#anyway lads if you need me i’ll be going back to my knitting

[fingertipsmp3]

Love that facebook reminded me that 4 years ago today I bobbed my hair and immediately regretted it

[comfortwriting]

I Hate You - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Requested/About: Enemies to lovers smut! Fred is constantly getting his classmate into trouble, and Y/N is finding herself spending more of her evenings in detention with him - her hate for him growing. One evening, something out of the ordinary happens between them. 

Warnings: 18+ swearing, mention of blood, smut, fingering, handjob, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex.

"Stop shaking the desk!" you hissed at your transfiguration partner.

Fred smirked and squinted at you "no" he replied, his ego popping out in his voice "if you've got a problem go and sit somewhere else"

You watched Fred waving his wand at the mouse that cowered in front of him, letting out little squeaks each time Fred failed to transform it into a large cotton bud.

How this feud started between the two of you - you couldn't remember - you were past caring. All you know is that Fred hates you, and you hate him, his face pisses you off and your face - your body frustrates him.

He thought about you constantly, almost as if you were invading his mind on purpose just to taunt him - you appeared in his dreams and he couldn't stop it, he couldn't figure out why this was happening - why he would dream of you feeling nothing but hatred, only to wake up with his ejaculate spilling on his bedsheets.

"Don't ask me for any help during potions class, then." You replied, taking out your wand, the mouse suddenly going stiff, then turning round fluffy, losing its legs, ears, facial features, and tail.

Fred scowled at you, poking the cotton bud with the tip of his wand "I wasn't going to" he slouched back in his chair, pulling apart what once was the mouse, grumbling under his breath. "This is kids stuff" he huffed "It's only why you're good at it."

You rolled your eyes and snatched the cotton bud out of his hands, 'Reparo!' putting it back together and transforming the bud back into the innocent, shy, creature that curled up into and started to tremble in your hands.

"Miss Y/L/N, I think your partner can do his own work" Miss McGonagall spoke out, staring down at you whilst walking past your desk "Sit up Mr Weasley!" she hissed at Fred, hurrying to the front of the classroom.  

Fred sighed and sat up grudgingly, "It's alright for you, being a good girl who never makes mistakes, who everyone loves so dearly."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes "you talk so much shit, Fred Weasley!" you huffed "I actually spend my time revising because I actually make mistakes, something I'm sure you've never given the time of day to work on!"

Fred huffed "You sound just like my brother Percy, it's as if he never bloody left!"

Whilst the back and forth continued to unfold between you and Fred, the class was dismissed, everyone leaving - you and Fred didn't notice, too wrapped up in arguing, his brother George and friend Lee stayed behind, watching and enjoying the entertainment.

"Well, you know what!" you raised your voice, picking up your bag and pushing your books inside "sod you! you're on your own next lesson, don't come begging when Snape rips you a new one!" you stood up from your chair and stormed off.

"Nice one Fred" George called out, walking out of the great hall and towards the dungeons "you're going to suffer in there, mate."

Fred pulled a sour face "she's the most obnoxious bitch I've ever met"

Unfortunately for Fred, you were in earshot of his insult "Obnoxious bitch?" you laughed out, catching up to him "lads like you are all the same, threatened by smarter women"

George laughed, bashing Fred in the ribs with his elbow, Fred felt mortified and could feel himself wanting to grab you and shove you against a wall, the thought of doing it however made him feel something he didn't want to admit...

he couldn't

no way

feelings for you? oh please...

Fred rattled his brain, trying hard to shake this intruding feeling out of him, he hates you, love is out of the question, anything intimate is a red flag.

"Well, with what you lack in looks and personality you make up for in IQ, I'm not threatened by you, you're just disgusting to look at and be around. My skiving Snack boxes wouldn't change your appearance you're that bloody ugly." he snapped.

Ugly.

Your heart pained at the word, why? you didn't know, whenever anyone attacked your looks and your body, you didn't care, it meant nothing to you - so why your heart is suddenly hurting did more than baffled you.

Why should you care?

It's not like you're in love with him or anything

You could feel your stomach doing flips, your blood boiling, how dare he!

"it's a shame because your dick will never match the size of your ego, regardless if it's flaccid or hard." You snapped back, pushing past him, bashing into him on purpose, storming towards the dark and dingy dungeons.

Fred went bright red, infuriated that you shamed him in front of his twin, especially for something that he believed determined his value as a man, his blood - like yours, now also boiling.

He wanted to storm after you, grab you by the wrist, pull you into him so you couldn't escape, he wanted to stare down at you whilst demanding an apology, hell, he wanted to show you - show you just how wrong you were.

"Come on now, Freddie" George spoke out, breaking him out of his thoughts "don't let her bother you, all the lasses say shit like that - if you let her get under your skin, she's winning."

she's winning

Fred couldn't and wouldn't allow that to happen, never in a million years - you wouldn't get away with embarrassing him like this, you were in for it, without a clue of what Fred is capable of.

Potions were nothing short of pure hell, you weren't able to switch seats, forced to endure two long hours with Fred who had never looked so angry before, he shot daggers at you, practically seething and speaking through gritted teeth when he needed to look over the ingredients and steps.

"I told you not to bother asking me for help" you snarled, stirring your cauldron, Snape watching the two of you argue in pleasure behind his test papers he should be marking instead.

Fred huffed "Well until you budge over, quit being greedy and let me pick what I need or I'll keep bloody asking!"

You bit your tongue, trying not to swear "Look, you forgot your book, either go and ask Snape if he has a spare or bugger off!"

Fred could feel himself losing his temper, his body temperature increasing, his heart thumping, his fists bunching.

"The two of you will have plenty of time to discuss during detention" Snape spoke, dragging out his words.

You shot Fred an angry look, your eyes widening and your nostrils flaring, Fred looked back at you, shaking his head whilst your Professor walked away, causing the two of you to argue even more.

"Look what you've done now! Thanks a lot!" you raised your voice, stirring your cauldron so angrily, specks of dark amber liquid splashed onto the desk and your skirt, hissing away.

Fred scoffed and stood up, snatching your book away from you, gripping it in his hand "What I've done?" he shook his head "You've caused this!"

"One more word and one detention will become a week's worth," Snape warned.

"Caused what?" You stood up, puffing out your chest "I haven't done anything! You're just an idiot, a dumb idiot who is jealous because I'm going somewhere in life and you aren't because you're fucking stupid!" You yelled, the whole room becoming silent.

Fred stared at you, his heart hurting, he wanted to cry.

idiot, dumb, fucking stupid, going nowhere in life.

"You're a fucking bitch, who everyone laughs at, who everyone thinks is a loser!" He yelled back.

These two weeks of detention would change everything and the two of you had no idea.

Arriving early in the Hospital Wing which surprisingly had empty beds that had been stripped from their bedding, Madame Pomfrey waved you over to her, a forced smile spreading across her face.

"You're rather early"

"I know" you sighed "It's to make up for Fred being late" you grumbled, the thought of hours with him this evening making your head pound.

"Well," Madam Pomfrey wandered around the hospital wings, laying out dirty bedsheets, pillowcases, pyjamas, empty dishes, and medicine bottles "the two of you - when he arrives - will be cleaning everything, without magic" she emphasised that last part, "I thought I'd be rather easy on you this time, you won't be scrubbing any bedpans this week."

You nodded, realising that she wouldn't be sticking around to watch you or Fred, you walked up to the long table and popped on the large purple rubber gloves, sitting down on the stool, waiting for your nightmare to turn up.

"You can only start when he arrives" Madame Pomfrey reminded you "Whatever you can't finish, you'll do tomorrow, and if there are any patients, you'll have extra work." She walked out of the hospital wing, leaving you behind, the waiting game beginning.

Two hours passed by, two long and dreadfully boring hours, you stared at Fred's matching purple gloves, itching to just get started and clean up; but you couldn't.

Instead, you filled the large bucket with laundry detergent, there was no point in adding any hot water, it would be left to cool anyway if Fred didn't show up soon.

Fred waltzed in, laughing and waving goodbye to his twin, shutting the door behind him. His face dropped when he met your eyes, he noticed your gloves and smirked, laughing lightly "you look ridiculous."

"I don't care what you think," you snapped "You're two hours late, everything just piles up you know, it doesn't just go away."

Fred pulled out the wand from his pocket "Oh come off it, love."

Love?!

Fred fell quiet, he felt embarrassed, mortified, and you stared at him confused, horrified even, your eyebrows knitted together. You brushed his mistake aside, knowing that pulling him up about it would just strengthen the argument.

"We can't use magic." You pointed to the line of buckets, sponges, scrubbers, mop, and broom "Everything has to be done by hand, the muggle way."

Fred's face fell, even more, something you thought wasn't possible, you picked up his matching purple rubber gloves and threw them at him "put them on."

Fred wanted to argue, but he couldn't, he didn't know what to say - the feelings inside of him confusing him, making him question everything, he felt sick, he could feel a strange fluttering inside of his stomach, something he only felt when he was in love.

Why was he feeling this now? How was he such a thing... love for you? He hates you.

Fred caught the rubber gloves and put them on, not saying a word. You filled up the empty buckets with warm water, the cleaning liquid making the water foam up with bubbles.

"You sweep" you passed him the boom "I'll mop after you've done, we'll take turns washing the bedding, pyjamas, dishes and bottles."

Fred's hate for you suddenly went through another wave, the fire igniting in his belly, he snatched the broom from you. "Just shut up and let's get on with it." He snapped, starting to sweep the dusty, grimey floor.

You walked away from him and sat down, huffing so the hair in your face moved away over your head, you placed the bucket on your lap, grabbed the pyjama shirt and laundry stain remover soap and started to scrub, focusing hard on the fresh spots of blood.

"I wasn't the one who turned up two hours late," you muttered under your breath, scrubbing the shirt harder, the red liquid slowly getting lighter.

Fred had swept the majority of the floor, he looked over at you, stopped sweeping and glared.

"Shut up," he grumbled

You grinned, the sight of him in purple gloves making you burst out into laughter.

"You look ridiculous" you laughed, dunking the pyjama shirt into the warm water, the stain finally lifting and ready to dry.

Fred dropped the broom, its long wooden handle clanked against the floor, you looked up at him as he stormed over to you, pulling off his gloves and throwing them across the room.

The way he walked with the expression on his face made you flutter, your crotch heating up and getting excited as he inched closer and closer to you, his hands now gripping on the table. You sighed and placed the bucket on the table, squeezing the water out of the pyjama top and handing it up to dry, Fred still staring at you.

You turned around, looking into his gorgeous brown eyes, sighing and pulling off your rubber gloves, setting them down on the table.

"What?"

"Don't what me."

"Well stop staring!"

Fred pushed the buckets of water off the table angrily, the water splashing as the buckets collided with the swept floor, the foamy and suddy water spilling everywhere.

"What was that for!" you yelled.

Fred reached out for you over the table and pulled you into him, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't ignore these feelings, his feelings, his wants, his needs, he couldn't deny himself of you anymore. When his lips crashed against yours, something that you couldn't describe clicked, like the missing piece to a puzzle, and you kissed back.

The kiss was hungry, passionate, lustful, and the two of you just wanted to fuck.

Your hands got lost in his hair, pulling at it as Fred gripped onto your waist, both of you now mounting the table, the dishes, bottles, bedding, and pyjamas fell on the floor, absorbing the water.

Moaning against his lips, Fred's hands pulled at your top, you moved your hands away from his hair and lifted your arms up, your top being pulled up before falling to the floor, being soaked by the water. The sight of you in your bra made Fred's face heat up and go red, he quickly unfastened your bra, unable to control himself.

He took your breast into his mouth, sucking your nipple, you lolled your head back and moaned, one of your hands held his gentle face as he sucked, the other fell down to his trousers, slowly undoing the buttons and pulling down his zipper. Your hand sneaked underneath the waistband of his boxers and you took hold of his erect length - you were wrong - his cock was as big as his ego, and you knew when you were able to look at it, it would be even bigger.

Fred's free hand dived under your skirt and went into your underwear, whilst wanking him off his index circled around your entrance hole - you were so wet, the thought of being this close to him usually repulsed you - but right now, you wanted nothing more than him inside of you, fucking you as much as he hated you.

His index finger slowly pushed inside of you, you moaned out and tugged on his cock harder, he started to finger you faster, knowing part of him was inside you made you so wet, and got you so excited. Fred added his middle finger, now pumping them faster as your walls tightened around his fingers, he pulled off your red and saliva coated nipple and attacked your neck with kisses, then sucking, leaving his marks all over you.

Fred pushed you down on your back so your body was now pressed against the cool table, he continued to finger fuck you, you pulled down his trousers and boxers with both hands, already missing the feeling of his throbbing cock filling one of them. You glanced down - you were definitely wrong - his length was large, definitely outshining his ego.

"You wanted me to shut up, didn't you?" you asked Fred, he pulled away from sucking on your neck, a confused expression formed on his face.

"Is that what you want?" he smirked, catching on "you want me to shut you up with my cock?" he withdrew his fingers, now coated with your juices, sucking them clean.

Fred leaned back, taking his cock in his hand "go on then" he encouraged you "suck my cock."

"Make me."

Fred grabbed you by the hair - but not roughly or too hard - you were actually quite surprised by his gentleness. You were on your knees now, sucking Fred's large length, choking on it as you went down deeper and deeper, taking more of him in your mouth.

Fred loved the sight of you sucking him off, the sight of your mouth being so full you couldn't say something stupid, the sound of you choking made him happy, he was finally shutting you up - but part of him didn't want to shut you up, he wanted to listen to you speaking about your interests, your hobbies, what you thought of Hogsmeade and Zonko's Joke Shop.

This part of him pulled you off him, you caught your breath and wiped away the laces of saliva that were hanging from your mouth, swinging as you moved back with the back of your hand. Fred pulled you into a kiss, this time it wasn't lustful, it was gentle, caring, soft - it made your heart skip a beat and it made you weak at the knees.

Once more, your back was against the table, Fred pulled down your skirt and knickers whilst still kissing you, your hands back in his hair, massaging his scalp, Fred propped your legs around his hips, you pulled him closer to you.

Fred grabbed out a condom, but you stopped him.

"Don't bother with that crap" you sighed, wanting him inside you already "I'm on the pill."

Fred nodded, confident that this would be enough, and he applied lube onto his length.

You wondered why he had brought condoms and a sache of lube, Fred didn't know why - he never usually carried these items, but after weeks of the same dreams that he couldn't explain - that small part of him kept telling him, over and over to bring it.

Fred looked into your eyes, searching for your permission, you nodded your head.

"I'm ready, Freddie." you breathed.

Freddie.

He had never expected you - of all people - to call him that, but he liked it, and he hoped that he could hear it again.

Fred rubbed his erect length against your folds teasingly, and then slowly pushed himself inside of you, the two of you moaned and exhaled - he felt amazing - stretching you out, and your walls felt amazing - tightening around him. He started to fuck you faster, his large length plunging deeper inside of you as he bucked his hips, your legs tightened around him, as did your walls, your hands now resting on his back, your fingernails digging into him leaving marks of your own.

His moans were beautiful - perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever heard. How could you hate him? How could you be so mean to him, insult him, mock him and shame him, he was perfect, everything about him - your heart now reaching out to his - how could you be so wrong?

You didn't hate him, you were madly in love with him.

Fred couldn't take his eyes off you and your body - the perfect shape and size of your breasts, your tummy, the feeling of your insides engulfing him in warmth, your gorgeous eyes staring into his, the feeling of your fingers tips gliding over his back, then your fingernails scratching him.

Fred felt stupid, he felt awful for what he said to you - the way he treated you - calling you ugly - you were far from such a thing. This moment felt better and meant more than any dream he ever had - this was real, this was the moment he had been waiting for - his heart finally finding yours.

"Fuck!" you moaned out, reaching the edge "Please don't stop, fuck me, I want to cum!" you wailed.

Fred couldn't stop, he didn't want to, even if he was getting tired and over working himself.

He continued to fuck you, feeling himself getting close, you lolled your head back, your eyes rolling in the back of your head and released - your cum spilling onto his length, your moans filling the hospital wing. Your orgasm face pushed Fred over the edge, he spilt himself inside you and collapsed, holding you in his arms.

The two of you said nothing, you were trying to make sense of this all, and you were in trouble - after tonight, you would have a lot of explaining to do - not just to one another, but to Madame Pomfrey who would be back in half an hour.

After coming to, Fred pulled out his wand and dried your clothes, so toastie to put back on. You started to mop the floor as Fred speedily washed the pillow cases and bed sheets, hanging them up to dry, then starting on the dishes. With the floor sparkling clean, you joined him, cleaning and rinsing the bottles.

"You're not an idiot" You spoke out, breaking the awkward silence "You're not dumb either, and I don't doubt that you're going to go far in life."

This meant a lot to Fred, it made him feel secure.

"You're not ugly" Fred replied, scrubbing another bowl "You're not an obnoxious bitch."

Looking up at Fred, into his deep brown eyes, your pursed your lips for a moment.

"I don't hate you."

"I don't either."

"I don't want to hate you, I-"

"I feel things for you too, Y/N."

Madame Pomfrey burst through the door, staring at the rows of dirty bowls and bottles that needed cleaning.

"Looks like you two will be back here tomorrow!"

You and Fred shared a glance, smiling, with a flush of pink across your cheeks.

These two weeks were the start of something special.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @alwaysnforeverfangirl @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @horrorxweasley @sebby-staan @onlyfreds @lucymfer @escapingrealitybyreading @freddiemylovelg @pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx

[t-lostinworlds]

Dear Santa (Tom Holland)

a/n: this made me want a baby, preferably with tom but anyway. here’s my gift to you lot for the holidays! i hope you enjoy this one <3

pairing: dad!tom holland x female!reader trope/genre: Dad AU; slight angst; fluff summary: It’s a yearly thing for Tom and your daughter to write letters to Santa together on what they want for Christmas. Only this time around, it was over video call given that Tom was miles away from his two—three, including Tessa—beautiful girls. Santa did get the letters though... warnings: tom being such a dad (which is a warning in its own right), a dash of ‘missing you’ angst, it’s so fluffy that i died a couple times, bad pun/dad joke & a lil steamy in the end. word count: 7.2k+

masterlist in bio & pinned post

-:-:-:-:-

"Dada!"

"Hello, angel," Tom gushed, heart warming up ten times over as he looked right at his four-year-old daughter's beautiful and chubby face. Her little hand waved enthusiastically while she sat on the tall chair in the dining area, her beam turning brighter at the sight of him. "How was your day?" He slid himself in the little nook he had in his trailer, placing his laptop on the table in front of him and getting himself comfy as he listened to her tiny voice babble. Some of her words were mispronounced, sentences cut short and randomly stringed together but Tom listened to every single one of it with much interest.

"What?! She didn't," he gasped exaggeratedly when she talked about Tessa sitting on her while they played in the living room, the pup barking soon after to make her presence known.

"She did! 'N Tessa so heavy dada."

The young lad heard your sweet giggle next and his whole body softened even more at the sound. He leaned back on the seat with the brightest smile he could ever wear. Although Tom could feel the sting in his chest gradually grow when you came into view.

The curve on your lips was tender and sweet, one that he could never get enough of even after years of seeing it, one that he's so dearly missed seeing in person. Tom felt his heart ache the more he stared at his two precious girls, both looking at him with smiles. But still, he can see it, the tiny specks of sadness in your eyes all because he was thousands of miles away, five days before Christmas.

He would absolutely do anything to be in the same room with you two right now. Hell, even to just be in the same country but alas, work and duties. Tom has been away for roughly five months and the last time he's seen you two in the flesh was two months ago when you came over and visited him on set. Now, it was the holidays and he's still not home. And Tom can attest that it's one of, if not the worst feeling in the world.

It wasn't in his plan to be so far away at this time but his schedule is ever changing which led him to still be at work nearing Christmas. He'd done the best he could to try and make it before or on the 25th but it wasn't set on stone. No real and solid plans until the actual day which was very gut wrenching.

It was the first Christmas he's away, after all.

But at this moment, Tom has been lucky enough to have a few hours off this afternoon given that night shoots were the agenda of the day. And even though he should be using this time to get a few hours of sleep in before a very long night, of course, Tom took this opportunity to video call over instead. He just got done eating lunch but it was already dinnertime back in London, and he so badly needs to see your beautiful faces before you went to bed.

"Thalia, sweetie, go wash your hands for a sec, yeah?" you hummed, running your fingers gently through her curly hair, one she got from him. Although her eyes, her smile and overall beauty? It was all you, Tom thinks so at least. Well, except for that cute nose that she got from him as well. The more she grows, the more it shows how she's the perfect mixture of her parents, and it honestly makes his heart soar. Thalia is the reminder of the love you and Tom have, one that's pure and strong that blossomed into this joyful, precious and beautiful little girl.

She looked up at you with a soft pout, pointing towards the screen as she shook her head. "Bu—"

"I'll be right here pumpkin, don't worry. Listen to mummy," Tom chuckled softly. Upon seeing the apologetic smile you flashed him, he knew that you saw the flicker of sadness that crossed his features. You always do see right through him. He shot you a small reassuring nod, a silent way to tell you it was okay.

"No go anywhere," Thalia warned, narrowing her eyes at him.

Tom felt his heart break even more but he flashed her a wide grin, crossing his finger over his heart and said, "I promise."

Thalia reached a hand out for you to take, a sweet smile on your face as you curled your fingers around her tiny ones. "There you go," you said, helping her off the seat.

"Thank you," she hummed, tugging your hand to urge you to lean down. A lovely giggle vibrated in your chest once Thalia placed a wholesome smack on your lips, the sight making Tom's heart skip a couple beats.

"You're welcome, angel," you said. Thalia disappeared from the screen, Tom assuming she had swiftly made her way over her little stairs that he had built for her a couple months back, just so she could reach the sink. "Careful," you called out, the soft grunts of the little girl echoing in the kitchen along with Tessa pitter-patters on the tiles. Tom knew she was in a rush up the stairs, eager to get her hands clean so she can go back to talking to him. He doesn't know if the thought made his heart soar or break a couple more pieces.

