped bundle in her arms. She was dressed in silvery and gold with long sleeves that ended just below her knees with a blue scarf draped around her shoulder. She had been hoping to see Hiro at the entrance when she came in, but only found his group of friends instead. She looked to Honey Lemon, the one she was most familiar with, “Hey, have you seen Hiro? …not that I’m interested in seeing him or anything, just wanted to know where he was so I could um…not be near him…?” Her smile in the end would have frightened children if they dared to look at her.

Go Go half smiled, “Try the crowd he just bodysurfed into. You might catch him there.”

Karmi looked at the audience of people with trepidation before her eyes hardened with resolve, “Wish me luck, everyone. I’m going fishing!”

“When you come back with Hiro, be sure to bring some sushi!” Fred called out to her as she entered the mob, cradling her present protectively. Wasabi looked at him funnily and Fred shrugged, “What? I’m hungry!”

“How about my lips? You hungry for them?” Wasabi pressed his lips lightly against Fred’s.

Fred’s face burned as he took a hold of the front of Wasabi’s shirt and began to drag his boyfriend away, “Um…excuse me, we need some privacy.” Wasabi’s eyes widened with surprise for a moment before he shrugged and let Fred carry him away without protest.

“Pardon me. Excuse me. Coming through. Really sorry! Nice dress. Love your shoes, wear them more often!” Hiro danced through the crowd, hopping on one foot to the next as he tried to catch a glimpse of Karmi. Hindsight told him that he should have just waited by the entrance or had Baymax scan the room for any sign of her. Stubbornness told him that determination rewarded the daring. His stomach told him that the food at the snack table must be worth skipping out earlier at home.

Meanwhile, Karmi was on the verge of screaming that she had a dangerous bacterium in her hands at the top of her lungs. If it didn’t get her thrown out of the party, quarantined or crushed under a frenzied mob, then it would allow some breathing room for her to move around with ease. She clutched her present tightly, horrified of dropping it to the floor and having some careless foot smash it underneath. After all of those hours of sewing, stitching, and nursing pricks on her finger, Karmi was not going to let it be demolished so easily. Someone bumped into her from behind and Karmi tightened her grip on her gift as she hit the floor.

Someone else tumbled to the floor next to her with a grunt and the crinkling of paper. Karmi got to her feet, reaching down to help the stranger to their feet when she saw that it was Hiro.

“Hiro?”

“Karmi!”

Hiro looked at her outstretched hand for a moment and hastily pulled himself to his feet. They sheepishly tried to avoid looking directly at one another. A moment of courage came to them at the same time and they both noticed how red their faces were. Hiro tried telling himself that it was pretty warm inside. Karmi dismissed what she saw as a trick of the light.

“Nice dress,” Hiro muttered weakly.

“Good color coordination,” Karmi mumbled in reply.

They stared at each other for a few more moments, trying to find the right words to say. They both tried desperately not to let the other see what they were holding in their hands.

“It’s kind of cramped,” Hiro observed, “Snack bar should have some more room.”

“Yeah!” Karmi eagerly leapt at the invitation, “Snacks! I’m hungry!”

They managed their way to the snack bar without difficulty before they both realized that their hands were linked together. Neither of them pushed away from the touch.

Give her the gift, Hiro thought to himself as he eagerly snacked on a plate of pigs in a blanket. This is the best chance you have, just give it to her already.

Shove it into his face and have him open it already! Karmi slowly nibbled on some cheese and crackers, barely tasting them at all. Just do it now.

“Hiro…”

“Karmi…”

They both looked at each other.

“You first,” Hiro smiled nervously.

Karmi flushed and fiddled with the gift in her hands, “I…some party, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t gone to a lot, to be honest,” Hiro rubbed the back of his neck, “Last time I went, the dance got cut off because of High Voltage. I thought Megan was going to get hurt…”

“Megan?” Karmi tried to keep the terror out of her voice.

Hiro looked at her with wide eyes and hastily added, “She’s just a friend! A friend with a really crazy cop for a dad…who wanted to hook up with Aunt Cass.”

Karmi winced, “Are they still seeing each other?”

Hiro’s smile grew mischievous, “They haven’t been on a date since Aunt Cass learned he was being a…”

“Jerk?” Karmi suggested.

“Yeah. A jerk.”

Karmi looked at her present and grew determined, “Hiro, I wanted to…”

“Karmi, I…”

“Merry Christmas,” they both said at once, shoving their gifts forward, eyes wide shut and braced for impact. When they both braved a look, however, they each stared in silence at what was being offered to one another.

“You first,” Hiro held out his gift to her, looking more fourteen than Karmi had ever seen him. She took the roll of paper from him and hastily gave him her poorly wrapped gift in exchange. She undid the wrapping and unrolled it. When she looked inside, Karmi saw a small Chibi design of herself looking back at her on blueprint. Measurements were inscribed as well as features that would be included in it. Her own personal aid in the lab, meant to be programmed with features to help keep her projects safe and monitored.

“It’s not finished yet,” Hiro murmured apologetically, “This is the final draft I made and it’s going to take a few weeks, and I figured…” He chuckled weakly before continuing, “Who else could you trust with your lab than yourself?”

You. She wanted to say it. I would trust you, Hiro.

“I love it already,” Karmi said instead, “Thank you…you should open your gift too. I didn’t think I could make a robot like you, but…this was the next best thing.”

Hiro ripped the present open and felt his mouth widen. He knew it was made with minky. He couldn’t help but think of Mochi as he caressed the fabric in his hands and sorely wanted to press it against his face. Two black button eyes stared back at him and Hiro was certain that it would sound just like Baymax if it could talk.

“Karmi…” He began, but words failed him.

“I like to sew in my freetime too,” Karmi blushed, “I didn’t know if this was your thing or not, but I know how much you love Baymax. Its like having a piece of your brother with you. You could have that in your room and it’d be like…having a piece of me with…”

The rest of her words were cut off as Hiro slammed into her and wound his arms tightly around her chest.

“Thank you, Karmi,” he whispered in his ear, “I love it.”

Karmi reached around with her arms and hugged him back fiercely. They stayed like this for a few minutes before pulling apart. Hiro reached out and grabbed her hand into his own and guided her through the crowd again without another word.

When they reached the entrance again, they saw Honey Lemon and Go Go waiting for them with knowing smiles on their faces. Wasabi was walking back to them, straightening out his mussed shirt and tie, hastily covering his neck with one large hand when he caught sight of the others. Fred came following afterwards with a blissful look on his face that came right off when he noticed Karmi and Hiro and said, “Hey! Where’s my sushi?!”