You turned back to look at him through the screen, a shy smile erupting on your features the moment you saw him already gawking at you with the proudest grin on his lips. He just can't help but admire the goddess before him. You just look so stunning and gorgeous in a simple knitted sweater, you, his wife.

That alone was honestly enough to make Tom combust with the love that fills him up ten times over. But then, by the heavens above, you're such an amazing mother. He genuinely doesn't know what to do with himself. You make him feel like he's on top of the world. Both you and Thalia make him feel so, so happy.

"Damn, how did I get so lucky," he gushed, gaze locked with yours with adoration coating his orbs. "I mean, look at you, the fact that I get to call you my wife? Whew." He shook his head in pure disbelief, blowing out his cheeks in the process. You let out a bashful laugh with a roll of your eyes, his smile only growing at your reaction. It makes Tom's heart melt whenever you get all timid when he showers you with compliments and affections, all the more reason for him to keep doing it as often as he can.

"All clean!" Thalia exclaimed as she climbed back onto her seat with your guidance, showing her palms to him with a bright smile.

"That's my girl," Tom said proudly, shooting her a wink with a grin to match.

You moved the laptop farther so Tom could see both of you clearly. Disappearing for a moment, Tom heard you speaking to Tessa, handing the doggo her dinner he presumed. You came back into view soon after with two plates on hand, placing one in front of Thalia—to which she adorably clapped with a soft 'thank you'—and setting yours right beside hers. Tom simply watched with a smug smile as you handed the young girl her utensils before you sat yourself down. Your little girl waited for you to get situated without touching her food. Then you and Thalia locked eyes, lifting your spoons and taking a bite at the same time with giggles coming out of you both.

The amount of times Tom could literally die and resurrect at the adorable scene before him was immeasurable. He was unable to wipe the love-struck grin painted on his lips, cheeks hurting but totally worth it.

"Oh, that was a very big bite," he commented when Thalia took another spoonful. Tom adjusted the sleeves of his flannel shirt, pulling it up his forearms for him to easily prop his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his palm as he admired his two precious girls.

"Hmm, so good!" Thalia nodded enthusiastically, eyes all squinted with her cheeks puffed out as she chewed her food as thoroughly and as carefully as she could. Although a little bit of it still managed to stick to her chin, Thalia quick to clean it up with the napkin you placed right beside her plate.

God she's growing up fast.

Tom felt his eyes sting at the thought of his little girl growing to be not-so-little anymore. Not long ago he was the one who'd wipe the little crumbs and mess off her face, but now she can do it all on her own. He could honestly cry.

"You know what, I'm so jealous of you young lady," he huffed, leaning back with his arms crossed and a deep crease on the middle of his brows. "It's unfair how you get to eat mummy's cooking every day."

"I sent Sam some of my recipes, didn't I?" you asked, amusement laced in your tone as you furrowed your brows at him.

"Yeah, but it still isn't the same when it's you cooking because then I can give you hugs and kisses during the process." Tom pouted. "That's one of my favourite parts aside from eating."

"Ew, dada, cheesy."

Tom's mouth fell agape as his gaze snapped towards Thalia and then at you—to which you only shrugged with a giggle—and back to his daughter. "Okay, who taught you that?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

"Uncle Haz!" Thalia exclaimed proudly, nodding her head as she continued eating.

Tom shook his head disappointedly as he locked eyes with you. "I've been telling you, love, Harrison is a bad influence on her," he grumbled, jokingly of course.

"Oh hush, it's not like what she said was a lie," you pointed out with a knowing smile.

"Hey!" He pouted.

Thalia giggled at his reaction. "Dada cheesy," she repeated.

Tom sighed, shaking his head but the smile never did leave his lips. It never could whenever his eyes are on you two. He was going to confront Harrison about that though; makes Tom wonder what other things that blonde lad has taught his daughter.

"How was your morning, bub?" you asked with a soft smile.

Tom relaxed in his seat as he proceeded to recount the events that happened earlier all while you both continued to eat your dinner.

"—and then we got to visit the children's hospital and gave out presents, which was nice."

"They met Spider-Man?" Thalia queried.

Tom gave her a nod with a wide smile on his face. "Yes, they did."

It's still surreal to him how he's managed to now have the fifth movie of the franchise. It was the last installment which was somewhat bittersweet on its own right. Nonetheless, Tom was very thankful with the run of his career as the famous web-slinger. Lucky and blessed would be huge understatements to describe his life. Even more so now that he's got a wonderful, beautiful daughter and an amazing, gorgeous wife.

"Dada a real life superhero."

Yup, he definitely couldn't get even luckier than this.

Tom let out a coo, bottom lip jutted out as he looked at you and then at Thalia with a little gloss in his eyes. "I could literally burst into tears right now. You own my heart, darling," he gushed. Eyes glancing back at you, he sighed, "You both do."

The warmth and love you held in your eyes glowed some more, his smile widening at the beautiful sight as he tilted his head at you sweetly. Turning back to his daughter, Thalia flashed him a wide smile, setting her spoon and fork down with a satisfied hum.

"Finish already?" Tom asked.

She nodded enthusiastically. "It's letter time!"

Tom can't help but chuckle. It's been a yearly thing for him and her to write their letters to Santa every 20th, always the same schedule which was after dinner. Thalia has grown accustomed to the tradition real quick despite only doing it for only a few years. Well, she is just four.

"Alright, alright, why don't you help mummy clean up while I'll go get my pen and special paper," he said with a wriggle of his brows. The young girl clapped cheerfully as she grabbed for your hand before hopping off her seat, gently taking her plate from the table and carrying it to the sink.

"She's getting so big, love," Tom breathed out, looking at you with his bottom lip jutted out.

"I know," you sighed, eyes on Thalia before you tilted your head at him with that gorgeous smile of yours, nothing but adoration coating your orbs.

Smile turning into a mischievous smirk, he wriggled his brows at you. "Should we make another one?" he purred, voice low and guttural but quiet.

"Thomas!" you hissed as softly as you could. You looked at your little girl briefly and Tom literally saw the relief that washed over your face before you turned back to him with a death glare. "She hasn't asked about that yet and I swear if you're the reason why she starts now—"

"Tessa, not the spoon!"

Your head whipped towards the direction of that little voice before you turned back to Tom with narrowed eyes. "You behave yourself, Mr. Holland," you warned, raising a brow at him and then walking off screen.

"Love you, Mrs. Holland!" he called out with a chuckle.

***

"Dada don't peek!" Thalia gasped once she saw Tom craning his neck teasingly. She glared at him as she covered her paper with her little hand, which was honestly the cutest thing ever.

"I'm not, I'm not," he chuckled, going back to writing his letter.

He wasn't really asking for presents. Well, realistically, he doesn't need to. Of course he could pretend and not write anything at all but he feels a little bad lying to his daughter. So, he resulted to jotting down the things he already has rather than asking for more. All of his yearly letters had consisted of nothing but gratefulness as he lists down what he's been blessed with and was so thankful for, you and Thalia always at the top of that list.

The party has been moved to Thalia's room now, the little girl fresh out her bath and was wrapped in her PJs. The laptop was right on the little desk she had in the corner where she practices her writing, reading and even drawings.

It was where they always write the letters. The previous years, Tom would sit right beside her in one of the tiny chairs as he helps her write. But now, instead of side by side, they were looking at each other through the screen, which honestly makes Tom's heart ache. To add to that, she was writing on her own too, a bittersweet feeling coursing through his bones. Because as much as how he feels so proud to see his little girl know—slowly but surely—how to write, there's always going to be a part of him that clings to the memory of her little hand encased in his much larger ones as he helps her navigate the pencil around the paper, letter by letter.

God, she needs to slow down on growing up. Tom can't honestly handle it.

"You peeked again!" she squealed when she saw Tom lift his brows with widened eyes as he tried to get a look at her paper. Thalia quickly glanced over her shoulder, pointing at the screen with a pout, so obviously telling on him which made him let out a hearty laugh. You came into view right behind the little girl, toys on hand which Tom knows you got off from the floor. There's always so many of them littered around her room. Well, he admits, he does spoil his little girl, sometimes.

"Dada, no peeking," you scolded playfully, raising a knowing brow at him, Tom's heart melting at the seams at your use of the nickname.

"I didn't see anything, I promise." He threw both his hands up in surrender, scrunching his nose at Thalia who only stuck her tongue out at him in response. You disappeared from shot again, continuing what you were doing, Tom assumed. He turned back to his daughter. "Now, write your name at the bottom so Santa knows who it's from. And then put it in the envelope and give it to mummy," he instructed.

Thalia scribbled a few more lines before taking the paper in hand, folding it up as best as she could—all wonky and uneven which is so darn cute—and then carefully sliding it in the envelope provided for her. She then lifted it up to you once you made your way back over to her desk. "Done!" she exclaimed proudly.

"Great job, angel," Tom commended. "Now, time to brush your teeth."

Thalia nodded before turning behind her to catch your eyes. "Mama, help please." She pointed towards the laptop as a way for her to say that she wants to bring it with her, never wasting any time to talk or just see him. Again, Tom doesn't know if his heart could melt or break at the thought.

You nodded with a hum just as she rushed towards the bathroom across the hall, you right on her tail as you carried the computer in your arms.

"Ugh, my heart literally soars every time I hear her call you mama," Tom groaned as he shook his head. "Never gets old."

"Stop being so adorable when I can't kiss you right now," you muttered.

Tom smirked, shooting you a teasing wink to which you only responded with a playful roll of your eyes before you placed the laptop by the sink. Thalia was back on screen again, already brushing her teeth like a pro. Tom knows he's being a broken record but she genuinely needs to stop growing up too fast.

It's not good for his dad heart.

"Smile, sweetheart," Tom hummed once she saw her finish, the little girl showing her rows of teeth at him proudly. "Very pretty," he cooed.

"Thank you," she said with a cute giggle. The little girl bounded back to her room and climbed on the bed, you following suit with the laptop in hand. You gently placed it at the foot and on an angle so Tom could see you both clearly as you tucked her in. "Tessa!" Thalia squealed, tiny fits of giggles escaping her lips soon after as the pup circled around to find a comfy spot before settling right next to her.

The lovely doggo has become Thalia's best friend, personal cuddle buddy, and bodyguard. Wherever she goes, Tessa is always in tow. They always, always sleep beside each other every night and it's honestly the most wholesome thing in the world.

The room became dim when you turned off the main light, leaving the lamp on as Thalia wiggled a few more times before finally settling down. "Story, dada?" she yawned.

Tom nodded with a smile, leaning over the table as he switched up his voice a little. "In a kingdom far, far away..." he started, Tessa resting her head on the little girl's tummy as if she wants to have a piece of the story as well. His smile widened when you sat beside your daughter, your fingers caressing through her hair lovingly as you listened.

Tom can't help but pout at you, missing the way those same fingers feel against his scalp as you run them through his hair. You shook your head with a soft laugh, raising your brow to urge him to keep going with the story.

Gasps and giggles escaped out of Thalia as she listened to him all throughout his impromptu fantasy world. She made sure to throw in her two cents, turning the story to how whatever way she sees fit.

"...and then the princess climbed on her dragon with her new found freedom as she flew into the sunset. The end," Tom finished, his little girl letting out another yawn with her eyes now barely open. He can't stop his heart from melting at the sight. "Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you," he cooed.

"G'night dada. Love you too," she hummed, eyes fluttering close as she threw her arm over Tessa.

"I'll see you soon my princesses," Tom whispered, eyes flickering over at his pup and daughter with a bittersweet smile.

Tom caught sight of the stars that circled around the room when you switched off the lamp and turned her night light on. You flashed him a smile as you took the laptop in your hand and ventured out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind you.

***

"How about you, my love, what's in your letter for Santa?" Tom asked as you settled yourself down on your shared bed, back against the headboard with the computer on your lap. The screen really doesn't do you much justice on how gorgeous you look, especially now when you got changed and opted on wearing his hoodie.

"I just want you home," you whispered, hand going over your mouth in realization that you said it out loud. Tom saw the guilt spread across your features once you locked eyes with him.

"I'm trying, darling," Tom sighed, hand running through his hair dejectedly, ache coursing through his chest at the sound of longing in your voice.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," you rushed.

"No, nothing to apologise for, love," he said, flashing you a sad yet reassuring smile. "It kills me too, being so far away from you both. But I'll see what I can do okay?"

You shook your head, brows furrowed in worry. "You've already done all that you could, Tom."

"But I feel like I should be doing more," he admitted, frown settling on his lips as he held your gaze. Oh how he wished he could take the sadness away from your orbs, to feel your warmth as he pulls you into his embrace. He wants nothing more than to cover you with kisses, to whisper sweet nothings onto your skin to replace your frown with those giggles he adores. "I miss you so much," Tom sighed.

"I miss you too—"

"Tom—oh, hey, Y/N."

You smiled softly. "Hi, Harry."

"I hate to be the one to say this but they need you on set now," Harry said in dismay, shooting you and Tom a guilty smile.

Tom looked at the clock, shock befalling him on how fast time had passed. It didn't even feel like he's been sat in this little nook for five hours, didn't feel like he's talked to you enough at all. He thought he had a few hours more, not a couple minutes left.

His eyes landed back on you briefly and you only flashed him a small smile. Tom turned to his brother with a nod. "Yeah, okay, I'll be right behind you," he said.

"Tell Thalia her favourite uncle said hi," Harry said to you with a proud smile.

Tom shook his head at his brother's bold claim given that Thalia hasn't said that at all. She hasn't shown to have favourites, nor does she have anyone who she likes to spend time with, more. But being competitive lads, it was natural for his brothers—which includes Harrison, Tuwaine and Jacob—to compete for the title of her favourite uncle. She's just spoiled to bits really.

You let out a laugh, though it was a faint one, smile not as wide as you nodded at the twin. "Will do, Harry."

Harry flashed you one last smile before he turned to give Tom a curt nod, hand coming up to give his shoulder a comforting squeeze. Tom smiled at him gratefully, patting his hand before the younger lad made his way out of the trailer. Turning back to you, Tom felt his heart drop to his stomach.

"Darling, please don't cry," he whispered, hand instinctively reaching for you, a harsh foot stepping on his heart when his fingertips only got as far as touching the screen.

"I'm not," you muttered, blowing out your cheeks as you leaned to the side, so obviously trying to wipe your tears off screen. Tom still saw it though, and even if he didn't, he knows you like that back of his hand. The smallest change in your voice could tell him all.

Tom did his best to keep himself together, flashing you a small, comforting smile once you met his gaze again. "I'll see you soon alright?" he said. "I love you so much, darling."

You nodded, frown settling in your lips as you sighed, "I love you too, Tom, oh so much."

"Goodnight, my love." Tom tilted his head at you with a knowing grin. "Dream of me," he teased, earning a small giggle from you.

"Always."

***

"Is dada not coming home, mama?"

It was the 24th of December and your heart could do nothing but ache at your daughter's question. You tried your best to not let your frown be so prominent while you tucked her to bed.

"We don't know yet, lovie," you sighed, hand caressing her cheek tenderly. "But maybe dada will be here the moment you wake up tomorrow," you added, shooting her a knowing wink despite the sharp stab in your heart given that it was still uncertain.

Tom hasn't called at all the whole day. He only sent you a text earlier this morning explaining that he was going to be busy, hence why he won't be able to call. Strings of apologies buzzed through your phone even despite telling him over and over that it was okay. You know that guilt is eating him up whole right now, know for a fact that he's beating himself up black and blue by still not being home on Christmas Eve.

Thalia flashed you her sweet smile and a nod in response, not pressing anymore about her father's absence.

She's really smart for her age, so you wouldn't doubt it at all that she understands why Tom is away right now. You did tell her that her dad wasn't going to be joining dinner this time and she simply said, ''S okay. Dada is a superhero and superheroes are very busy.' And it honestly took everything in you to not start bawling at the dinner table.

"Story time, mama," Thalia hummed, taking your hand in hers as she tugged you closer.

"Okay, scoot a little you two," you said, both Tessa and Thalia making room for you to sit on the edge of the bed. "Once upon a time..."

***

With Thalia fast asleep, you treaded towards the door, leaving it slightly open—for Tessa in case she has businesses to attend to in the middle of the night—behind you and made your downstairs, turning on the little lights on the steps in the process. You went inside the living room, walking over to the wooden stool by the Christmas tree to take the plate of cookies and the glass of milk. You emptied the glass as you made your way to the kitchen, placing the cookies back in the jar and then putting the dirty dishes in the sink.

Venturing into the guest bedroom, you took out the bag filled with the few gifts you had wrapped up the day before. It wasn't a lot, just a couple of toys for both Tessa and Thalia. The little girl really hasn't asked much this year aside from a few toys she saw on TV or at the mall. And what she had on her letter...it was a bit difficult to get.

You slipped back inside the living room, placing the gifts under the tree along with the few sweets inside the stockings. Once you've turned off the electric fireplace, you went over to the tree lights next. But before you could even get to the plug, you suddenly heard the creaking sound of the front door opening and then closing, making you shoot straight up and freeze in your spot. Your heart pounded against your chest, hands trembling at the thought of a break in. Your mind ran a hundred miles per hour as you thought about what to do, ready to sprint upstairs to get to your daughter. You felt your breath hitch when you saw a figure emerged in the entryway.

But then you saw that it was him.

"Tom?" you gasped, eyes wide and glossed up, mouth opening in closing in pure shock as you stared right at your husband.

His face was now in full view as he pulled the hood of his hoodie down. A loving smile played on his lips, one you missed seeing in person. Your heart stuttered as you held each other's eyes, so many emotions swimming in those brown orbs but the love and satisfaction outshined everything else.

"Hi, darling," he sighed in pure content, that voice you love so dearly clear and real, not muffled by the poor quality of the laptop speakers. "Do I not get a welcome home hug?" he teased when you stayed in your spot, unmoving and simply gawking at him. Tom opened his arms wide for you to easily jump into.

Once you've got a hold of reality, you just ran to him full sprint, a sob escaping your lips as he caught you right in his embrace. Tom wrapped his arms around you with a shaky breath, squeezing you oh so tightly as he rocked you side to side. You breathed him in, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck, hands fisting the material of his hoodie from behind as your body raked with soft sobs.

Tom pulled away briefly to cup your face in both hands, thumb wiping away the tears that sat on your skin. He smiled at you all adoringly, eyes turning glossy before he swiftly pressed his lips right on yours. You let out a whine as you melted into the kiss, fingers taking home in the mesh of his curls on the back of his head as you held onto him, to physically feel him, just to make sure that he was actually real.

"I fucking missed you so much," Tom groaned against your lips, arms back around your waist to pull you inhumanely closer. His warmth was quick to coat you both inside and out, the feeling of his lips on yours familiar but never fails makes your head spin. His embrace felt like home and oh how much you've missed it.

You pulled away to give into your lungs' needs, but only just a little, both of you in dire need to keep each other as close as possible. The tips of your noses brushed against each other as your chests heaved, though the smile on your lips never did waver.

You stared into his brown orbs, your brows furrowed lightly in question. "But how—"

"Once they gave me the go I took the first flight home," he said, pressing his forehead against yours as he stared right into your eyes with utmost love and the widest grin on his lips to match. You placed your hand on his cheek, Tom turning his head to press his lips against your palm briefly before he leaned into your touch.

"I can't believe you're actually here," you whispered.

"I couldn't miss spending Christmas with my two—" Tom stopped himself when he heard the pitter-patter of paws down the stairs. You turned to see Tessa bounding towards your direction, jumping right at Tom as he crouched down to greet her with a chuckle, "Right, three favourite girls."

Then a small voice spoke, "Dada?"

Tom's head shot up, his handsome face glowing even more, remaining crouched on the floor as he spread his arms. "There's my sweet pumpkin."

Thalia ran to him as fast as her little legs would let her. Laughs came out of the young girl, the sweet sound echoing around the room as Tom lifted her up and spun her around.

"Yay! Santa got my letter!" she cheered, both hands up in the air.

Tom settled her in his strong arms with a soft furrow of his brows. He looked at you confused.

Later, you mouthed.

Tom nodded as he turned back to his little girl. "I missed you so much, my princess," he said, littering her face with loud kisses to which Thalia squealed and giggled in response.

You wrapped your arms around yourself with a satisfied hum and a wide smile on your face. To see Tom be such an amazing and loving father never fails to make your heart grow twice its size, never fails to make you fall even deeper for your man, your husband.

The lovely sight of him and Thalia made your body tingle in more ways than one, a thought crossing your mind, a feeling in your bones telling you that it was the perfect time. It made you smile wider, heat dusting your cheeks as you tilted your head at your husband and daughter.

Tom caught you staring, a proud smirk erupting on those lips of his as he shot you wink. You can't help but roll your eyes at his smugness.

Of course he knows the effects he has on you, knows how him being such a dad makes your heart flutter. But also, how it makes your body fill up with heat and want that you'd have to resist the urge to pounce on him. It probably was obvious in the way you look at him, easily sees it in your eyes because he knows you, he is your husband after all.

But then again, maybe he knows because he's just the same, if not much more intense. The amount of times he's gushed over and over how he wants to put another baby in you whenever he sees you taking care of Thalia goes to prove that point.

It's an equal reaction really, both of you just as whipped for each other.

"Come here, darling." He beckoned you over with a sweet smile, resting Thalia on his hip as he held a hand out for you to which you gladly took. He pulled you closer, giving you a soft peck on the lips before snaking an arm around your waist. You wrapped your arm around the small of his back, chin on his shoulder as you looked at him with utmost love. He shifted his eyes from you and Thalia as he sighed, "It feels so good to be home."

It was such a picture perfect moment, a pure family in love. There was nothing but wide smiles on all your faces, happy to finally be in each other's embrace after so long. Plus, Tessa sat right in front looking at her humans lovingly with her tail wagging enthusiastically.

Thalia's head fell onto her father's shoulder as she let out a loud yawn, tiny fists rubbing over her eyes before she wrapped her arms around his neck. Your heart melted at the adorably sight, a soft coo escaping your lips as you reached over to brush the stray her that landed on her face.

Tom chuckled, turning slightly to give his daughter a kiss on the forehead. "Let's get you back to bed yeah?"

***

Tom came inside your shared bedroom just as you slipped the envelope inside your drawer. Closing it, you leaned back against the headboard with a smile, eyes landing back on your man who stood still in his place.

Tom had his back pressed against the closed door, staring right at you with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"You going to join me in bed or are you just going to ogle?" you teased, raising your brow at him with a tilt of your head.

Tom chuckled, pulling himself off the door and sauntering over to you all while slowly stripping off his clothing, starting with his hoodie to his shirt and leaving them across the floor.

He's lucky you miss him too much to call him out on that, willing to give him a pass since he did just got off from a flight. He'll probably pick them up tomorrow though. If not then, he'll definitely hear from you.

By the time he's reached your side, he was left in nothing but his boxer shorts.

"She asleep?" you asked, looking up at your husband lovingly as he towered over you, standing on your side of the bed.

"Mm-hmm." He bit his lip with a smirk as he leaned down, hands on either side of your thighs that were hidden under the covers. "I've got such a beautiful wife huh," he muttered, brushing the tip of his nose against yours all adoringly before he captured your lips in his with a satisfied hum.

You giggled between the kiss, fingers lost in his hair as you pulled him closer, lips moving in sync like they've never been apart for so long. Tom nibbled at your bottom lip, a low groan erupting in his chest when you let him in, your tongues meeting as his hand landed on your thigh with a hot squeeze. You basked in his taste for a few moments more, letting him explore your mouth just to feel him closer, especially after months of being deprived from each other. Your hands slid down to rest on his broad shoulders, giving them a squeeze before you pulled away.

"Before you get too excited, I suggest you read Thalia's letter first," you said with a soft giggle.

Tom let out a hearty laugh, nodding in agreement and giving you once last peck before he jumped over you as threw himself on his side of the bed. The whole mattress bounced due to his weight, earning a pointed eye roll from you. Always a dork no matter what.

He slipped himself inside the covers, settling back against the headboard just as you rummaged through your drawer. You handed him an already opened envelope before you laid your head on his shoulder, slinging an arm over his naked torso as you snuggled to his side. Tom took out the piece of paper, a smile erupting on his lips once he unfolded it, eyes catching sight of his daughter's messy handwriting.

His strong arm wrapping around your shoulder, Tom pulled you closer, giving you a tender squeeze before he read the letter out loud:

Dear Santa,

Please bring dada home.

Me, mama and Tessa miss him so much and I don't want mama to be sad anymore.

Thank you, Santa.

Thalia

Tom tore his eyes off the paper to look at you with a pout, brown orbs glossing up as he placed the paper back in its envelope and set it aside. Snaking both his arms around your form, he gave you a loving squeeze. "Such a sweetheart with a big heart, just like her mother," he hummed, leaning down to give your forehead a sweet kiss.

"I read that at the mall when I did last minute shopping. I had to rush to the bathroom to get myself together. I got so stressed because I don't know if you were coming home or not. Which would then go down to explaining to her that Santa didn't get her letter and I really didn't want to break her heart like that," you elaborated, Tom's fingers caressing your arm comfortingly. "And then I was walking past this comic book store and saw this life size cardboard cutout of you as Spider-Man with the mask off. I was really contemplating if I should just get that instead," you laughed.

"You should've," Tom chuckled.

"And creep her out? No." You shook your head with a giggle. You pulled away from him slightly, his hands sliding down to rest on the small of your back once you did so. With your palm flat against his toned chest, you gawked at his handsome face with nothing but love. "Yet here you are, always here to save the day," you hummed.

Tom smiled widely at you, hand coming up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek fondly before he pulled you down for a passion-filled kiss.

"Now," he murmured against your lips, hand sneaking down and under the covers, fingers hot against your bare thigh. He gave it a pointed squeeze before he pulled away slightly. "What do you want, my gorgeous wife?" he purred, a certain glow in those brown orbs as his smirk grew.

With a quick peck on his lips, you release yourself from his grasp for a second so you can reach inside your drawer. You gave him another envelope, a sealed one this time, Tom taking it with a confused look on his face. Lying down on your side, you propped your head up with your hand as you waited for him to read it.

Brows furrowed, Tom opened it and pulled out the letter, pupils moving slowly as he scanned the words. You can't help but giggle once you saw the shift of emotions on his face, his eyebrows rising as he stared at your handwriting wide-eyed.

Dear my lovely Tom,

Thalia is due a younger sibling, don't you think?

Love, Y/N ;)

Never have you ever seen Tom move so fast in your life.

Your sweet laugh echoed around the room as he immediately pulled the covers off your body so he could get himself on top of you without any hindrance. He hovered above you with a wide smirk on his lips, strong hands gripping your thighs as he threw them around his waist, body slotted in between your legs with ease.

He didn't waste any more time as he swiftly dipped his head to capture your lips with utmost love but also, need. The kiss was hot, rushed, a little messy and filled with absolute fervour.

Arms taking home around his shoulder, you pulled him closer into you, your heels digging into the small of his back, both of you groaning at the familiar closeness, bodies fitting perfectly together like two puzzle pieces.

Tom slipped his tongue in your mouth with ease when rutted his hip once which earned a gasp from you. He did it again with a low growl, to make you feel just how badly he needs you. And oh you can feel it alright, feel it really hard. There was the obvious desperation coursing in you both; it's been months after all.

Pulling away for a moment, Tom wriggled his brows at you with lust-filled eyes and a love-struck smirk. Your chest was heaving as you stared right into those brown orbs, ones that turned even darker as his hands took hold of the hem of your—his—shirt. He was ready to pull it off of you but not before saying,

"I guess Santa isn't the only one emptying his sack this Christmas."

"Thomas!"

-:-:-:-:-

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[karliesbuzzcut]

I know it’s not the 25th just yet but this lousy year deserves an early Christmas. So grab some coffee, wine or snacks and sit around the fireplace with me.

By now we all know that TTB is a bit angry. She doesn’t know who to be angry at, and she’s definitely not going going to be angry at herself, so she’s doing the next best thing: writing angry emails to people she doesn’t like.

Unfortunately I’m not one of those lucky recipients 🤷‍♀️ She knows that the best way to truly hurt me is to pretend I do not exist, and that is my curse. But I still managed to get my little goblin hands on one of these emails, and just call me Inez because you bet your ass I’m going to tell you all about it.

I propose a personal goal for all of us in 2021: to develop the level of self-confidence that allows you to write an email referring to yourself in the 3rd person.

I’m particularly a fan of the last line “your posts continue to be monitored”. I know she means it as a threat of sorts, but since I’m an attention whore I’d just be thrilled knowing there’s at least one person who will always read my nonsense.

At this point, I’m sure we’re all thinking the same thing: “well that’s an impressive resumé” - but ALSO “a death threat?! HOW? WHEN?”

You might even be wondering if you missed something - you always suspected that silly job of yours was distracting you from what’s really important.

Don’t you worry, TTB has receipts. So, if you’re feeling raunchy, let’s take a look at this ~unlawful behaviour~.

TTB, sweetheart, where’s the spoiler alert? I was only half a chapter away from that bit!

I’m going through an overload of thoughts, let me bring back my always helpful bullet points.

It’s quite wholesome that the “embarrassing efforts to delve into [TTB’s] personal life” turned out to be just someone saying “I heard she’s straight and married” and then making a Harry Potter reference.

It’s quite cute that TTB thinks she can threaten legal action on people who told her to “fuck off” on the internet.

You guys know I’m not the nitpicky kinda gal but... for the sake of the argument, okay? Technically Bellatrix was never mention in that ~death threat~. For all we know, going “full Molly Weasley” could mean “settling down and having 7 kids with a handsome ginger lad”, “help an unaccompanied orphan walk through a wall” or “knit very nice Christmas jumpers that her children won’t appreciate.” Molly Weasley did a lot more than killing Bellatrix. Justice for Molly, is what I’m saying.

It is now when TTB starts getting her (what I can only imagine) perfectly manicured claws out, “you’ve been a bad Jew and I’m going to report you to the Jew police”.

Guys, a little bit of a PSA here: right now TTB is feeling cornered, so she’s at her most dangerous. She’s doing her best to find ‘dirt’ on people who have criticised her, and then is using that dirt to humiliate them somehow – or maybe even get them fired? So, if you think you could be one of these people and there’s an embarrassing fanfic you wouldn’t like your postman to see, it might be a good idea to do something about it.

OOF! The last line is magnificently evil. Big fan, TTB, seriously. It reminds me of those times when nudes are leaked online and people start saying “wEll iF sHE DidN’t wANt thOsE pICtuREs tO Be SeEN shE sHOulDn’T hAVe TAkEn ThEM”... but that’s a straw man argument on my part, and I can recognise that.

However. There is something poetic about TTB calling out someone for “attempting to delve into her personal life” and then going through a lot of trouble to find out where and for whom that person works. Some people would call that hypocritical. I call it poetic because I’m a romantic.

TTB threatening someone to take them to “the proper law enforcement authorities” for “wrecking TTB’s shit” is the equivalent of me buying a cheap ‘sexy police officer’ Halloween costume, and going around telling people to compliment my hair or they’ll be taken to polyester jail.

(Spoiler alert: this email is from the 17th of this month, this person hasn’t taken down a single thing, and nothing has happened.)

I bet you thought this email couldn’t get any better. But that’s what you get when you underestimate TTB. You get Taylor Doe.

Anyway, TTB babe, I extend my hand to you once again. Would you consider taking me to the proper law enforcement authorities? I’ve been a very unlawful girl. I can be behaviourally out of control, if that’s what you’re into. If you’re having trouble getting my contact details, don’t sweat it! Have Theprologues DM me and I’ll give you my email address. I can even give you my mum’s email, maybe you’ll have better luck than me explaining to her why I spend so much time staring at my phone. You tell me whose email you need and I can even find you some drunk pictures of me and a list of people I’ve hooked up with - let’s go big, TTB, we can do this!

Sincerely,

Karlie Incognito

[lunnybunny12]

Sandor Clegane X reader (Rory)

MODERN AU

A/N: This is a modern AU based off of this headcanon. 

Word count: 2036

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, mentions of death

Master List

As an Infantry Soldier, Sandor served in the field, working to defend his country against any threats on the ground. He'd capture, destroy, and deter enemy forces, assist in reconnaissance, and help mobilize troops and weaponry to support the mission as the ground combat force. He'd seen good people get murdered, shot, hanged, killed. People with families to get back to and friends who would miss them. Sandor had neither, and yet he was allowed to return.

He took a large gulp of his drink and looked at his surroundings. Sandor had been to the bar many times before and the familiar hum of other patrons as they'd pull frothing glasses of beer to their lips was there like always. He heard the occasional clicks from the back where the pool-tables were placed. The smell of alcohol, snow and pine-scented air freshener drifted through the air as you dragged a damp rag across the bar.

"Oi Barkeep. Beer." Sandor called, fiddling some change from his pocket.

"Keys first, Dogface. Then you can drink," You retorted, not moving from your place at the bar. (Dogface- A nick-name for Infantrymen because they sleep in "Pup-tents" and hide in "dugouts")

Sandor sighed in annoyance and paused to look at you. It hadn't been the first time you had told him this, he never understood why but he knew full well that you weren't joking with him.

"Again?"

"Yes, again. now hand them over."

He begrudgingly did as he was told and slid the car keys across the bar, avoiding your outstretched hand completely. You snatched them away and placed them in your pocket, with a fake glare.

"Good boy. They'll be in the same place when you come to pick them up tomorrow." You said popping of the cap of a beer and sliding it towards him and going back to cleaning the bar.

"You're lucky you're one of the few people I can stand in this town" He grumbled.

"Oh I feel so honoured" you joked and rolled your eyes.

Since there were other customers to attend to you couldn't talk long, but it's not like he'd say much to you anyway. The community he had found himself in was quite tight-knit. Everyone knew everyone and it was tricky to not run into someone who had something to talk about. Sandor however was a very quiet individual who often kept to himself making him stand out to many of the residents.

As the night continued and other staff started their shifts, Sandor found himself looking at you from time to time. He watched you collect glasses, chat to customers, tell jokes and take orders. He found himself doing it allot recently and he didn't understand why. At some points, he had even begun te eavesdrop on your conversations since he had nothing better to do.

"Ah (y/n) hows Rory? Heard the lad had an accident" A customer asked as you took their order.

Sandor's ears pricked up. He'd never heard of a Rory before at least not from you, and from what he knew there wasn't a Rory in the village.

"Yeah, the silly thing fell down the stairs and hurt his leg. He's upstairs having a lie-down. he should be up and about in a few days though," You chuckled.

You had changed so much since he was dragged off to the army. You weren't a crazy teenager anymore but a grown woman, with a proper paying job and a life outside of work. Yet you were still the same when it came to your personality: humerus, silly, carefree, cheerful and stupid... my god were you stupid, you had to have been to be his friend.

"Right, consider me.. clocked out" You smiled to yourself and looked at Sandor.

"Why do you need to clock out? You own the bloody place." Sandor said.

"Yes, but its this new fangled technology thing that Mr Ray insisted I use, and you know what he's like. 'His town his rules.' Plus it helps me keep tabs on whos working."

"At least you understand half of the tripe you just said." Sandor joked taking another sip of his drink.

You rolled your eyes and patted his shoulder as you headed towards the door. "Goodnight everyone!" You yelled earning a cheer of goodnights.

Everything was different when Sandor went away. One day he was there and the next he wasn't, no warning, just a letter that said that he had been accepted into the army and to not expect him back for a long time, that was if he came back at all.

When he did eventually return he had also changed. His personality remained the same, as you expected but he had changed physically. He was taller, broader and stronger and his hair had been cut making his burn a more prominent feature.

If it was up to you, you would've stayed away from him but since yours was the only bar in town, he would come for a drink. Out of politeness you talked to him and sent the occasional harmless jab his way and in return he was civil. You were still angry that he hadn't said goodbye but you still cared, you must have done to take his keys.

It was misty that morning. All mornings were misty since the Autumn season rolled around. You loved Autumn. You loved the feeling of the wind rushing past your face and how the leaves crunched beneath your boots. Your favourite place to walk was at the park and since Rory had stopped limping around your apartment, you thought the park was a good idea.

Rory was a large thing. The hound was easily half your height when stood on all fours and towered above you when on his hind. In his youth, he would have been jet black and full of energy but as he aged, the fur around his snout and paws had dimmed to a light grey and he had mellowed out.

As you walked along the wet grass a sudden yelp bit through the air.

"Someone get their fucking dog!"

You immediately ran to the voice to see Sandor, on the ground with your dog licking his face.

"Rory! come here. You silly thing" you laughed as you latched the lead onto the dog's collar and pulled him away from Sandor.

The man looked awful. His hair was a mess and he was covered in dirt. The shirt he wore was the same as the day prior and he seemed half asleep.

"Were you sleeping in the bush?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine thanks for asking" Sandor huffed as he pulled himself off of the grass.

He was in a mood and in all honesty, you would be too if you were sleeping in a bush.

"What kind of dog is that? Looks like a living mop"

"He's a wolfhound and I can guarantee he's cleaner than you."

"Well, you try and stay clean when you've been sleeping in the park for 5 days," Sandor growled, dusting off some leaves from his pants.

"5 days?" you asked. "You've been sleeping here for 5 DAYS! What happened to your apartment?"

"No money to pay for an apartment."

"What about your job?"

"Why do you care?" Sandor asked, bending down to grab the blanket that was hidden in the shrubbery. He was about to walk away until you stood in front of him with a serious look.

"I care because we were friends once and I'll be dumbed if I let my friend sleep in the cold. So I will ask again... What about your job?"

The look Sandor gave you wasn't out of shock or surprise. It was a look of familiarity. A look of relaxed friendliness that you hadn't seen since before he left.

Sandor sighed and scratched his neck. " My job fired me a few weeks ago. Said that 'I have talents that could be useful elsewhere.'"

"They fired you without reason?"

"I stacked boxes (Y/n) and that's all I did."

"Load of cunts," you sighed. "Right you're coming home with me, you're gonna get a shower and we can talk about a job later."

"I didn't ask for your help."

"No, but you're getting it anyway. Follow me Dogface."

A month had passed since then and things once again changed.

You gave Sandor a job at the bar more suited to his skillset and became the security. The town was a tourist hotspot in the summer months and you would get the occasional rowdy bunch that you nor the rest of the residents liked to deal with. In the other months, Sandor would just hang around, help with any shipments that required heavy lifting and occasionally cover for a staff member. Since you couldn't have him sleeping in his car or in a bush you gave him the spare room in your apartment and when he could afford it he insisted on paying rent and wouldnt take no for an answer.

One day when Sandor came back from his shift, he was met with you, laying on the couch with Rory draped over you with his head on your chest. Rory had done this more than once and you thought it was adorable, whether it was to protect you or because he was cold you didn't know but it was adorable just the same.

"You look comfortable," Sandor said slipping off his shoes at the door.

"Oh, I am. Very much so. I was in the mood for cuddles and since you weren't here Rory stepped up" you joked, petting the sleeping dog.

At the corner of your eye, you saw Sandor's demeanour change. He straightened his posture and took a sharp breath in.

"You alright?

"I'm fine. move your legs." Sandor said sitting on the couch beside you as he leaned to grab the tv remote.

He had been doing that a lot. Whenever you joked about ding something a couple would do, he would shy away or close himself off and to be honest you were only half-joking. It why you were so upset when he left without a word of warning. You liked him but if he liked you was a different story.

"You jealous?" You asked

"Jealous?" Sandor chuffed. "Of Rory? Nah. You wouldn't go for an old dog like him"

"I like old dogs. They have more charm and personality than the younger ones." You answered as you ran your fingers through Rory's fur and kissed him on the head.

Sandor sighed and continued to look at the TV. He looked so handsome to you, he always did. Sure he was rough around the edges but its what drew you to him in the first place.

"I like you too, you know."

"What?" Sandor laughed and looked a you. He thought you were joking like you usually did but by the look on your face, you weren't.

By that point Rory had jumped off of the couch to get some water, allowing you to sit properly.

"I like you, Dogface."

"In what way?"

"In a romantic way... since before you left" a second of silence cut between you when you started laughing at yourself. Like a real laugh. "I don't know why I'm telling you this, it's not like you feel the same anyways."

"How do you know I don't like ya?"

"Look at me, Sandor. The only men in my life  are you, the customers and my dog, I'm not exactly a noble-born am I? Just a daft bar made"

You stood up and walked to the fridge to grab a few beers.

"I like a daft bar made. They're way more entertaining than the smart ones."

"Very funny" you said handing him a bottle and sitting back on the couch with a huff.

"I also like my bar made: brave, and strong, and funny. With... a nice dog and a home of her own. Look, I like you too. I like being around you. I...I like your face."

You laughed and shuffled closer to him and leant your head on his shoulder.

"Cute" you mumbled and leant up to kiss his cheek. " I like your face too"

[thewildomega]

My kind of Different (Dwalin x Reader)

A/N: A/n : Okay So I have decided to give Dwalin some more love because he deserves it. Also just in case anyone doesn't know Dwalin was born after Samug's claim of Erabor and also he is the last member of the company to die in the books, he dies way after the war of the ring. He lived to the whopping age of 340 which is a long time for a dwarf. Also Look at this cool fanart I found on deviantart, isn’t he so badass looking. The Artist is  Mental-Lighton (link included so go check them out.) There is a lot more work as well, I really like the way he captures Saruman as well. Anyway Hope you enjoy. Please like, comment and reblog.

Throwing his knife at the hare he let out a curse under his breath when he missed the shot, the hare taking off in a sprint deeper into the forest. Growling he stood and moved to grab his knife from the ground. Whipping it off on his pants leg he lifted his head to start walking when two bright golden eyes stared directly into his making a small yell escape him and his feet stumble backwards a bit. Panting he looked towards the thing, expecting it to be a monster of some sort but what he saw made his brows dip low before knitting together in confusion. It was a girl, a young girl. 

"Whatcha doin'?" you asked the boy as he stared at you. 

Continuing to stare he blinked and then rubbed his eyes. He had to be seeing things. There couldn't possibly be a floating girl there. She was just hanging there upside down, looking at him. Moving his hand he indeed saw her still there. She looked to be a few years younger than himself, her face of soft features. Long wavy silver hair that looked to be glowing hung towards the ground from her head and what looked like thin elf ears poked out from the sides of her head a little. Looking closer though he noticed two shinning blue things behind her and he tilted his head, were those wings? "What are ya?"

Turning back right side up you looked the boy over and grinned, "I'ma fairy silly."

Opening and closing his mouth he gave another look at the girl. She still floated a few feet from the ground, her simple white dress hanging on her tiny frame to end at her knees. There were no shoes on her feet but he supposed she wouldn't need them if she coudl fly. Glancing up to her face he saw her still smiling at him and noticed now her sharp canines. Overall he couldn't say she wasn't pretty even if she was weird looking. When she suddenly was right in front of him again, her eyes equal to his he felt a blush heat his cheeks and tried to take another step back but bumped into a tree. Staring in her gold eyes he saw no ill intent there only curiosity. 

"So what are you then?" you asked as you eyed the obvious boy. He had thick dark brown hair covering his head and even a ghosting of long sideburns going down to his jaw. His eyes were a bright blue, matching your wings. His nose and ears were a bit big but you liked them, they fit him. His clothes were thick and dark, made of furs and leather. There were a heavy set of boots on his feet as well. 

"I'ma dwarf." his voice full of pride. 

"I've never met a dwarf before. Do you all look alike?" 

Standing still as she floated around him, looking over every part of him but never touching the ground he took a deep breath. "No. What kinda question is that, do all fairies look alike?" 

Flying back straight you looked at his face, "No.. well I do have two sisters that look alike." 

"Twins." he huffed and saw her nod with a smile. Figuring she wasn't a threat he relaxed a bit and started walking, he was still hungry and it would be getting dark soon. As he walked he glanced beside him to see the girl right beside him. 

"So whatcha doin'?" 

"Huntin'." Seeing her head tilt at that and her brows knit he rolled his eyes, "Ya know fer food." 

"Oh. Whatcha hunting for?" 

"Anything that will fill m' belly. Now be quiet or I'll never find anything." he told her and saw her nod. He found it odd that the girl kept following but at the same time he couldn't help but enjoy her presence and couldn't bring himself to tell her off. She didn't say anything else as he walked quietly through the forest, the both of them just looking around. When he heard the small noise of rustling leaves he looked around and stilled when he spotted another hare. The thing had yet to notice him as it hopped along and he slowly took out his knife. 

Looking at the small animal you smiled largely, it was so cute. As it hopped along you even spotted a few smaller ones following close behind her. Seeing movement out of the corner of your eye you turned to he dwarf but when you noticed him holding a knife you furrowed your brows, your smile falling from your face. What was he doing? As his arm moved back behind his head you snapped your eyes between him and the mother hare, your heart hammering in your chest. 

As soon as he went to throw the knife the girl yelled out 'No!' making him startle and the hare hurry under ground. Growling he gripped his knife in his hand and snapped his eyes up to the girl. "What the hell ya do that fer?!"he growled. 

Shirking up some as he yelled you looked up to his angry face and furrowed your brows. "You were gonna kill it?"

"That was the plan aye!"

"B..but why?" you asked in a soft voice. 

"Ta eat it, why the hell else?" 

"You eat them?" you spoke in a whisper, talking mostly to yourself. Looking back to the hole the hare had went into. "But if you were to kill her then her babies would die, there wouldn't be anything to take care of them." 

Letting out a huff he rubbed his face, he hadn't seen the little ones behind it until it had ran but still the painful clenching in his stomach made it hard for him to feel pity. Looking to the girl he just now noticed she was no longer flying and that she was now standing on the forest floor in front of him. Now that she was on her feet he noticed how small she actually was, coming up to only his chin. There was no longer a smile on her face and he couldn't help but feel bad as he noticed her looking sadly towards the hare hole. Sighing he put his knife back up "Well it got away so 'er lil ones will be fine... unlike me if I don't find some food." he said grumbling the last part. 

Hearing this you tilted your head and looked up to the dwarf. "You're hungry?" 

"Was the whole point of huntin'." he said like it should have been obvious. 

Humming you looked around before quickly flying away. 

Seeing the girl fly away without a word he knit his brows. After standing there for a few minutes he gave a grunt and started walking again. Thinking over the whole ordeal he shook his head, "Weird girl." Looking up to the sky he saw the sun going down, he would have to head back to the settlement now. Walking on for a bit he felt something to his left and looked to see her back beside him, smiling brightly. 

"Here you go." 

Glancing down to her hands he saw she had them full of blackberries. Raising a brow he looked back to her and saw her just smiling. Sighing he reached out to take one and popped it into his mouth. It wasn't the meat he was craving but he had to admit they were good. She continued flying beside him as he walked back towards his people, holding the berries as he ate them but never once eating one herself. "Don't you want any?" he asked but saw her shake her head. As the lights from the tents came into view through the trees he went to speak to her but a harsh breeze stopped him. 

Hearing the deep, angry voice calling through the wind you curled up some and then looked to the dwarf. "I have to go now." 

Hearing the sadness in her voice he knit his brows and watched as she dumped the berries into his hand, noticing how small her hands were in comparison to his. Meeting her eyes once more he felt this strong pull in his chest and saw her grin at him before another sharp wind cut through the trees and she looked down, her shoulders curling in on her small frame. 

"Goodbye." was all you said before you took off towards home. 

Watching the girl turn into a small dot of light and shoot across the sky he blinked. Glancing down to the berries he ate another as he moved towards his parents tent. 

"There he is." 

Hearing his father's voice he looked up and saw both his mother and father looking at him. 

"We were about to go looking for you." Balin said with a grin. Looking down to his little brother's hands he saw the berries and chuckled. "No luck on the hunt then?'

Shaking his head he felt as his mother rubbed his head.

"Next time you'll get something for sure. Don't worry darling one day you will be just as good of a hunter as your father." she spoke, looking to her husband with a gentle smile. 

Seeing his parents walk away he saw as Balin came over to him and took one of the berries. "Where'd ya find the berries?"

"A girl gave them to me." 

"A girl huh?" Balin asked with a chuckle. "What girl?"

"One in the forest. Sh..she said she was a..." he said and then trailed off.

Tilting his head Balin looked to his little brother and furrowed his brows. "Well.."

"Balin have ya ever seen fairy?" 

"A fairy?" Balin laughed. "No lad. Fairies are nothing more than legend.... wait is that..."

" 'ey you two, 'ow about some help out here?" Fundin called. 

Hearing their father call them the brothers looked to each other before going to help their father. 

.............................

Swinging the hammer down on the glowing steel he felt sweat roll down his face but couldn't take the time to wipe it away. Dipping the metal into the water barrel he heard it hiss and watched steam erupt from the surface. Once he had it cooled he lifted it up to inspect his work. Seeing no faults he dropped the horse shoe down to the pile. Letting out a sigh he finally placed down his tongs before whipping his face with the damp rag. At least with the heavy rain it wasn't very hot and the insects were leaving him be. Glancing to the clock he saw it was well past five in the afternoon, past quitting time. Still he had much to do. Going to grab the next piece of metal to start work he startled a bit when a voice spoke from behind him. 

"Hello again." 

Snapping around he saw a young woman sitting on his workbench, her bare legs and feet dangling down and swinging slightly. "And just who are..." Seeing her smile at him he trailed off, his eyes taking her in. Long silver hair, golden eyes... blue wings... It was her. It had been years since he had seen her, since that day in the forest. She was older now, like him, but she was still beautiful. "You." he finally spoke. 

"Whatcha doin'?" you asked looking to the strange object in his hand, long metal thing. 

"Where did ya come from? How'd ya get in 'ere?" he questioned her. 

"The window." you smiled. 

Seeing the slightly parted window he looked back to her and noticed she was soaked, her short white dress and hair dripping. Licking his lips he took a deep breath when he saw how the thin fabric was clinging to her body. "Yer all wet." 

Glancing down you gave a giggle and then looked to him. "Yea." Tilting your head you looked the boy...no man now, over. In human years you both would now be considered young adults and it showed. His hair was a bit longer now and bushier along with the hair on his face and chin. He was taller, wider, you could tell thick muscles made up his frame. He was only wearing an olive green tunic that was damp with sweat and a pair of brown trousers along with his heavy boots. You wondered how he walked in those things. 

Moving a bit closer to her he placed down the tongs. As his eyes roamed over her body some he felt a blush heat up his face, there was just so much skin showing. Quickly turning away he moved to grab his cloak from the hook by the door. Carrying it back over to her he pushed the thing into her hands. " 'ere' cover yerself up." 

A little puzzled you tilted your head but then grinned and took the cloak he was offering. Flattening your wings you wrapped the thick cloak around your shoulders and grinned up at him. 

Seeing her small body wrapped in his cloak made this strange feeling bubble in his stomach and chest, gas maybe? Shaking his head he grabbed his stool and sat down on it in front of her. " 'ow did ya find me?"

"Well I wanted to see you again and so I just went in the direction it told me to go." 

"What told ya?"

"My heart." you smiled. 

Stiffening he felt that blush creeping up to his ears. 

"I wanted to come find you sooner but I... well I couldn't." you spoke looking down and frowning a bit before shaking your head and looking back to the dwarf male. "But I'm here now." 

Trying to process the whole situation he watched as she hopped down from the bench and started walking about the forge, looking over this and that. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her but he couldn't think of which one to ask first. Anytime he had ever mentioned the fairy lass in the forest before everyone had always laughed at him, asked him if he had fallen and hit his head. Fairies weren't supposed to be real. "Stuff of legend" Balin always told him. "Children's story characters" Thorin told him. She was real though, he was sure he hadn't bumped his head and he hadn't drank anything. She was standing right in front of him. Maybe he had eaten something bad? No. No. 

"What is this place called?" you asked, looking to all the tools and such. You had seen them before when you would sneak out but you didn't know the name.

She had spoken, asked him a question. Clearing his throat he looked to see her standing in front of the coal pit. "A forge. There aren't any where yer from?" 

Humming you tilted your head. "One I think but I've never seen anyone there." Reaching out you poked one of the chains hanging down. 

"An' where exactly are ya from?"

"Galilee." 

"Never 'eard of it." 

"It's in a different realm than this one, hidden from all but fairy folk." 

Humming he watched her continue inspecting things. When she reached out to touch one of the iron horse shoes he heard her let out a hiss and watched her fall backwards to the floor. Quickly standing he hurried around the bench to see her holding her hand to her chest, her face contorted into one of pain. Kneeling down in front of her he furrowed his brows, "What's wrong?" 

"I...iron..." 

Gently taking her hand he pulled it out to look at it and saw she indeed had what looked to be a burn to the tips of her middle and forefinger. Blinking he felt a strange clenching in his chest and helped her up. Taking her back to his stool he sat her down on it and moved to get some of the burn salve. Crouching down before her he dabbed a bit onto her fingers and gently rubbed it in. 

As he finished up you grinned softly and looked down when his blue eyes met yours "Thank you." 

Starring up into her golden eyes he felt his heart thump a little heavier in his chest. "What's yer name lass?"

Smiling softly you felt that wonderful hum in your chest before you spoke. "Y/n." 

He couldn't help the pull of his lips as he received her name. Standing he gave a bow, "Dwalin at yer service." 

Giggling lightly you shared a grin as he rose to look at you again. Hearing the chime of a bell you startled and snapped your eyes over to the door to see another male come inside. 

"Ya about done lad? It's gettin' late."

Turning around he saw his brother there, pushing off the hood of his soaked cloak. As soon as his brother looked up he saw shock come over his face at seeing the female inside, sitting on his bench, wrapped in his cloak. As his eyes turned to look at him, that older brother look of curiosity and disapproval he swallowed. 

"Hello." you spoke to the new male. 

"Uhm h.. hello there lassie." Balin spoke. "I haven't seen you around here before, tell me are ya here fer business reasons." 

"No, I just came here to see Dwalin." you spoke. 

His name sounded so lovely coming from her lips. 

"Is that right?" Balin asked with raised brows, looking to his brother for answers.  

Clearing his throat Dwalin looked between the two. "Y/n this is my brother Balin. Brother, this is Y/n." 

"Your brother?" you asked with a smile. Looking to the older male you hopped off the bench and moved over to him. "It's so nice to meet you." 

Chuckling lightly Balin gave a bow. "The pleasure is mine dearie." Looking to his little brother he gave him a look, "Brother a word." 

Sighing he nodded, "Aye." looking to Y/n he saw her give him that sweet smile that seemed to be ever present on her face. 

Watching as Dwalin and his brother stepped into the room next to this one you grinned and looked down to the cloak. Dipping your head to smell at it you sighed at the scent of the dwarf male on it. A sudden strike of lightning made you gasp, your eyes snapping to the window. As a loud booming thunder followed you curled up and dipped your head, your fingers curling into the cloak for a moment. Glancing back to the room Dwalin had went into you frowned. You wanted to say goodbye but you didn't want to interrupt his conversation with his brother. Another loud thunder made you tense and you bit your lip as you removed his cloak and hung it back on the hook that he had gotten it from. With one last glance towards his direction you shrunk down and flew out the open window. 

Growling he turned and walked back out to the forge, "Y/n, lass will ya please tell my brother what ya... are..." Seeing the room empty he knit his brows. Snapping his eyes around he tried to spot her but she was gone, his cloak hanging back on the hook. Dropping his shoulders he felt a small pull in his chest and heard Balin sigh from behind him. 

"Ya know I think ya are gettin' too old ta believe in fairies lad."

.............................

Sitting by the camp fire he turned the meat he was cooking before looking back down to his ax to continue sharpening the blade on it. A faint glow from beside him made him turn his head, his hand gripping his weapon. Seeing nothing he knit his brows and listened but couldn't hear anything. Sighing he turned back to the fire. 

"Hi Dwalin."

The sudden voice from beside him made him about fall over. Snapping his eyes to the source he saw the face that had been in his dreams since the last time they had met. "Ya know I think you enjoy scaring the bajeebeeze out of me lass." he spoke and heard her giggle. Sitting back straight he turned more towards her to look her over fully. She was now a little older since they had last saw each other, looking to be around what a human would consider early twenties or so. It had to have been close to twenty years since she had showed up in the forge he was working in. He would be lying if he said he hadn't missed her, even if everyone else said he was crazy and that his fairy lass didn't exist. 

"Are you out here all by yourself?" you asked, looking around and seeing no one else here.

Humming he nodded. "Aye lass, on a scouting mission." Her hair was longer now, going to her waist in long sliver waves that seemed to glow like liquid silver itself. Her eyes themselves were like pools of molten gold as she looked to him. Licking his lips he took a breath, "Why'd ya leave last time like that?" he asked, wondering if it was something he did.

"I had to, my father... well he called for me." 

"Yer father." seeing her nod and look down he said no more. Looking to the fire he moved to check his meat. Finding it done he removed it from the heat and set it aside to cool some. Noticing her looking it over oddly he rose a brow. "Ya act as though ya've never seen venison before." 

"Venison? What's that?"

Freezing he looked to her and then shook his head slightly, "Yer kidding?" When she only continued looking to him he sighed. "What is it ya eat lass?" 

"I like fruits and vegetables, fish... um....oh I sometimes sneak tarts when no one is looking." you smiled. 

"So you've never had meat before?" he asked and saw her shake her head. Scoffing he grabbed his knife and the skewer of meat. Slicing strips of it he placed it on the wooden plate he had until it was all off. Holding the one fork he had out for her to take he watched her small hand timidly take it. Using his knife to lift his own piece he saw her watching him but not take one herself. "Well go on." 

Seeing him start eating his own piece you looked down to the plate and poked one of the strips. Lifting it up you looked it over, smelling of it before you hesitantly took a bite. 

Watching her as she ate the meat he saw as she seemed to think it over as she chewed. When she swallowed he rose his brows. "Well?"

"It's good." you grinned. 

Chuckling he pushed the plate between them both and nodded down to it, silently telling her to take more. They both ate in a comfortable silence for a while, she didn't eat no where near as much as he did but still she seemed to enjoy it and he secretly enjoyed being able to feed her. 

"How is your brother, Balin?" 

He was surprised that she remembered his brother and grinned. "He's good lass. Do you have any siblings?"

"Yes, I had twelve sisters and seventeen brothers." 

His eyes went wide at that, thirty, thirty children. How the hell does one have that many children. "So are you the oldest or youngest or..."

"No I'm somewhere in the middle. Balin is your older brother?" 

Nodding he saw her grin. 

"Are you and your brother close?" you asked, crossing your legs under you and looking up to him. 

"Aye. Aren't you close with your siblins'?" he asked but saw her lip twitch, her eyes looking down before she shook her head. 

"Not really, I...well I've always been d...different." 

Seeing how this saddened her he furrowed his brows and felt a small clenching in his heart. When a breeze came he saw her give a shiver and looked to her thin, short white dress. The thing hung on her shoulders by only thin straps and ended at her knees. "Don't ya 'ave any more clothes other than that measly thing?" 

Looking down you tilted your head. "No not really." you giggled. 

Huffing he took his cloak off and went to wrap it around her shoulders but looked to her blue wings that were standing upwards behind her. They were the most bright shade of blue, slightly see through and shiny in the light of the fire. He didn't realize he was staring until she gave a small flap of them. Clearing his throat he saw her laying them flat and wrapped his cloak around her. 

You gave a hum as the warmth of his cloak enveloped you. "Your clothes must keep you very warm." you said eyeing his fur and leather. Looking up to his face you smiled, "Well that and your hair. I like the way you have it now." you spoke, admiring the way he had it cut into a mohawk. Looking to the hair coming out of his chin and along his jaw you tilted your head a bit and lifted your hand. "Do all dwarves grow hair out their face as well?"

He felt his cheeks flush at her complimenting his hair but when her small hand flited and she touched his beard he froze. Her touch was extremely gentle, so much in fact he could barely fee it but still he acted before he coudl think. Grabbing her wrist he shoved her hand away from him. "What in Durin's name ya doin'?"

Gasping at his sudden deep voice and being rough actions you looked up at him in shock. "I..."

"Ya don't just touch a dwarf's beard like that?! Mahal. Don't ya know anythin'?"

Feeling your heart hammering against your ribs you and your eye filling with tears you looked to his angry face and felt a sharp pain in your chest. "I..I'm sorry...I...didn't..." Looking down you felt your lip tremble. "I'm sorry." was the last thing you said before you quickly shrunk down and flew away as fast as you could, not wanting to embarrass yourself further.

Hearing her quiet whisper he furrowed his brows as her frame curled inward. Before he coudl speak a word however she was gone in a tiny ball of light. "No. Y/n wait...." He tried calling but she didn't come back. Growling he rubbed his face, "Fer fuck's sake. Way ta go ya jacksie." he grumbled. Glancing down to his cloak he lifted it from the bedroll they had been siting on and looked at it for a moment before bringing it to his nose. Inhaling he smelt just the faintest small of her sweet scent and sighed. 

...........................

Letting out a long sigh you blinked and looked over the water's surface. Hearing the laughter of some of your sisters you glanced their way, seeing them all siting in the field of flowers. From the looks of it they were busy doing each other's hair, working their sleek colorful locks into intricate styles. Your lip twitched as you for a fleeting moment thought about going over to them before you remembered the last time. It had taken you a weeks to get all the moss and sap out of your hair. Looking down you rubbed your arm. Your brothers offered no better company, leaving you bruised and sore from their rough treatment. Closing your eyes you snapped them open at the sound of the horn, banquet time. Standing you flew to the entrance and landed on the small platform. Going to walk in you were caught by a rough yank of your upper arm, from the pain of the hand holding you, you knew bruises would be there later. Glancing up you saw your father there and shrunk up as his loathsome eyes stared down at you. 

"Do try not to humiliate me or the rest of the family any more than you already do tonight." he spoke in a low voice so not to bring attention. 

Swallowing thickly you kept your eyes down so not to show the hurt his words had caused as you nodded. "Yes father." All that was heard was a huff from him as he walked away, the cough that had been bothering him for a while sparking up. Not a few moments later you heard the applause and took a deep breath before entering the hall. Getting to your normal seat at the far end of the table you stopped and looked to your stool to see a different one there, one that matched the others. Knitting your brows you heard your siblings chuckling and giggling. 

"Y/n take your seat so the feast can begin." you mother spoke in a hiss. 

Licking your lips you moved to the new stool and sat in it, the table now coming up to your shoulders. Hearing a few snickers from the other fairies you stifled your trembling lip. 

"Such a tiny little thing she is isn't she?" 

"And such a strange coloring she has." 

"Yes, there was never any reason we coudl come to, the rest of our children are all perfectly normal." 

"Hmmm how peculiar."

"I'm sure it was nothing either of you did, she was probably just defective from the beginning."

"Yes sometimes I find myself wondering if we should have just shown her mercy. After all she is doomed to a lone existence anyway, not having a bonded."

You could listen to no more of their whispers, choosing instead to stare at your plate as it was set in front of you. Fish again. What you wouldn't give for more of that meat Dwalin had shared with you. Sighing you lifted your fork and started poking at your food. 

After dinner everyone broke off into conversation, your siblings finding their bonded to be close with. Looking across the hall you couldn't help the clenching in your heart as you took in all the couples here and there. Even your youngest siblings had their destined one's by their sides to play and talk with. It was times like these when you thought of your dwarf the most. You wondered if he thought of you as well? Did you ever cross his mind? You hadn't seen him since that night when you had made the mistake of touching his beard as he called it. How you had hated yourself after that, realizing how you had offended him so. You hoped he knew how truly sorry you were, you never meant to do something he didn't like and you hoped he would forgive you. On multiple occasions now you wanted to go see him again and give formal apology but you were to afraid to do it. Too afraid of his dismissal. 

Deciding to go out onto the balcony you moved into the corner where no one was and stared up at the night sky. Sometimes you wished you could fly way up there with the stars. A sudden sharp pain in your chest made you stiffen and your brows furrow. When it didn't go away you blinked. "Dwalin?" you spoke in a soft voice. Something was wrong. Without another moments thought you flew from the balcony and off into the sky as fast as your wings would take you. 

Arriving on the battle field you furrowed your brows and panted as you looked around. Staying in your tiny form you gasped when a horrid looking creature swung his sword by you. Dodging the blade you saw as a male came running up to cut down the foe. Yells of anger and pain filled the air and a pungent odor filed your nose. Your heart hammered in your chest as you spun around, where was he? Where was your dwarf? Seeing some from both sides laying unmoving on the ground as well as those who were covered in blood you felt true fear fill you. As you flew around the area looking for Dwalin you sent a silent plea to the Gods to keep him safe. 

You almost flew past him, hearing a familiar voice you stopped and looked around. When you did spot him you felt ice fill your veins. He was in the middle of a battel with one of the monsters but he was hurt. Blood was spilling from his right shoulder and he also looked to be limping. Seeing another coming up from behind him you took a deep breath and flew down. Growing in size you grabbed one of the weapons from the ground and moved to attack the thing. 

Hearing a female grunt he looked over his shoulder and felt his eyes go wide. "Y/n?" Blocking the orc's sword he swung his second ax and cut the thing's leg, sending it to it's knee. When he heard her cry out he looked to see the thing had knocked her to the ground and was holding it's spear above her ready to strike. Roaring out he cut the head from the one he had been fighting before hurrying to her defense and doing the same. Staring down at her he saw her looking up at him with those gold eyes. "What the hell ya doin' ere'?!" he yelled but then snapped his mouth shut when he saw her shoulders curl up some. Taking a deep breath he went to speak in a more softer voice but a broken yell cut him off and he grit his teeth when he felt a intense pain to his side. Fighting with the orc he growled and pushed through the pain until he had finished off that scum as well. 

Seeing him panting you quickly hurried to his side when he leaned against the bolder, his hand on his side. "Dwalin..." Seeing blood on his clothes you knit your brows, "You're hurt." 

" 'm fine lass." he told her. 

Watching as his body started to slump to the ground you tried to hold him up as much as you could, "No. You're not." 

"Just need ta sit fer a sec'n." 

Helping to ease him down you looked over his blood and filth covered body, your heart beating like a drum. 

"Ya need ta get away from this lass, war ain't no place fer an angel like ya." he told her. Any other time he wouldn't be able to say such things but right now he would blame it on the blood loss. 

Looking up to his face you licked your lips and stared into his lidded eyes. Seeing how pale he was going you looked down to his wounds again and knew you had to do something soon or he would die. "Dwalin..." Seeing his eyes now closed you took a deep breath and pushed your lips to his. You wanted to cup his bearded cheek but only tightened your hands by your sides, knowing he wouldn't want you to touch it. Closing your own eyes at the feel of his lips under yours you focused on making your magic flow into him. 

He had been so tired and he thought he had fallen asleep but there was this strange tingling on his lips that spread all over his body. As his body grew more aware he opened his eyes just barely and then he was sure he had fallen asleep and he dreaming because she was kissing him, his fairy lass. Raising his hand the tips of his fingers just did brush her silky silver hair before he heard his name being called. 

Hearing someone calling his name you pulled away and saw his lidded blue eyes looking at you. Glancing to the field you saw figures walking towards the both of you. You recognized one of them as his brother Balin but there were others you hadn't seen before. Still you knew they would take care of him, that he would be safe. Feeling weak yourself you looked back to Dwalin and saw him still just watching you. His wounds were no longer bleeding and his color was a little better.

Seeing her smile at him before she was gone in a tiny ball of light he licked his lips that were still tingling. Had it been real? Had she... kissed him?

"Dwalin! Brother!"

"He's injured, let's get him back to camp." 

........................

Getting back to your room you just did make it to your bed before your wings gave out. Not a moment later did the door slam open. 

"So you decided to return. I know you went to Middle Earth again, father does as well..."

"Y/N!"

"Oh look and here he comes now."

Panting you tugged the covers up over you and closed your eyes. Your punishment would no doubt be as sever as the ones before but you could care less, the feeling of Dwalin's lips still on yours making it all worth it. As you heard your father enter your room the small grin remained on your face. 

[adsosfraser]

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Six

Read on AO3

Before Claire could journey up to Inverness, she had to settle some matters first in London. The first thing she did was walk up the grand steps of her parents’ bank and walk through the marble columns of the main entrance. A little over two-thirds was left in her account, and she withdrew it all. She walked out, two hundred pounds heavier. The pound notes were neatly stacked into piles of twenty in her suitcase. It was all that remained of her inheritance which had been pretty substantial; the rest had been spent on various celebrations in her life and her travels with her uncle. In total, her trip up to Inverness would be very comfortable, and she would have some to spare for a mockup dress, with guidance of course as Mrs. Graham had assured her. 

 The first thing she did was purchase a train ticket at King’s Cross Station to Edinburgh for the next day. She was almost giddy when she felt the smooth surface of the ticket and her receipt shoved into her hands. 

 The pawn shops in London had infinitely more variety than Inverness, she was certain. There was practically one on every corner in London, but only one she could remember in the general area of Inverness. She couldn’t very well bring a banknote with her into the past. But she could find something to trade. No matter what century, gold, silver, and jewellery always held value. 

 She glanced through the miscellaneous items dotted throughout the store and finally assumed a stance before the jewellery counter. Dainty rings laid within velvet boxes and chains strung across the shelves enclosed in glass carefully haphazard. Her eyes paused on an emerald. Jamie’s birthstone. Next to it was a ruby, much like the ring meant for her baby, set into a gold necklace. She pointed at the different necklaces, bracelets, and rings for the attendant to put aside for her. With one final point, she was ready at the register with her money. At the last minute, she spied a stack of pictures and postcards depicting the world’s modern marvels. An airplane, skyscrapers, tug boats, telephones, even the atom bomb were included in the stack. She added it to her items and smiled up at the cashier. She left, with little less than half of what she had withdrawn that day from her purchases at the train station and the pawnshop. She could always purchase more in Inverness. 

 Claire hurried over to her next stop; the sun would be sinking soon. Her body stopped before the small metal door. A locker in the storage facility. It contained mementos from her childhood. Pictures of her parents and notes from the various friends she had made across the world with her uncle. It was the only tangible thing that anchored her to one spot. While she constantly left for new places, it had been reassuring to know that the locker would always be there for her to remember. She shuffled through the items and pulled out some of her baby pictures where she screamed with cake smeared over her face, her parents’ smiles shining brightly behind her. One with her mouth covered in ice cream on a pier at Brighton with her parents, months before the accident. The rest were her dirty and dusty with her uncle, beaming with curiosity at various excavation sites. Claire glanced slightly at the envelope that contained things pertaining to her time with Frank and shoved it back deep into the locker. There was a final one of her during the beginning of her nurse’s training, smiling optimistically for the camera in her uniform at the train station, oblivious to the gruesome years to come sewing back shattered men and hiding from the sky itself. 

 She boarded the train without fuss the next morning. No one was travelling during the New Year. They were all settled in with their families enjoying their feasts. So Claire enjoyed the luxury of an empty compartment within the train and patted her suitcase reassuringly. 

 The Reverend would be away for the week to substitute for a minister who had taken ill on short notice. The house was left to Roger, Claire, and Mrs. Graham. 

 “Och, Claire, it’s sae fine seeing ye again.” The short woman gathered her in her arms, bringing her down to her level. “Would ye like a cuppa?” 

 “That would be wonderful Mrs. Graham, thank you.” 

 She puttered about in the kitchen and instructed Claire to place her luggage in the second room to the right up the stairs. The door creaked open to a light room covered in a rosey wallpaper. Claire was glad it wasn’t the same room she had stayed in months ago. She set her things on the bed and returned downstairs to where the elderly woman had already set up the cups with tea on the small circular table. Tarot cards were strewn all over the tablecloth. Claire presumed Mrs. Graham wanted to take a peek into her future once again. Seeing no use in delaying the inevitable, Claire launched into her questions. 

 “What do you know about the stones Mrs. Graham?” 

 “Och, please call me Mairi, lass. I’m sae glad ye called over before ye arrived here, didna want ye to be disappointed. I looked through some of my mother’s old things, and there were many journals passed down through the matrilineal line. It would have been a mess to try to find them in short notice, but I managed to find the box just in time. One of them details the subject of powerful stones holding the Earth’s energy itself within them. Ye can read through dear and I’ll wait fer any questions.” She stood up to fetch something from the counter near the oven and returned with a smooth brown book. 

 She looked closely over the scribbled notes and drawings in the small leather-bound book. It most likely could fit into her coat pocket and she was amazed at the artistry of something so old. The pages were weathered yellow like they had been soaked in tea and there were tears in some spots, but it didn’t hinder the journal’s abilities to instruct. Within it contained certainties, speculations, doubts, and even contradictions coming back to scribble that human sacrifice was indeed  not necessary  and  strongly discouraged from the earlier statement regarding it as a necessity. Different hands amended the pages, added different textured paper when the pages ran out, and ripped out some to little stubs close to the spine. 

 A calendar was sketched into the very first page, listing fire festivals at each point of a star. Imbolc. That was the closest date. She had missed Yule while in the ward and cursed herself. She would have to wait a month more, if the information written down in the battered book was to be believed. After months of separation, what more was one month? But her soul agonised over the fact that she was so close to the stones, but their strange attributes limited her. Would the nagging feeling of anxiety for her son ever waver? Or did this new sabbatical mean she would be too late?

 “So Imbolc, a fire feast?” 

 “Aye, most all o’ the journals in my grove ha’ something similar. It’s always, a gem and a fire feast. Many other suggestions have been quite unsettling.” 

 “So when I came through, on April the 16th, I was two weeks away-”

 “Lass dinna work yerself up o’er that jes now. Ye canna blame anyone, it’s jes,” the kind woman squeezed Claire’s hand in comfort, “jes the way things went.” 

 “But, I put my baby in danger, and it killed him.” She couldn’t help the wobble of her lip and the big fat tear that rolled down her cheek.

 “Ye dinna even ken if he could ha’ gone through at the proper time anyway.” Mrs. Graham hooked her weathered finger under Claire’s chin and brought her gaze towards her. “I know it might not be what ye want to hear right now, but perhaps yer baby saved ye. Ye couldna ha’ travelled alone, even wi’ yer wee gem.” 

 “But why take my baby? Why not me?” 

 “The way I see it, the stones only wanted one tae live that day. And if yer baby survived while ye died, weel it wouldna ha’ survived anyway wi’out ye. It doesna do well to dwell on the past lass. The only thing ye can do is look to the future and move forward. Go to yer lad. Yer soul kens what yer brain refuses to. The boy needs ye.” 

 “What if I’m too late? The death certificate-”

 “Have faith, Claire, yer- Frank researched tirelessly to find his fate. If he wasna going to make it, yer soul wouldna be in overdrive to return to him.” 

 “Yes, of course. Faith.” 

 “Fer now we bide, and I’ll help ye prepare. These are lean years yer returning to, ye’ll need all the help ye can get.” 

 The greying woman stood up to leave but Claire placed a hand on her arm to stop her. “Thank you Mairi, for everything.” 

 For the next month, Claire helped Mrs. Graham tidy the manse and watch after Roger. Her heart had warmed to the small boy instantly and she played planes with him whenever he asked, mimicking the noises and spreading out her arms wide to fly across the garden. Reverend Wakefield, much to his own chagrin, helped Claire smuggle some supplies from the hospital, during his visits to the ailing and injured who couldn’t attend church. He even found a set of knives that were close to being pitched before he intervened and saved them from the dumpster. Claire passed those weeks amongst pleasant company in the manse, and knew she would miss her friends dearly. To her surprise, Graham Munro, the kind boy who had brought her to the hospital from the stones, visited the manse occasionally and would take up a game of cards with her and Roger. The seven-year-old won almost every game they played; Claire and Graham had made the mistake of having him lose and much to their dismay he had started a tantrum that lasted for four hours. One evening, he had sulked into Claire’s room, his cheeks tracked with fresh tears from a nightmare and she pulled him close, murmuring to the young boy. Yes, she would miss them all terribly. 

 Mrs. Graham worked on the logistics of Claire’s dress; she was impossible at sewing, knitting, and practically any other domestic task. A plain white slip dress was transformed into a shift, extra yards of wool were donated through her druid friends which turned into her various layers of skirts, and an old blue raincoat fit for a giant was found in the closet and transformed into a cloak of sorts to cover the fact of missing stays. 

 On the First of February, close to midnight, Claire, Roger, Mrs. Graham, and Reverend Wakefield climbed into the Reverend’s black car. Roger was bouncing off the back seat next to Claire, excited at being awake way past his bedtime. Reverend Wakefield had driven them to the stones to humour them, still not quite believing in the absurd story. A leather messenger bag sat on Claire’s lap, practically bursting from the contents within it. She had already dressed into her new clothes that would not be so conspicuous in the eighteenth century. Her heart raced as the headlights from the car illuminated the grey stone at the top of the hill. 

 Claire offered a short sentence of gratitude for the Reverend’s hospitality and then moved on to her fast friend Mairi. He lingered back behind the line of the stones with his arms around Roger. Claire shared a heartfelt goodbye with Mrs. Graham and thanked her profusely. Tears clung to her eyelashes and she pecked the small woman on the cheek. Roger was inconsolable when he felt the atmosphere shift. He thought it was a fun adventure with his new friend, not the finality of a goodbye. 

 “No Miss Claire! I dinna want ye to leave!” He slobbered into her stomach and held tight to the buttons of her cloak. 

 “I’m sorry, Roger. I’ll miss playing pilot with you terribly. Will you keep this safe for me?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a toy rocket, the new fascination of young boys. Planes were old news, but space was exciting. 

 “Aye!” He tried to be brave like his father said his parents had been. She shoved back the hair from his eyes as he looked up at her with glassy eyes and a snotty nose. 

 “What do ye say, Roger?”

 “Thank ye, Miss Claire!” He hugged her tight. 

 He took the plastic object from Claire’s hands and skipped over to his father. His mood had instantly changed and he was happily distracted from the severity of the moment. They all walked slowly towards the stones, Roger hand in hand with his father. The buzzing swarmed through Claire’s ears and she was standing near the centre cleft now.  

 “Father, what’s that noise?” 

 “Stay put Roger.” He tightened his grip on his son’s shoulders, fear laced into his voice. 

 With one last tearful glance of goodbye, Claire vanished. The group was left stunned, even Mrs. Graham. Hearing certainly was not seeing. 

 “Mama?” She felt the soft curiosity of a child’s mind amongst all the screams of anguish and hopelessness. “It’s okay. You can go home now.” 

 She pulled her towards her, guiding her mother gently.

 “I love you, mama. Tell da I love him too.”

 Was it really the child she had lost, or a delusion her mind had conjured? One thing she was certain of though deep in her bones. She had been a girl. A beautiful soul.

[lunewell]

The Lunewell Saga - Natura: Chapter 2

Can also be read on ao3 by clicking here

First part is here (:

Third part is here

Book Sumary:

Zarifa Birch, an antique shop worker with an unusual past, has made a home for herself in the sleepy town of Lunewell. Though the shop she works at is not exactly ordinary, with cryptid items and odd occurrences, she has managed to carve the normal life she always desperately wished for out of it.

However, all that comes crumbling down, as a woman from Zarifa’s past throws everything into chaos. Faced with unimaginable horrors, seemingly unsolvable mysteries, and returning repressed feelings and memories, Zarifa along with her coworkers, must find a way to return the balance- and escape the cruel hands of death in this eldritch horror mystery

Chapter 2:

At 03:45 in the morning, under a night sky covered in a thick blanket of storm clouds, Zarifa was woken, not by any natural phenomena, or by her antique alarm clock, but by the sound of her phone screeching out what was effectively deafening trumpets. Though this had never happened before, Zarifa knew instantly what it was, and threw off her warm, cotton duvet immediately. 

 Grant, who frankly was the only one who had anything even close to technology related competence, had wired up an alarm system in the shop not too long ago, and connected it to Zarifa’s phone. He had also, of course, been the one to design the hideous sound. As she gripped her phone with a speed that almost made it go smashing to the ground, she turned it on to see that the alarm of Thorn’s Antiques had, in fact, just gone off.

 She rubbed her temples, shivering slightly. Neither the room nor the outside world were particularly warm, with a chilly wind seeping on through the wall and around the room. Her bed was a haven of heat, and a place that could soothe the ever-growing, tired ache in her bones, and her entire body protested when she turned on her heels and began walking towards the closet, shuddering.

 Zarifa threw on clothes at an impressive haste; a warm turtleneck and a pair of jeans that were just the slightest bit too small, then snatched her phone and purse, and put on her necklace, before rushing out the door. 

 She wasn’t all that worried about the robbery, not really. While they were an antique shop, they didn’t have anything really valuable, at least not that she was aware of. 

 Besides, if anything of value truly had been stolen, there was pretty much only one culprit, and lucky for them, Zarifa knew exactly where to go should that be the case.

 No, her haste came not from a place of fear of the robber, or worry over the supply, but from Valour’s reaction. Valour, though usually apathetic, had an overprotectiveness of the shop, and any damage to it, might lead to the new rising of a mass murderer. The butterfly over her turtleneck saw one last glimpse of the light, before it was covered in a thick, black coat, and slipped outside into the shadowy night.

 The breeze was particularly strong, fiery trees not so much swaying in the wind as almost being knocked down by it. Zarifa pulled her coat tighter, shivering as a cracking whip of gust slammed her face. The stars above, usually visible in the dimly lit dirt paths, were shielded behind towering, puffed-up storm clouds, almost menacing in their own way. 

 She walked onto the pavement, passing her small and worn car parked outside the small cottage. She debated on taking it, before deciding it really wasn’t worth it. Lunewell was so small anyway, and the shop hidden in the far corner was but a ten-minute walk. Though driving should technically have been faster, navigating her way around the roads and towards Lune Lake, where the shop lay, would take just as long as walking there. Even after living there for five years, Zarifa still found the roads and paths an absolute maze, like the village was purposefully trying to trap its inhabitants.

 As she rounded a corner, and headed towards what had become a very small street of other local shops and one bar, a wave of newly baked pastries broke through the ozone-scented air, sending yet another hard hit of a gust that pushed her back ever so slightly. She didn’t mind the wind though, as her tight expression morphed into a delighted smile and her body became infinitely more aware of how long it has been since she’d eaten.

 Zarifa relished in the smell for just a little longer, though she kept her pace up, before she froze in place at the edge of a lamppost light. Mr. and Mrs. Carr, both bundled up in striped, hand-knit scarves, were walking towards the bakery hand in hand, clearly preparing to open for the day. Zarifa stood almost inhumanly still in place, as though the Carrs were hunting predators and she was their prey, her breathing having grown shallower and tighter. 

 Taking a step back further into the shadows, she hoped the light was poor enough and their eyes old enough that she would slip under their senses. Or, at least, that was the plan, until her feet knocked against an empty can on the ground, sending a rattling sound that resonated through the street.

 Their heads snapped up, landing first on the can that had rolled into the light, and then on Zarifa herself, who was still holding her breath, even her heartbeat muted. Mrs. Carr, who had never particularly liked Zarifa for whatever reason, gave a wave and a slightly tight smile as her greyed hair blew haphazardly around her head.

 Her husband turned to see what she was looking at, lighting up when he saw Zarifa, who had edged herself into the event horizon of visibility. “Zarifa!” he greeted enthusiastically, but quietly, “Hello dear. What are you doing out here at this hour?”

 Zarifa rubbed the back of her neck, shuffling further forward. “Good morning Mrs. Carr, Mr. Carr-”

 “As I’ve said before, just Harold’s fine love.”

 “Apologies,” Zarifa said, hands moving from her neck to the gold that hung around it. “I’m not in the best mindset right now,” Mr. Carr sounded an ‘Oh?’, as Mrs. Carr headed inside slightly huffy, “you see, the alarm for Thorn’s Antiques just went off.” 

 Mr. Carr’s eyebrows shot up in concern, wrinkles bunched on his ever-balding forehead. “That’s dreadful,” he exclaimed, “not the kind of thing you’d expect to happen ‘round here. You better be off, Lilly and I’ll drop by with some of the baked goods later in the day.”

 “Oh, that’s very generous but you don’t have to,” Zarifa reassured in a slight panicky tone, “no point in dragging you two into this mess.”

 “Nonsense,” he said, “everyone needs some baked goods in situations like this. Besides,  I’m sure that young lad of yours with the glasses - Graham? Brant? - would be very appreciative.”

 “If you’re positively sure it isn’t an inconvenience, that would be lovely,” Zarifa said, finishing it off with a warm if anxious smile. Any lingering silence was broken by the sound of Mrs. Carr calling for her husband and co-worker in a way fit for a dictator. Mr. Carr turned towards the door 

 “Yes, I’m coming, I’m coming!” he shouted, back, a stark contrast to the gentle lull of his tone before. “I believe my wife needs me. We’ll stop by later. Good luck!”

 Zarifa took off like a jetfighter, sprinting away with a wave and footsteps that bounced into the streets. At her speed, it wasn’t long before she was no longer landing on cobbled streets but on overgrown dirt paths covered in damp leaves. The shop, a small stoney thing with dirty windows that practically looked abandoned, came into view, and her eyes moved to the door, which was in fact left just the slightest bit open.

 Sliding inside, she closed the door behind her, though the shop remained equally cold. It looked almost eerie at this time, the furniture remnant of old times, empty and abandoned, a few vases smashed on the floor from where someone had been in a rush, and a stillness so quiet that it was deafening to her ears.

 Picking up a blue floral patterned shard, she continued onwards, keeping her footsteps as light as a ghost. Well, as light as a ghost that could not sneak past a deaf person, but she digressed. Pushing open the door to the back, wincing as the door hinges made a shrieking creek, reminiscent of a whining child, she made her way in. 

 The employees’ lounge looked, as she had expected, fine. Everything was exactly as they had left it, slightly disjointed, except for Bruin’s desk that had been organised meticulously. She began heading for the downstairs, to see if any of the inventory had been stolen, when she heard a muffled thud from upstairs, releasing the pressured silence in her ear and exchanging it with dread.

  Thud, thud, thud , multiple slamming sounds, equally light, equally muffled, radiated from upstairs. She could track the being’s every movement from the sound alone, see the continuous patterns of thuds make their way through the upstairs rooms. Her eyes trailed them vigorously, pupils jumpy, as she tightened the grip on the shard. The fact that it dug into her hand, almost piercing through her thin bicoloured skin, didn’t register.

 The shop yet again went quiet, though any illusion of silence was broken by Zarifa’s hammering heart. She glanced around the room, gaze going to the cellar where she could take her hiding, to the second exit, and back up to Valour’s personal floor. She looked up, waiting for any more signs of life, before snailing sneakily up the stairs with the shard held out in front of her. 

 The steps, normal stairs instead of the never ending spiral leading to the basement, stayed as silent as herself throughout the ascent, as though they themselves were afraid of the intruder above. Zarifa tipped-toed up them, the yellow stained walls that the stairs were encased in almost suffocatingly tight, and ever closing in. 

 At the top of the carpeted steps sat a black door crested in a slightly lighter shade, with a pair of Bobby pins stuck in the lock. It was the only entrance Zarifa had never taken in the shop, looming above her and guarding a floor that even so much as seeing would lead to great punishment. 

 It was too dark to peek into the room, and there was no sound but her own swallowing and the wind that had picked up outside. She took another step up, and reached for the handle as though it was shatterable glass. With a prayer directed more towards the cosmic force of luck rather than anything specific, she gave one push of the door.

 Luck, it seemed, was on her side, as the hinges opened without the slightest squeak. She took the final stairs up, giving one last glance to where she came from, and stepped inside what was effectively Valour’s house.

 Even through the fog of darkness, she could see the layer of dust, and the sheer amount of things thrown astray on the floor. Outlines of books with unreadable titles spilling over the carpet, sheets of aged papers crumbled into what she assumed had once been a paper bin, and antique knick-knacks placed in tall piles, disfigured by the low lighting.

 At first glance, it seemed disorganised, but as her eyes adjusted more to the lightless room, it became clear that similar items were bundled together, and that there was some kind of system. She just hadn’t quite figured out what that system was.

 Looking away from the silhouettes of mess that seemed ever-shifting, she turned her eyes downward, looking at where a path had been cleared. Whether it had always been there, or whether the dear intruder had made it, she was unsure about. She walked across it like a minefield, eyes trained on the ground and not looking at the piles which were getting higher as she went along and spilling further towards her. 

 She stopped at a hallway, leading in two different directions, which was deserted compared to the room she had just arrived in, only containing a painting, a few near empty shelves, and a drawer. Though equally riddled with swirling, sand-like dust, it felt cleaner, and had a little bit of light poking through a curtained roof window. It shone on the portrait hanging large and proud above the wooden desk, enough so that she could see the illuminated face of a younger Valour with colour still in her hair and a rather androgynous person she couldn’t quite recognise. They invoked the same familiar feeling she had felt yesterday, albei more distant.

 She took a step closer, staring intently. The person, a sickly pale figure with light brown hair and odd, pink, heart shaped sunglasses, was almost entrancing, to the point she had barely realised just how close her hand was to the canvas. 

 The trance was broken not by the touch of the oil canvas, but by a sound that Zarifa, when asked at a later point, could only have described as bounding . It was the sound of a constrictor wrapping around its prey, of tight ropes encircling a wrist, of becoming trapped and helpless.

 A flash of light blue light, ever so faint and ever so quick that one couldn’t be scolded for mistaking it with a hallucination, appeared in the corner of her eye. Her head snapped towards one of the doors, hair on her arms rising, as she made her ways towards the source.

 From the outside door, she could hear whatever was making that sound wrap further, deeper, and for a second, her mind cleared. She considered walking out; walking safely home, telling Valour that she couldn’t find anything stolen, and not getting involved. Letting this, whatever this was, live its life or death peacefully. 

 After all, was that not why she had come to find herself here in the shop in the first place? Was that not why Grant, Bruin, or even to an extent Valour herself had found themselves in this antique shop? To escape a past of unexplainable events, whilst simultaneously saving others from having the same brush with the eldritch, the unexplainable?  To, for even just a split second, live in the illusion of normalcy, the lie that nothing had ever been wrong?

 Zarifa turned on her heels, sneaking past the portrait of Valour and Heart-Glasses, which almost seemed to be judging her choice. Valour wouldn’t have turned away, which perhaps explained the scars and bruises. She couldn’t, however, bring herself to care, as her ever growing frantic footsteps made their way down the hall.

 Now, what must be understood for the following sequence of events to make sense, is that Zarifa, deep down, was one thing; caring. She sees her fellow employees as great friends, always up to help or let them take breaks, she handles her books with delicate strokes and gloves hands, and she is always up to help.

 Whether Zarifa’s caring nature always outshined her cowardice and self preservation is debatable, and a subject she preferred not to dwell on. However, in the word always , lies a hidden, implied one; sometimes.

 Like when Zarifa, halfway down the hallway, heard a cry and groan of pain that was so distinctly Lottie , that she would have recognised it even if her ears got chopped off. As though someone had a pressed a button, she turned right back around, sprinted with loud thuds, and pushed the door with a speed that almost broke a whole in the wall.  She stood panting in the doorway, all fear evaporated into a feeling that was not quite protectiveness, not quite caring, not quite pity, and not quite anger, before the muddled emotion transformed back into fear as her eyes landed on the strawberry blonde. 

 Lottie sat on the floor, legs dug into by long vines dressed in a barrier of thorns, arms tightly pressed against her body in a twisted bend that no human should have been able to achieve, and a streaming, jet black smoke arising from the leaf engraved ornate box in front of her and travelling right into her deep green eyes. Zarifa moved towards her and the box without even thinking, making her jerk, digging the thorns even deeper into her skin. “Don’t… to-touch a thing,” Lottie commanded, voice unbelievably hoarse, as though she had been shouting for hours, and Scottish accent more intense.

 “I can’t sit by and watch… whatever’s happening!” Zarifa shouted frantically, panic stirring in her. She crouched down to the floor, even as Lottie made a sound of protest. “How can I stop this?”

 “Y-you can get the fuck out,” Lottie managed to gasp out meeting her eyes. Her brows were stern, but her expressive emerald eyes were scrunched and her face was in a grimace that drew at Zarifa’s heart strings like a wound bow. All the while, the black smoke from the box-

 The box. Of course. If she just closed it, Lottie would, theoretically, be fine. She began reaching for the moonlight-reflecting gold leaf, one of the only items visible in the otherwise almost pitch black room. She stopped as she heard her name called desperately from beside her, followed by a string of curses.

 “Don’t touch it!” Lottie pleaded with a tone laced in anger, voice teetering on the edge of death, “Just get out of here, butterfly!” And oh, if her heart didn’t skip at that slip-up, “Don’t want to…” she gasped again, not quite managing to bite down another whimper, “d-drag you into this shit again.”  

 Zarifa looked at Lottie, her pained glare, the arms that looked like they had been put on backwards, and the pierced legs. She took a breath; “I’m sorry,” she said, and before Lottie could say so much as a word, she snapped the lid shut with a snap that hit like an atom bomb.

 As soon as the bomb landed, everything went quiet. Zarifa moved quickly, as Lottie fell limp into her chest like a stuffless ragdoll, arms clicking back into the place with an audible sound, and eyes fluttering open to give one last angered, intense stare before shutting. The smoke, escaping Lottie’s eyes in a violent manner, balled itself up into the center of the room, the thorns vanishing and joining it to create a rotating, black and dark green, spiral-patterned sphere.

 Keeping a close eye on the orb, she scrambled further backwards, pulling Lottie along with her. Her mind raced as she scanned the thing, trying desperately to decipher what it was, what it could possibly be. Though she wanted to leave the room, to drag Lottie and herself outside and never enter again, her eyes were entranced in the beautiful, indescribable spiral. It was, Zarifa thought grimly,  a bit like the train incident all over again. Or the summer camp, for that matter, but she preferred to keep a lock on those memories. 

 The orb continued spiralling, room still quiet except for Zarifa’s heavy breathing, and the wind outside. It was then that she saw something in the spirals, something beyond the mist of black. She squinted, though in the light and with the colour it was hard to see much of anything except the swirling pattern. She began leaning in ever closer, though recoiled almost instantly as soon as the orb came to life.

 A hand, pink and fleshy and clearly human, pushed against the pattern, stretching the orb to translucency like a tight latex glove. It pushed against the swirls, followed by another, then three hands, then 10 hands, and then an uncountable number. Everywhere you looked where skin covered fingers, all trying to break the barrier that had slowly stopped swirling.

 Though they pushed and pushed, hands clawing with the ferocity of a starving lion, pounding with all the force of a hurricane, the barrier refused to move, just stretching to expose the arms further up. It had gotten to the point where Zarifa could clearly see knobbly elbows bending robotically, aimlessly through the cover. She regarded the arms from where she sat, eyes trailing their every movement, before she turned over, head still on them, and took a single, crawling movement towards the door.

 All the hands stopped pushing, falling limp into the orb as though their strings had been cut. They were dragged back jerkily into the core, pulled out of sight as quickly as they had appeared. Zarifa held her breath watching the orb move towards her and out of the moonlight, the colours fading to nothing but a monochrome silhouette, and the shape morphing into something reminiscent of a bald human, albeit with arms just the slightest bit too long. She could not see its face, or any details on its body, even as it took an unsteady tumble towards her.

 When Zarifa was twenty-one, and visiting Lunewell for the first time since the train incident, a seventeen year old girl, younger than herself, but already the owner of a shop, named Valour Thorn had taught her a very important lesson; When faced with the unexplainable, always close your eyes. At that time, Zarifa had yet to see what that would do. After all, simply ignoring danger when it was so close seemed like a sure fire way to get yourself killed, but a method of saviour.

 Now, however, faced with an ever-approaching, vaguely human-shaped blob, staggering towards her like a drunken man with a concussion, she realised that situations like this could only have two outcomes, and closed her eyes. She kept her breath and body stiff, even if she knew she had already been spotted by the sound of bagged, wet meat slapping against the ground. The sound stopped completely mere inches in front of her, and everything went quiet, on what could very well have been the last moment of her life.

 A breath, muffled as though it was coming through fabric, though no less warm and moist than what would have expected, blew against her cheek. It sounded strained, as though it’s lungs were thick as needles, but the breathing was rhythmic and distinctly alive. The breath inched closer, warming by the second as she squeezed her deep brown eyes tighter, mind caught in a loop of prayers to all the gods she could think off.

 Lottie, who had previously been nestled comfortably against Zarifa’s jacket, let out a slightly pained groan. Her heart stopped, as she felt the creature's breath pan over her face, and towards where the pigtailed girl rested. In a flurry of movements that made Zarifa flinch violently against the wall, she felt the weight of Lotie lifted off her in one sharp movement. A dazed whimper once again admitted it from her, but it sounded distant compared to the one that had been right against Zarifa’s ear. 

 She desperately wished to open her eyes, to see what was happening, to make even a singular heroic movement to save Lottie, but she stayed in her prey position; paralysed and blind. It was a grim but realistic reminder that she had and would never be a saviour, nor a survivor, just lucky. Regardless of prior experiences, she was no more competent or threatening than a shot deer.

 The squishy sound returned, just as the warmth where the creature had poised left her neck. There was a distinct dragging sound on the floor, a sharp leather and zippers scrapping on wood, as the wet splotches rounded around her. She still didn’t dare open her eyes, until the footsteps and dragging vanished. 

 As the house and flat quiet, her eyes opened slowly, the lids still recovering from the glued fear. She glanced down to her hands, and realised that somewhere along the way, they had reached up to grip the necklace, which she squeezed as she took a shuddering, shallow breath. She reminded herself that both she and Lottie would be okay, that they’d both been through far worse, but the comfort only resonated on a surface level. 

 Looking around the dark room, she noticed the outline of a light switch right by the door, which stood more ajar than she had previously thought. With a final, semi-deep breath, she flicked it on. The room burst harshly into a bright yellow lamp, her eyes burning at the harsh contrast. She blinked rapidly, trying to blink away the tears that at first came from brightness, but as her vision cleared, came from a true realisation of what had just happened.

 In the light, it became clear that this tiny room was a study. There was a dust laden desk with old, leather-bound journals, a desk light with a shattered bulb, and a computer just slightly more modern than the one downstairs, a corkboard with images connected by different coloured strings that looked like a conspiracy theorist's wet dream, and lots of shelves populated with antiques and books. However, Zarifa was not so much focusing on the small glimpse into Valour’s elusive personal life, as the floor where the encounter happened.

 Splattered across the planks were puddles of a black, tar-like liquid, intertwined with small specks of blood. The ornate box itself had at some point been knocked over, tilted on its side, spreading a few small, thin sheets of ancient looking paper out. Zarifa gently made her way over, stepping past the puddles with a scrunched up nose, before reaching the papers. She didn’t pick it up, nor touch it, instead tilting her head to read what the dull, brown ink said.

  To whom it may concern…

  In this letter lies the seal, which I fear must not be opened till The Dawn. If the time is not right, you must close this box, and ignore this. Do not read onwards, or you will bring upon yourself the cruelest of fates.

  In a worst case scenario, if the seal has been unsealed before The Dawn, if doors ideally locked stand open, you must be prepared to make a key. 

  A key is forged by fragments of Touched sanity eating a sight of one that Sees, dipped in water oh-so divine. Once the key has begun, the fragments must sew themselves between the fabric, letting all webbed light shine on them. As they are blessed by the minute, and after the final step of-

 Zarifa’s eyes widened, turning the page frantically looking for the continuation of where the text had been ripped off. She glanced around the room, looked once again inside the box, only to find it an empty chasm. With a shaky breath, she wiped away her tears, determaimly, and pulled up her phone.

 Zarifa furrowed her brows as the time, reading precisely 06:00, appeared onto the screen. Had it really been two hours already? Nevertheless, she decided to ignore it for now, opening up her contacts, and quickly clicking the one person who she knew would already be up at such an early hour.

 “Hey Grant? I need you and Bruin to come in as soon as possible. We have a slight… situation on our hands.”

[lulaypp]

Snow Turned Avalanche And Maybe Something Worse - Alternate Chapter 3

-

Read The Full Fanfiction

A/N: This was my original idea for the chapter three that I scraped due to story flow. But i liked it a lot and it has Damian so I am throwing it here. Have fun <3

Oh. And I have a small bit where Damian calls Jason 'Bhai'. If I'm not mistaken, it is brother in urdu and I have a headcanon that that is what Damian calls Jason. Sorry if that causes any confusion or inconvinience.

Warnings for: Non-Graphic Referenced Torture, Light Mentions of Injuries and Bits of Flashbacks

--

There was something wrapped around his left hand and rubbing against his knuckles. It was a comforting, even if a bit odd, sensation to wake up to, the lulling strokes almost pulling him back under. However, a hissing sound and constant beeping didn't allow it. They were loud. And with it came the pain from seemingly everywhere. His chest most prominently, as it twinge with every breath, and his head and leg tied at second.

"Jason? Are you awake?" Deep. Warm. Bruce.

Turning to his left, Jason peeled open his eyes slightly to see the blurry figure of his father beside him.

"How are you feeling, lad?"

Horrible, he wanted to reply. But it came out weak and incoherent around the mask still covering his mouth, so he merely shook his head, fumbling to hold the fingers around his. The world around him cleared slightly and he could see the Cave's med bay around them.

"I'm sorry. We couldn't figure out what works for you. Your body seemed to override any painkillers we tried."

"'s fine..." he forced out. "Used to it."

A knit of a frown creased his father's brows. "...What do you mean?" He sounded hesitant, concerned.

Jason couldn't find the energy to shrug. "Pain... Used to it. 'nerally sleep i' off... Works fine..."

Bruce's lips were pressed in a firm line before a the man sighed. "Why didn't you call for back up?" Jason's confusion must have shown as he added, "When you tackled Avalanche's gang alone last week. You only used the beacon." 'Which are meant for emergencies'

It all flashed through his mind. Jumping into a dark factory. Trying to collect any information he could find on the gang. Finding out that it was actually a trap. Attempting to take down as many henchmen as possible while trying to escape. Something swinging repeatedly into his head. Waking up to total darkness. The crowbar. The knife. The stun gun. The water.

Jason closed his eyes against the tiding memories, the hand around his squeezing when the heart monitor echoed his racing heart. He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a breath, the sound loud around the mask supplying him with oxygen.

He distantly heard Bruce talking, half-yelling, over the screeching of the crowbar and the constant splash of water.

Despite the sharp pain searing his chest, he forcefully slowed down and evened out his breathing, counting seconds in his head, until he could feel something gently running through his hair and the voice grew clearer. He suddenly felt drained as he opened his eyes again to meet Bruce's.

"You're back with me, Jaylad?"

Moving felt like too much work but he slowly nodded, lingering panic still fluttering in his chest, evident by the brisked-paced beeps of the heart monitor. The throb in his leg felt more prominent than before, the memory of the crowbar smashing into it echoing throughout the probably-broken bone.

Remembering Bruce question, he did his best to say, "Ambushed. Didn't have time," but it came out muffled and weak.

But Bruce seemed to have understood, a slight relief settling in his eyes. "But you know that we would come to help if you call us, right?"

Jason hesitated. He... knew. Rationally. He rationally knew that his family would and he even had past experiences to back it up. But a haunting, looming shadow would always hiss and whisper that they might not. Maybe this one time they decided to just abandon him. To leave him behind. He also knew why Bruce was asking him that. "You came," he had said in his momentary moment of weakness, his mind still scattered and vulnerable. And scared.

He nodded again, resisting the urge to shift slightly in an attempt to press harder against the hand in his hair.

"Know that," Bruce reaffirmed. "We would always try our best. We had tried to locate you as soon as Cass arrived at the factory and told us that you were missing. And you we couldn't find you for four hours, Jay."

The world grew fuzzy but Jason clamp it all down. He had assumed that it had been some hours, but actually knowing, getting a confirmation, that he was caught for that long...

"We were so worried. And by the time we managed to get you here, you weren't breathing. I nearly lost you." Again.

Ignoring the pain in his wrist, Jason moved his hand to hold Bruce's, hoping to assure his father. To tell his dad that he was still here, that his dad hadn't lost him again.

He whined softly when Bruce's fingers disappeared from his hair and saw that the man was looking at the other side of the room.

"Is he awake?" a quiet, young voice suddenly asked hesitantly. Damian?

"He is," Bruce replied. "Come here."

Jason did the tedious work of turning to the right and sure enough, there was his youngest brother, settling himself between the bed and a chair. He didn't try speaking, knowing that sounds didn't seem to come out as he wanted them to and he didn't want to make Damian felt like he was weaker than he actually was. So he mouthed a silent "Hey, Baby Bat."

The perpetual scowl lessen slightly and Damian spoke with a nod, "Todd." For a moment, he fidgets ever so slightly, a mist of hesitance and uncertainty crossing over his eyes. "...You seem better." Are you alright?

Jason gave a slight nod. He... would be alright. A lot pained maybe, but he had worst, he'll live. Damian didn't seem to believe him and he honestly would have rolled his eyes if his energy wasn't so sparse right now.

Damian's eyes flickered up, to Bruce probably, before going back down to him, still uncertain.

Jason remembered then that Damian had been there with Bruce and Cass when he was saved. And if Jason had... apparently stopped breathing on the way back... that meant Damian was there...

He internally cursed. No wonder the kid was acting this way. Damian had to see his elder brother nearly die. Despite knowing that he has no control over the situation, Jason felt a sinking sense of guilt. The kid had seen enough deaths and near-deaths situations in his life.

Dick once told Jason that, whenever Damian gets worried over someone, he gets comfort from being able to take care and cuddle with said person and stay with them. Jason had found that funny because it sounded like a fusion of Bruce and Dick. Right now he was just happy that Dick liked to share random sibling facts.

He twitched his right hand to pat on the matress.

Damian seemed momentarily confused, but years spent around Dick had probably familiarised him with the silent gesture, as he frowned. "You're hurt." I'll hurt you even more if I do that.

This time Jason did rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No, you won't," he mouthed.

"But I don't need..."

"I want to," he retorted, even though he honestly didn't but there wasn't any harm in both, the lie and a cuddle. "Please?"

Damian glanced up to their father again, probably to make sure that Jason wouldn't die just because of a mere cuddle (and everyone said that he was always being dramatic) before he shuffled closer and onto the bed. Once he had pressed close, Jason moved his head to press against Damian's, who, much to Jason's delight, gingerly started to card his fingers through his hair.

Just when he felt his eyes getting heavier, the weight around his left hand disappeared and he couldn't stop the whine from leaving as he saw Bruce getting up.

"Get some rest, Jay." Bruce seemed to hesitate for a moment before pressing a kiss into Jason's hair.

"Don't go," Jason tried to say.

"I'm sorry, lad. I need to go and check on your siblings, alright? I'll be back as soon as I can."

He could only watch and Bruce left the room before the body pressed against him shifted to sit up slightly, one hand still stroking his bangs. "Father's right, Todd. You need to rest if you were to get better."

He turned his tired eyes to meet the greens. "Brat."

Damian's mouth quirked up ever so slightly but a scowl was pressed against it. Before a glitter of mischief sparkled in his eyes. "You're like a cat."

Raising an eyebrow was exhausting, but Jason did it anyway.

"You like it when someone strokes your hair, you can be dramatic, your hair have two colours, and you are always causing trouble or throwing yourself into one."

He would have scoffed if he had the energy to. He felt himself more of a hyena most of the time; scavangers, said to be horrendous whether or not they are; and tried to tell Damian so.

"Hyenas are rather close to cats. And striped hyenas do share a lot of similarities with cats, behaviour-wise. So you can be a striped hyena, it would go with your hair. And how people always think that you are a heartless lunatic."

Jason listened to his youngest brother talk; about hyenas and the few different kinds, how they are always labelled as canine by the public despite the fact that they are not, the simmilarities they have with cats and Jason; until he eventually his eyes closed.

"Rest well, bhai." I'm glad to know that you are alright.

[saeyoungs-sunflower]

(HC) RFA + MC in Quarantine

Listen lads, this is just a silly I wrote this the other day (I may have been a little but tipsy but shh) and I thought I might as well share it. I hope this cheers some of you up during such a scary time <3

***

Yoosung:

★ okay this is gonna sound obvious

★ but bare with

★ G A M E S

★ but!!! not just LOLOL!! oh no no!

★ i’m talking board games, PC games, active games like tag and hide and seek

★ you guys basically act like children how are you surviving on your own

★ you guys also do LOADS of cooking

★ like so much

★ you’re baking like one cake a day pls slow down

★ ngl you guys are thriving staying home all the time lol

★ if Yoosung has online classes, you set up a study club!

★ he does his college work whilst you do whatever work you gotta do boo love that tEAMWORK

★ honestly you guys have never been so productive oop

Zen:

❤︎ oh boy

❤︎ be prepared to be SMOTHERED in love

❤︎ zen i love you too but pls i have stuff to do

❤︎ m o v i e  n i g h t s

❤︎ f a c e  m a s k s

❤︎ there are so many movies/tv series that you guys have been waiting to watch together but haven't had time to bc of zen’s work

❤︎ big sad :(

❤︎ BUT GUESS WHAT FAM

❤︎ WORK IS CANCELLED TIME TO SNUGGLE DOWN AND WATCH SOME DAMN CINEMA

❤︎ it usually turns into make out sessions but shh nobody has to know

❤︎ Zen kinda discovered that you guys c a n n o t cook

❤︎ so!!! you learn!!!

❤︎ it’s MESSY y’all

❤︎ “aw mc you look so cute with flour on your nose” throws flour at your face “zen i sWeaR tO GoD I just wanna make b r e ad leave me ALONE”

 ❤︎ quality couple time <3

Jaehee:

☞  lets get down to business

☞ to defeat

☞ THE H A N

☞ lol JK

☞ seriously the house has never been cleaner

☞ obvs your cafe isn't open so y’all have some time on your hands

☞ one day Jaehee suggests gardening

☞ oh man

☞ it escalated

☞ gardening has now become an OBSESSION

☞ honestly you couldn't find a prettier garden on pinterest swear down

☞ you also decided to renovate the house you’ve been meaning to do it but have never had the time

☞ your house is now a work of art wow proud of you guys <333

☞ tbh, Jaehee actually has a small fear of getting sick/you getting sick so you guys are only leaving the house if it is a b s o l u t e l y necessary

Jumin:

♚ nobody talk about the bad ending

♚ i said don’t…

♚ he’s be waiting for this moment who needs a cage when you have a national lockdown

♚ all jokes aside though this man still has to work from home

♚ poor bby

♚ let us all shed a tear for Jumin Han

♚ you love to bring him tea and homemade baked goods whilst he works and guess what??? so does he lol

♚ it is time

♚ to D A N C E

♚ this man is so extra oml

♚ insists on taking online ballroom dance lessons bc why not MC hmmm???

♚ he is actually a very good dancer

♚ once you guys get good enough it turns into spontaneous ballroom dancing in the kitchen whilst you clean up after dinner

♚ wine??? wine did you say??? W I N E???

♚ oh b o y

♚ you've seen each other tipsy before, and lemme tell ya it takes a lot to get this man drunk

♚ his tolerance is so high from all the w i n e

♚ but one night you two get absolutely HAMMERED like oh my God guys calm down pls

♚ rip your liver lmao

♚ it makes for a v e r y funny evening though you guys have literal tears in your eyes and its so nice to see the mighty Jumin Han loosen up a little aw bless

Saeyoung:

☀︎ okay

☀︎ listen

☀︎ this man is absolutely out of control i can’t

☀︎ you thought he was a prankster before???? oh man i am so sorry

☀︎ “saeyoung why is there a balloon above saeran’s door” “don’t worry bout it babe” “i am WORRYING SAEYOUNG”

☀︎ on a serious note though being stuck in the house does sometimes bring back some bad memories for him

☀︎ there are some bad days where he just n e e d s to get out

☀︎ so you sometimes go out for a quick drive in some desert place ya know let’s be sensible

☀︎ you guys have also made a habit of climbing to the roof and watching the stars aw

☀︎ you’ve also both fallen a sleep there a few times oopsy daisy

☀︎ the memes are the only thing getting you guys through at this point it’s a problem

☀︎ but you are loving the quality time with your choi boys so it’s not all bad <3

☀︎ family snuggles are a must

☀︎ a M U S T

☀︎ the desired s n u g g l e position is you sat on Saeyoung’s lap, your legs draped over Saeran’s lap and Saeran’s head resting on Saeyoung’s shoulder AW

☀︎ sometimes you hold Saeran’s hand whilst he’s asleep bc your edgy boi needs love but wont ask for it ever

V:

❁ first of all

❁ a w

❁ this man is the sweetest peach

❁ he makes so many cute things for you whilst you guys are in lockdown

❁ i mean he’s writing letters, knitting you scarves, painting you pictures the whole shebang

❁ he even made you a pyjamas

❁ he’s sewing guys he’s out of control

❁ if your working/reading/just having a quiet moment he will sketch you

❁ you wouldn't know it though bc he’s a s n e a k y bastard

❁ he’s never filled a sketchbook so fast and it’s his most treasured possession

❁ a book!!! filled with YOU!!!!! amazing!!!!!!

❁ wait, did you hear that????

❁ oh yeah

❁ ITS ARTS AND CRAFTS TIME

❁ actual children

❁ even if what you make is terrible its just so fun because you're doing it together

❁ brb just crying my eyes out i love this man so much

❁ you guys also make care packages and do the grocery shopping for the elderly/at risk people in your area and deliver it for them AND sewing scrubs/masks for doctors

❁ “I don’t want to stay inside doing nothing all the time when there are people who need help” THIS MAN IS TOO MUCH

Saeran:

☽ i hope you're ready for this grumpy motherfucker

☽ he never went outside anyway but now that he cant go out it sounds like the best thing in the world saeran pls

☽ ah yes it is time to wake up

☽ oh it’s 4pm?????

☽ HA who needs a sleep schedule anyway

☽ also Saeyoung is not the only twin with the Mischief Gene™

☽ oh no no no

☽ you two team up and absolutely destroy him

☽ i am so sorry Saeyoung but you had this coming

☽ when Saeran says that he wants to learn an instrument you are GOBSMACKED

☽ HELL Y E S

☽ he orders a keyboard and omg he’s such a fast learner

☽ probs from all the years of hacking ouch

☽ do i smell??? A FAMILY BAND?????

☽ you and Saeyoung play kazoo

☽ Saeran has left the chat

☽ seriously though his piano playing is so pretty and it calms him down so much ughhh PRECIOUS TOMATO BOI

***

This is so chaotic hahahah I hope you enjoyed though. If people liked it I’ll do some more silly things like this. It was a nice break from...the other stuff I’m writing...hint hint watch this space ;)

Masterlist

[heyyyharry]

Last Chapter: For The Rest Of My Life

(from the My Girl Series: Stay Mine)

…in which they live happily ever after.

Word count: 5.9k

AU: actor!harry, older!harry, younger!y/n (4-year age gap).

Wattpad link (Thea as Y/N)

This is it, guys. This is the last chapter. Thank you for following my beloved characters on this long journey. I never would have written three books without your support! :)

Love, Allie.

P/S: The first preview of TCTM2 - The Winter and the Crown (and first chapter on Patreon) is this Friday! I’ll postpone the new series until after TCTM2 so it’ll be updated weekly instead of biweekly :)

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.

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“And they lived happily ever after. The end.”

“No!”

Celine shot her head up. Y/N could see her friend’s shocked expression in the mirror. “Excuse you. That was a great speech!”

Y/N apologised to her makeup artist, spun her chair around and told her maid-of-honour, “I love you, babe, but your speech was an hour-long. While you were reading, Allison has managed to finish yours, Amala’s, Alice’s, and my makeup. So it needs to be shorter.”

Celine stared at her paper as she blew out her cheeks. “But this is the complete story of how you and Harry got together.”

“Well,” Alice, who sat in the corner, finally spoke. “You might want to skip the whole love triangle drama last year.” She paused, gazing upward. “And the year before that. My God, Y/N!” Alice whipped her head to Y/N, her mouth wide open. “You got three men chasing after you in two years, became a best-selling author, and now you’re getting married after having been engaged for only a month to your super hot, super rich, super famous boyfriend! Talk about being ambitious!”

“Three months, actually,” Amala interjected. She was sitting beside Y/N, looking at her phone. “When she broke the news, Cece and I thought they were rushing the wedding because she was pregnant. As it turned out, they were just too in love to wait.”

“What the fuck? Your life is perfect!” Alice exclaimed.

Y/N shook her head. “No, it’s not. When he proposed there wasn’t even a ring!” And turned to Allison. “Can’t you believe my ex-boyfriend forgot the ring when he proposed?”

“You need to stop calling your fiancé ‘ex-boyfriend’,” Celine said.

“I don’t care. I want three hot men to fight for me,” Alice said.

“Don’t envy me. I’ve only dated three men in my life,” Y/N said then turned back to the mirror, “and today is my wedding day, so can we not make this about them?”

“Of course, baby,” Celine chuckled as she rose from her seat and came to give Y/N a kiss on top of her head. “I’ll make my speech shorter, but we'll keep the part where you read the story about Harry in front of the whole class and you and I became friends.”

“Sure.”

“And also any other part that I was in.”

“Fine.” Y/N snorted, rolling her eyes.

Celine gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze then bent over to press her cheek against Y/N’s, their eyes locked in the mirror as they shared a smile. “Now, let’s get you into that dress, baby.”

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.

“Rings? Where’re the rings?! WHERE–Oh, they’re on the desk.”

“Niall!” Harry and Isaac shouted at the same time.

Niall stared at them. “What?!”

Harry gave his tie a hard tug. To Isaac, he said, “I’m seriously considering making you the best man.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Niall objected as he shoved the ring boxes into his pocket. “You,” he jabbed at Isaac with his finger, “are my understudy today. So don’t even think about trying to sabotage me to take my place.”

“The stage’s all yours.” Isaac spread his arms. “To be honest, it’d be really weird if her ex-boyfriend was the best man at her wedding.”

Harry cast him a pointed look. “Can you not make me want to uninvite you right here right now?”

“You can’t. I would be your sister’s plus one anyway.”

“Damn it,” Harry murmured, looking back at the full-length mirror.

This was nerve-racking and kind of strange. Never had he thought one day he’d be standing in his childhood bedroom with Niall and Isaac let alone getting ready for his own wedding here. When imagining his wedding, he’d thought of something in the range of Nick Jonas and Priyanka Chopra’s wedding and the royal wedding for Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. And yet, here he was, in his hometown with a guest list of under fifty people. And he had never been happier in his entire life.

“Can you check if the rings are in the boxes?” he told Niall and sighed in relief when Niall confirmed that the rings were safe. “Can’t be too careful. The day I proposed to her, I left the ring in my hotel room in New York. It was really embarrassing.”

“Y/N doesn’t care about this stuff,” Isaac said.

“I know,” Harry replied, feeling a grin taking over his face.

Suddenly, Niall burst out a laugh. He looked up from his phone, grinning goofily. “Harold, Alice just texted me a photo of your girl, would you want to see it? It’s really funny.”

“Is she in the wedding dress?” Harry asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then no. It’d be bad luck.” Then he cast Niall a look over his shoulder. “Yes, I’m superstitious. Judge me.”

Isaac’s brows knitted as he considered Niall with a tentative look on his face. “What’s going on between you and Alice?”

Niall’s smile suddenly vanished, and Harry realised he couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Niall so nervous. The lad was rubbing the nape of his neck as he cleared his throat and was unable to make eye contact with either of them. “We’re not...ready to make it public yet,” he finally admitted. Harry and Isaac looked at each other, smiling with their mouths wide open. “My fans will tear her down just as they did to my other relationships. And after what happened to you and Y/N, I think we’re gonna lay low for a while.”

“I’m glad Bambi and I went through hell to set an example for you,” Harry said amusedly.

Niall’s mouth curled. “I’ll make sure to thank you in my speech.”

“Hold on!” Isaac interjected. “I thought I’d get to have a speech.”

“I’m the best man, though,” Niall retorted.

“That’s the point. You’re already the best man.”

“Niall’s right.” Harry gave Isaac an apologetic look. “But hey, you dated my wife and you’re dating my sister. Our friendship is on thin ice, so don’t jinx it.”

Isaac rolled his eyes, and a smirk peaked at the corner of his lips.

Without warning, Niall wrapped an arm around each of them and aggressively tugged them into a hug. Both Isaac and Harry scolded him for having wrinkled their best suits, yet neither tried to break out of Niall’s tight embrace.

“I’m so glad we’re back together,” Niall said. “The three of us, without all the weird tension between you two.”

Isaac opened his mouth to say something but was forestalled by Niall’s ringtone.

“I’ll be right back,” Niall said as he released them and pulled out his phone. “Yeah, that’s the firework guy.”

Harry and Isaac yelled at the same time.

“The what guy?”

“What the fuck?!”

“Niall, this is supposed to be a secret wedding,” Harry said in frustration. “I don't want the whole town to know that we're getting married in our backyard!”

“You should have said that before I called my firework guy!” To the person on the phone, Niall said, “Cancel! Cancel! No, do not light it up!” Then he dashed out of the room, almost slamming into the door.

Once his heavy footsteps had faded down the stairs, Harry and Isaac exchanged looks and broke into laughter.

“You know what?” Harry said, catching his breath and wiping a single tear from the corner of his eyes. “Just in case he gets himself blown up before the ceremony, you probably should prepare the best man speech.”

“I’m on it.” Isaac grinned, and to Harry’s surprise, he pulled Harry into a hug. Not just their usual one-arm-and-a-pat-on-the-back kind of hug. A real one, with both arms and a firm grip that said everything Harry needed to know. “I’m really happy for you and proud of you, H.”

Harry found himself beaming as he hugged his best friend in return. “And I’m really happy to have you here.”

They embraced for a second or two before Isaac broke off and straightened Harry’s jacket. “I’ll see you downstairs,” he said. “Now I have to go save Niall from getting blown up in your backyard.”

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.

When Y/N was little, she had wanted her mum to be the one to walk her down the aisle. Between her parents, she had always loved her mum more, simply because her mum had been there for her for most of her childhood. Y/N’s mum had been her first best friend, her advisor, the person who had known all of her secrets. But if Y/N’s mum were still alive, she would be glad to let her husband walk Y/N down the aisle.

Y/N’s dad burst into tears when he stood by the front door and watched her descend the stairs. It was the first time he’d seen her in her wedding dress. She’d had it altered so it’d look more casual than what a wedding dress should look like. The long sleeves had been removed and the skirt shortened. It was quite plain, perfect for a backyard wedding, and yet her dad was looking at her like she was the Queen of England. Perhaps in his eyes, she was. And as he wiped away his tears with the sleeve of his jacket, she felt her tears start flowing too.  

Her dad rarely cried. At least not in front of her. She remembered how much she’d loathed him for not shedding a tear at her mother’s funeral. It wasn’t until years later that she’d found out that he had cried, just not in front of everyone. He’d slept with a photo of her mum every day for many months after the accident, and cried himself to sleep every night, for the woman who had fallen out of love with him.

Y/N supposed her dad used to think tears represented vulnerability and if she’d seen him at his most vulnerable, she wouldn’t have trusted him to be her protector. He’d tried to be strong in front of her. But Dad, this is you being strong for me, she thought when she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight. He could have left when he’d found out her mum hadn’t been faithful. He could have given up on Y/N when she’d tried to push him away. But he’d stayed. Because brave people never gave up on the ones they loved. And she believed he loved her most of all.

“I’m sorry. Don’t cry. You’ll ruin your makeup,” her dad said, holding her face. “You’ll get two black lines on your pretty face like in the movies.”

“My makeup is waterproof,” she told him, laughing and sniffling at the same time.

“Why don’t actresses in movies use that stuff?” he asked, looking genuinely confused.

“You’re such a dork.” Y/N snorted and wiped his cheeks with her thumbs.

Her dad’s forehead creased. As he took in the sight of her, his eyes lingered on her short white dress. Recognition suddenly dawned on his face. “Is this—”

“Yes. It was Mum’s,” she said, fanning out her skirt. “I made some alterations. Do you love it?”

Her dad brought a hand to his mouth and was speechless for a long moment. She wasn’t sure if he was looking for the right words to say, or he was too emotional to speak.

“You look just like her,” he whispered as he held her arms, leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry she wasn’t here to walk you down the aisle.”

“Don’t be,” Y/N said, fixing her dad’s collar. “I’m already the happiest to have you give me away.”

“Give you away,” he echoed, and even though his expression remained unchanged, she could catch a sign of sadness and regret. Then, the corners of his mouth raised in an attempt to lift up the mood. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not too late to cancel the wedding.”

Eyes wide, Y/N chortled. “Dad!”

“I’m just saying.” Her dad gave a half-shrug. “I want you to know that your old man always supports your decisions, no questions asked.”

“Thank you,” she murmured and kissed him on the cheek. “But I’d still like to marry Harry.”

“Ahhh. You know you’re getting old when your child starts being kind to you.”

Y/N scrunched up her nose at the remark which stung her heart a little. Still, she decided to be light-hearted. “Funny. Harry told me it was me who was getting old when I started being kind to him and you.”

Her dad raised both eyebrows. “You know what? Forget what I said. Do not cancel the wedding. I love that kid.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and gave him a playful nudge.

Suddenly, Celine emerged from the kitchen holding a bouquet and shoved it into Y/N’s arms. “Your flowers, babe. Good luck!” It was hilarious how she looked even more nervous than Y/N was, and Celine had been a bride before.

She kissed Y/N on the cheek, patted Y/N’s dad on the shoulder and then left as fast as she’d arrived.

Y/N’s dad offered his arm to her as the corners of his eyes crinkled with joy. “Shall we?”

She nodded, chin held high, and settled her fingers into the crook of his arm.

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The last time Harry had been to a wedding in Holmes Chapel, he’d returned to London with a broken heart. It was the day he’d thought he’d lost his girl forever, that he’d been too late and missed the only chance to make it right. And now here he was, back at the same place, but this time, he was the groom and his childhood best friend was the bride.

He and Y/N had decided to get married right where the old tree used to be. The new one hadn’t grown big enough to cover them in its shade, but Harry liked the symbolism of it – there was never really an ending, just another beginning.

He stood at the end of the aisle as the guests settled down, waiting for the bride to make her big entrance. His palms were sweating so hard he could feel it soaking through his jacket which he’d been clutching the whole time. In his entire acting career, he had never felt self-conscious standing in front of a crowd, and yet, standing here in front of the people he knew and loved, he could barely move a muscle.

The music started, and Harry straightened like a soldier. He met his sister’s eyes in the front row, and she mouthed at him, ‘You look stupid.’ His mum, who was sitting beside Gemma, shot her a pointed look before mouthing at Harry, ‘You look handsome.’

He gave his family a tight smile as he laced his fingers together in front of his crotch, like a nice little boy waiting for the photographer to take the photo. He supposed he did look stupid. He felt stupid. However, the fear didn’t last for too long, because as soon as the gate to Y/N’s backyard opened and she appeared with Bradford, Harry felt as if there were fireworks exploding inside his chest. Time stopped. And the rest of the world disappeared.

She was wearing her mother’s dress. He knew that because she’d told him when he’d offered to find her a famous wedding dress designer. She must have made some alterations to it, and as excited as he’d been to see her wear it for the first time, it didn’t shock him as he’d thought it would.

When he looked at her, in that white chiffon dress with her hair in a high bun and that big smile on her face, he could see the little girl in a tutu, and he was the little boy who waited by the car with her parents after her first ballet class, because she’d insisted that he came with them to pick her up that day. Then Harry saw the little girl with daisies in her pigtails; she’d made him play house with her and they’d had a fake wedding. That little girl, now older, was a princess for a school play; she’d practised in front of him so many times that he remembered all the lines and mumbled along as he watched her from the third row with her parents. Then she was at a school dance; they hadn’t been talking but he’d watched her in silence just to make sure her date didn’t cross the line. Then there was the girl at the Oscars; messy hair, messy makeup, out of breath, still the most beautiful girl in the room. The girl in his bed, the first face he saw in the morning, no makeup on. The girl with tears running down her face as she said yes on that windy roof. The girl who was drunk in the streetlight, red-faced, smeared mascara as he told her he loved her for the first time. The girl at the entrance of his treehouse; older and taller every time she returned. The girl telling him she’d given up on him for good. The girl telling him she’d love him forever.

He loved every single one of those girls. Y/N was a million girls in one; all were his. And he loved every version of her there had ever been, and every version there would ever be.

His eyes prickled with tears as she reached for his hand, and the first thing she said to him as the music stopped was, “Are you crying?”

“No, there’s something in my eyes,” he said, smiling at her. “Are you?”

“Yes, I am.” She nodded, staring heavenward and blinking back the tears as she tried not to laugh and cry at the same time. Harry almost leaned in and kissed her right then but then he remembered he would have to wait for the priest to say, ‘You may kiss the bride’. He’d meant it when he’d said he was superstitious. He didn’t want to bring bad luck to their wedding. Niall was already an exception.

As the backyard fell to silence and the priest said something Harry did not hear, he couldn’t stop beaming down at his bride and mouthed “I love you” as if she hadn’t got tired of those words already. She mouthed them back, as if he hadn’t got tired of them. Well, at this point he didn’t think it was possible to ever get tired of hearing or saying them.

“Psst, Harry!” Niall’s voice pulled him back to reality. He blinked fast. Everyone was staring at him. “Your vows!” Niall said.

“Right, right. Just a sec.” Holding up a finger, Harry frantically searched in his jacket for the speech he’d prepared last week. His cheeks heated as he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and flashed his teeth at Y/N, who was staring patiently at him.

He held up a fist at his mouth and cleared his throat. “Forgive me if my vows are generic and badly-written.”

Laughter crackled from the guests, and Harry decided to focus all of his attention on his Bambi. It’d feel less weird if he was saying this to her instead of trying to impress their families, although the way her father looked at him was really intimidating.

He blew out his cheeks, shook his head and began, “I...wanted...to write something cheesy...something like ‘I always knew we’d end up together’ or ‘I fell in love with you the moment I first laid eyes on you’. But that wasn’t how it happened. Because when we first met, you were only nine, and you cried a lot so I didn’t really like you.”

Someone, probably Y/N’s stepmum, awwwed out loud. Y/N tilted her head, scowling at him, and he shot her an apologetic grin before he continued.

“It wasn’t love at first sight, or second, or third. But I think that’s the best part of our relationship. There wasn’t an exact moment where we fell in love. Our love grew as we did. It was always within ourselves even though I realised it a bit late and I let you down. Despite all that we’ve been through, you’ve always been by my side, and you’re the only person who loves me unconditionally.” His eyes searched his mum and Gemma. “Alongside my mum and sister.”

The guests cracked up as Gemma, with her arms crossed, mouthed, ‘I don’t love you,’ at Harry. Ignoring her, Harry turned back to Y/N. “You make me a better person–” And wiped his eyes. “You can call me a crybaby later.”

“I will,” she said as her fingers found his.

He squeezed her hand. “I cannot promise that–that I’ll be perfect, because everyone who knows us knows that we are far from perfect. But I vow to always try to be the best version of myself and love you for as long as I live. I’ll be your best friend, always listen to you, take care of you, always make you proud, and whatever obstacles are thrown in your way, I’ll face them with you.”

This time when a sob broke from someone’s lips, it was Y/N’s old boss, Eddie.

Y/N placed a hand on her heart as her bottom lip quivered. Tears shone in her eyes but she wasn’t crying like a baby like him. She released a nervous laugh, glancing at their families and friends. “I’m embarrassed. My vows probably suck compared to yours.”

“No way,” he murmured, not sure if she heard him.

She sucked in a breath, held her smile, and began. “Harry, I’ve never told you this, but when I was nine, I told Celine that I wanted to marry you when I grew up. I asked her to keep a secret because my mum had said that if you told too many people about your dreams, they would never come true.

“At nine years old, my biggest dream, beside being a writer, was to marry the boy next door. And I can now tell everyone about that dream, because after today, we’re gonna go home together and the boy I’ve loved since I was nine years old, is gonna be my husband.” She took a step forward, pressing his hand to her heart. “I vow to be by your side through sickness and health, through your bests and your worsts. I vow to never lie to you, never give up on you. Thank you for making me a better person. I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”

“That was so much better than mine,” Harry whispered, smiling so big his cheeks began to ache.

They exchanged rings, and then Harry’s heart started thundering as the priest looked at him. “Harry, do you take Y/N–”

“I do,” he said without taking his eyes off Y/N, who was beaming like the sun. “Yes, a million times.”

“Y/N–”

“I do.”

Harry believed he’d heard the priest sigh, yet he hadn’t paid attention to know for sure. Then came the words he’d been waiting to hear. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

His arms could not catch her fast enough since hers had wrapped around his neck as she locked her lips to his. He pulled her against him, tipped her head back and kissed her like he had the first time at that same spot. This time, in the cheering of their family and friends.

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.

.

The wedding reception was also held in Harry’s backyard. By the time Niall and Celine had finished their long speeches, everyone had been starving. After the meal and a few drinks, Harry had forgotten what Niall had said about him in that speech, still, he was grateful for Niall. He hoped the firework guy was having a good time being their uninvited wedding guest.

Their first dance was to the song Hearts Don’t Break Around Here by Ed Sheeran. Harry had picked the song and Y/N had joked about him listening to sappy music, but she’d cried when he sang the words into her ear as they danced with her cheek pressed against his chest and his chin on top of her head.

That every night I'll kiss you you'll say in my ear

Oh we're in love aren't we?

Hands in your hair, fingers and thumbs baby

Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was her, but he was so upset when the song ended and he had to let her go so she could dance with her dad. His disappointment didn’t last for long because his mum was also a fun dance partner. After two dances, Isaac and Harry’s two cousins stole him away to do some shots. As the drink burnt his throat, he heard someone speaking into the microphone. They didn’t have a band or a stage so Harry didn’t even know they had a microphone. From the looks on Isaac’s and his cousins’ faces, he knew they had no idea what was happening, either.

“Hi guys, I’m Niall.”

“Oh my God,” said Harry’s cousin as he clasped Harry’s shoulder. “What is he doing? Is he drunk?”

“I’ll get him.”

“Stay exactly where you are, blondie!” Niall stabbed a finger at Isaac and all eyes shot at the poor lad. Isaac raised his hands and stepped back. It was then that Harry realised the firework guy wasn’t the only uninvited guest. Niall had brought his whole band. “I’m not drunk,” Niall said, nodding at his guitarist. “I have a little present for my two best friends.”

Harry caught his wife’s eyes from a distance, and she mouthed at him, ‘Do you know about this?’

‘No,’ he mouthed back.

“I wrote a song, inspired by their relationship. If you haven’t read Y/N’s book, I’m an important part of their love story.”

Isaac arched an eyebrow as he took a sip from his glass of champagne. Harry saw Y/N smiling with her mouth open, clinging onto Celine’s arm. She hated surprises so Harry was very relieved that she didn’t seem angry at Niall.

“The song is called ‘Black and White’,” Niall said as he put on his guitar. “I just thought black and white would be like the black suit and white dress and it would become a bit of a wedding song. I was getting a bit nostalgic with it and the song is basically about first love, when you're a teenager and you're like, ‘That's it, me and you are getting married.’ It's got a very happy feel to it, like a stomping driving tune. I think it might be my favourite on my next album.”

“He’s really using my wedding to promote his album,” Harry said, sounding more surprised than he actually was.

“Classic Niall,” Isaac chuckled, shaking his head.

Niall signalled for his band, and someone dimmed the lights in the yard as the song began with a guitar intro.

That first night we were standing at your door

Fumbling for your keys, then I kissed you

Ask me if I want to come inside

'Cause we didn't want to end the night

Then you took my hand, and I followed you

Isaac and Gemma were the first couple to step forward, and the others soon followed, gathering in front of the ‘stage’ and rocking to Niall’s song. Harry met his wife halfway in the crowd, and before he could say a word, she took his hand and pulled him into her.

Yeah, I see us in black and white

Crystal clear on a starlit night

In all your gorgeous colours

I promise that I'll love you for the rest of my life

See you standing in your dress

Swear in front of all our friends

There'll never be another

I promise that I'll love you for the rest of my life

“He didn’t have secret cameras installed around here, did he?” Y/N shouted over the music as Harry spun her around and drew her back in.

“Why?” he asked, laughing.

She cupped his face, bringing their foreheads together. “To film a music video. Because I would shave his head. Or Alice’s head. Which one do you think would hurt him more?”

Harry’s jaw dropped as he hugged her waist. “Just as I thought I could not love you any more.”

I want the world to witness

When we finally say I do

It's the way you love

I gotta give it back to you

I can't promise picket fences

Or sunny afternoons

But, at night when I close my eyes

I see us in black and white

Crystal clear on a starlit night...

“Are you happy?” he asked, his eyes closed.

“Yes,” she said. “Never been happier. I love you.”

“I love you, too. So, so much,” he mumbled into her hair. Suddenly, they were swaying on their own, just them two, under a starry sky.

I see us in black and white

Crystal clear on a starlit night

In all your gorgeous colours

I promise that I'll love you for the rest of my life

See you standing in your dress

Swear in front of all our friends

There'll never be another

I promise that I'll love you for the rest of my life

.

.

.

.

.

.

(Three years later)

“Daaaaaad!”

Y/N burst into her father’s reading room and found him sitting in his swivel chair with a book in his lap. Outside, the sun was setting. Dust was drifting and dancing in the soft warm light filtering through the stained window. Bradford closed his book as he spun around and narrowed his eyes at her. “What happened?”

“I think I lost her,” she said, still out of breath.

Her dad jumped to his feet. His expression went from confused to shocked to horrified in one second. “How did you lose a child?!”

“I don’t know. I was writing and then she–Hey, Marcy!”

Y/N’s stepmother, who was standing in the doorway between the bedroom and the reading room, cast her husband a tentative look before raising an eyebrow at her stepdaughter. “What are you doing here? Harry and Minnie were looking for you.”

“Oh!” Y/N started though she’d tried her best not to look so relieved. “S-She’s with Harry?”

“Yeah. I saw them down by the lake behind the school.”

“Great. See ya!”

The door swung shut, and Marcy looked to her husband. “She lost Minnie again, didn’t she?”

“Yup,” Bradford sighed. “I’m worried.”

“Don’t be,” Marcy smiled as she rubbed his arm. “I’m sure she’ll be a great mother.”

.

.

.

Bambi dropped her bike as soon as she found Harry by the lake, tossing rocks into the water to impress the two-year-old sitting on the tire swing. He’d hung that swing for Minnie at the beginning of last summer and promised that when the tree in his backyard was big enough, he’d build a treehouse for her.

Dry leaves crunched beneath Y/N’s boots as she made her way toward them. When Harry saw her, his smile glowed as bright as the sun behind him.

“There she is,” he said and picked up Minnie. “Say hello to your irresponsible big sister.”

“Shut up,” Y/N snorted.

“Shut up!” Minnie told her, happily. Minnie was still learning to talk so she would repeat everything.

Harry, with a smug look on his face, tugged slightly at Minnie’s little pigtail. “You’re on my team, aren’t you, Min?”

“You’re setting a bad example for her,” Y/N said, smirking at the inseparable two.

“I didn’t lose her.”

“I was writing. I got distracted.”

“Excuses, excuses.” Harry clicked his tongue, shaking his head. To Minnie, he said, “Now, Minnie, would you be so kind as to tell your sister who’s my favourite girl?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but then her half-sister surprised her by throwing her tiny arms in the air and said, “Bambi!”

Harry chuckled and kissed Minnie’s chubby cheek.

“Did you teach her that to impress me?” Y/N asked.

“Yeah.” As Harry leaned in to kiss Y/N on the mouth, Minnie covered her eyes with both hands and said, “Yuck!”

Y/N’s heart fluttered as she watched the two of them. She had waited for the special moment to break the news, but seeing her husband and Minnie together, she knew she must say it now.

“Don’t get too attached to this one,” she told him while stroking Minnie’s pink cheek. “Our baby might get jealous.”

Harry snorted. Y/N pressed her lips together.

His face dulled. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

Harry’s mouth opened so wide Minnie must have thought he was playing. She burst out laughing, hugging her stomach. Her bright high-pitched laughter made Y/N laugh, too. Then all three of them were just laughing together, not knowing why, and yet they couldn’t stop.

When they finally did (and were on the verge of tears), Harry rubbed a palm over his face, his forehead creased though his grin never faltered.

“Wow. I can’t believe it.” He turned to Minnie. “Min, I’m a dad now, and you’re an aunt. You’re only two years old and you’re an aunt! Such big responsibilities for both of us, don’t you think?”

Minnie didn’t understand what he was talking about, but she could see the elation on his face so she started clapping like a baby seal. Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “Now I have to share your love with another girl.”

“How do you know it’s a girl?”

“My maternal instinct said so.” She shrugged. “Or maybe I want it to be a girl so I can teach her the things my mum taught me.”

Harry broke into a smile as he brushed Y/N’s hair out of her face. “Girl or boy. You know you’ll always be my number one.”

She took his hand and kissed it. “And you are mine.”

This time, Harry had to cover Minnie’s eyes as he went in for an open-mouthed kiss. His lips were cold against hers yet her face burnt as they broke apart.

Suddenly, his phone rang.

“Oh shit.”

“Oh shit,” Minnie repeated happily.

Y/N smacked Harry on the arm and the kid once again shook with laughter. “Look what you did!”

“Sorry!” Harry pointed a finger at Minnie’s little nose and said in a baby voice, “Do not copy Harry. That’s a bad bad word.”

“Harry!” Minnie said and pressed her lips to his cheek. Y/N was so confused when Harry told her Jeff was calling then turned off his phone and shoved it back into his pocket.

“Work can wait,” he said before she could ask. “Now I belong to you and Minnie.” Then he touched Y/N’s belly. “And also little Harry or little Bambi.”

Smiling, she told him, “You’ve only known that you’re a dad for like two seconds and you’re already acting like one.”

“What can I say? I can take on any role.”

He put Minnie back on the swing and wrapped his arms around Y/N, drawing her close. She hugged his waist and buried her face into his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating in sync with her own.

THE END.

[comfortwriting]

Best friends Brother - G.W

Part 1 of my slow burn mini-series, inspired by and dedicated to @amourtentiaa , want to be tagged? Let me know!

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Part 2

George Weasley x Fem Reader 

About: The Reader is falling for her best mates older brother, she confines in Ron who is already afraid of losing his best friend to the brothers he’s so pressured to be like.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, mention of food and eating, but of angst, George punching a creep.

Walking away from Hagrid’s hut towards the castle, thoughts about the more quiet Weasley twin filled your hazy head - you were planning on shooting your shot, but first you needed some advice and the only person who could do that right now is your best friend Ron - currently chewing your ear off about Hermione and the house elves. 

“She doesn’t know when to stop does she? All the S.P.E.W nonsense, if she brings it up one more time-”

“Hey, do you think George likes anyone?” you asked as cool as possible, trying to contain your nervousness and excitement. 

Although you and George had only spoken few words to one another, he was all you could think about, all you ever thought about, day in day out. You would share sweet glances and looks across the common room in the evening, the beautiful amber glare coming from the flames projecting onto George’s face, making him look like an angel. 

As much as you liked him, you were terrified that he wouldn’t feel the same, that he only saw you as his little brothers best friend - you hated it. 

Ron slowed down from his brisk walk and he continued to stare at the ground “George? As in.. my brother?” 

“yeah” you smiled shyly, swallowing hard. 

Ron could feel his heart flutter, the idea of another person - his best friend - favouring one of his legendary twin brothers over him made him sick to his stomach, he couldn’t lose anyone else, he wouldn’t let it.

He pondered his thoughts, perhaps you were asking for someone else, someone Ron didn’t care about - the desperation in his stomach kept churning to find out. 

“I don’t know” he replied in a huff “we don’t really talk much, why you asking anyway?” 

You went quiet, suddenly finding interest in the scenery as the two of you edged closer to the castle. 

“uh, no reason” you lied, running your hand through your hair. 

For all of Ron’s flaws, he could tell when his best friend was lying - he never failed calling you out for it in the past, you learnt not to play any card games with him - especially when galleons were on the table. 

The two of you entered the loud castle, pushing past students in the hall, making your way to the Gryffindor common room.

��you like him, don’t you?” Ron muttered under his breath, making sure everyone else around you couldn’t hear.

You sighed and made eye contact with Ron, his facial expression even more sour than when he puked up slugs in first year. 

You walked up the stairs and held on to the rail, looking around for the Fat Lady “I suppose I do, I was thinking of asking him to-”

Ron could feel the sweat form in his palms and under his arms, images of you and George being together all the time instead of him flashed before him.

“I don’t know, Y/N, you’re two years younger than him, you haven’t spoken more than ten words to each other.” 

Your heart pained for a moment, your spirits crushing like the ingredients in one of Snape’s potions.

“I just don’t think he’ll like you that much, I don’t want you to get hurt.” he finished, the two of you finally reaching the portrait. 

“I guess so” you mumbled “you know him better than I do.”

Over the next few days you couldn’t stomach being around George, each time you looked into his gorgeous eyes and seeing him smile, caused your heart pain, a lump forming in your throat, and hot tears filling your eyes. 

At first George didn’t notice but when he would wave and smile - only to be ignored, he couldn’t help but overthink; wondering if he had done something wrong. 

It wasn’t just George who you ignored, you kept away from your best friend Ron too - Ron felt like shit but you were away from George and that gave him enough of a clear conscience to sleep at night. 

You couldn’t sleep, you missed your best friend even when he hurt your feelings, you also felt hopeless, the only person you ever showed an interest in wouldn’t even give you a chance.  

“What’s been up with Y/N lately? George asked his younger brother, buttering his toast, causing Ron to almost choke on his. 

“What you on about?” 

George rolled his eyes and swallowed his food, “unbelievable you are, she’s been avoiding you like the plague and she won’t even look at me.”  

“So, did you make up your mind yet?” 

You swore silently under your breath, recognising the voice who called out to you - an attractive and charming Hufflepuff student in George’s year with short black hair kept asking you over and over to go on a date with him in Hogsmeade, each time you said no had failed to satisfy his desire. 

“Uh” you were trying to figure out the best way to tell him to fuck off, but then again, what did you have to lose? “yeah, I’ll be there” you faked a smile. 

Ron watched in the distance and felt relieved, from his perspective, the possibility of you and George seemed incredibly slim to none. He walked over towards you as soon as the lad split, a smile creeping up on his face. 

“Y/N, alright?” he smiled, his hands in his pockets. 

You stared at him, yes you were hurt, but you missed him - he could do much worse to cause a much bigger fall out between the two of you. 

“I suppose” you sighed “walk with me to Transfiguration class?” 

Ron smiled “can do”

“and took your bloody shirt in!” you scolded him, bumping into him playfully. 

As much as you enjoyed visiting Hogsmeade, you couldn’t help but want to go back home and climb back into your warm bed, hiding away from the world - but your habit of trying to see the best in people lead you here - waiting outside Honey Dukes for your date to arrive. 

“Look at you!” he called out, walking over and kissing your hand “ready for the best day of your life?” he grinned.

Best day of my life? with you? I should’ve stayed in bed.

“Sure” you replied, plastering a fake smile on your face. 

The best day of your life wasn’t too bad, you had someone new to talk to, to try and get your mind off things - but your heart couldn’t help but yearn for George. You looked around the shops thinking of the products he liked, disliked, and what he bought for Ron at Christmas. 

Your date had more to blab about himself than get to know you, he held your hand and bought you a much needed Butterbeer - but he talked so much that he didn’t even get round to drinking his own. The more he had to say, the more he tried to impress you, the more you disliked him, making you fall for George even more. 

Finally breaking out from the busy and overwhelming pub and out into the cold, your date stood in front of you with a strange expression on his face. 

“So?” he shrugged

“so, what?” you stared at him, your patience wearing thin. 

The shared laughter between George and Ron came to a halt when George spotted you with his classmate, he knitted his brows together. 

“Why’s Y/N around that plonker?” he asked his younger brother. 

Ron looked at you then back to George “she’s on a date”

George shook his head “he’s an absolute creep” 

The two of them stared, the student took a hold of your hand and tried to pull you in for a kiss, you pulled away and glared at him, trying to not make a scene. 

“Fucking pervert!” George hissed, storming over towards the two of you “Hey!”

George clenched his jaw, his nostrils flared and his glaring gaze settled on on the lad, he bunched his right hand into a fist and swung, everything went in slow motion as George punched him in the face. 

You were speechless, you didn’t know what to say, all you could do was stare and watch the fight unfold. 

“Stay away from her or my foot will rip you a new one!” George threatened him, he turned to you, his facial expression instantly turning soft.

“th-thank you” 

“you don’t need to thank me love, are you alright?” George searching your eyes with his, full of care and concern. 

Your heart fluttered, his voice, him speaking to you sounded like the most fascinating birds chirping, and his caring face caused fireworks in your stomach to erupt into the sky. 

You wanted to take your chance, ask him out and start over but before you could do any of that, let alone reply, Ron hurried over and interrupted; putting you back in your place and making you remember how his brother felt about you. 

“Proper shiner he’ll have in the morning” Ron laughed “sort your knuckles out George, if anyone sees they’ll send a letter home.” 

The fluttering in your heart died down, the chirping of the birds instantly turning into the most dreadful squawks, and the fireworks in your stomach burning out, starving the embers before they could relight.  

“Thanks again” you murmured quietly, flashing George one last smile before walking away, wanting to retreat to your bed and hide away. 

George had to admit, he felt quite hurt that you went back to ignoring him after he had your back the other week - he knew that you didn’t owe him anything, not even an explanation - but he couldn’t understand why even after making up with Ron, you still refused to look at him.

Sitting on the sofa in the common room in your pyjamas, you flicked through your Quidditch magazine and blinked over and over whilst you looked across the page, sleep trying to pull you in. 

“Georgie, I’ve already said-” 

“Shhh!”

Jolting awake, you looked behind you and stared at the twins, long roles of parchment in one hand and a map in the other, you yawned and rubbed your eyes, closing your magazine. 

“It’s okay boys, I’m going to bed anyway.” you yawned again, slowly getting off the sofa. 

Fred and George shared a look, the older twin nodding his head towards you “go on then, mate, I’ll be upstairs.”

Fred walked past you, he whispered a “goodnight!” and went off to his dorm, leaving you alone with the person you wanted more than anyone in the world. 

George pursed his lips, standing around awkwardly before approaching you “Y/N, can we talk?” he asked softly. 

You nodded slowly, the nerves piping up in your tummy. 

“What’s up?”

“You’ve been ignoring me, love” he said softly “have I done something wrong?” 

This was your moment, not to ask him out - but to tell him the truth. 

You pushed your stray hairs out of your face and sighed, the lad of your dreams standing beside you, looking down on you. 

“I have feelings for you George” you admitted, your mouth going dry “and that’s why I have to stay away from you, because I know you’re never going to feel the same.” 

George went quiet, the embers from the fire spreading and making it set alight, the amber tones coming from the flames resting on his face. He smiled for a moment and licked his lips, looking into your eyes.

“Tomorrow night” he whispered softly in your ear “where we first met”

Tag list: @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @alwaysnforeverfangirl  

[tocrackerboxpalace]

Le Rêve - Part 4

Summary: George reflection chapter. What more is there to say?

Warning: R-rated

“Ringo, have you seen me favorite pair of socks? The black ones?”

George tore through his suitcase in agitation, carelessly tossing the clothing into a second-carpet on the hotel floor. He groaned in frustration when an uninterested “uh-uh” came from the other side of the room, where Ringo was changing into his pajamas.

“I can’t bloody find them anywhere.” George let out a defeated huff and sat back on his heels with a pout.

“Where’d you leave ‘em last?”

“If I knew that,” George tried, ever-so-patiently, “I wouldn’t be tearin’ the room apart, now, would I?”

“Did you leave ‘em in John and Paul��s this morning?” Ringo asked in a tone of voice that implied George absolutely did leave them in John and Paul’s that morning.

“I don’t know why you never get things for me when you find them,” George muttered, though the words were less pointed now. He threw his suitcase closed.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, Harrison. You’re a big lad now, you’ve got to be responsible for your own things.” Ringo shot him a grin. “Think of me as your personal… guide. I’ll give you hints and whatnot along the way, but I won’t do it for you.”

“Charming.” George rolled his eyes. He pushed himself to his feet, not bothering to gather up all of the other strewn-about items of clothing. “Well, I’m off to go get them. I can’t get sleep without them.”

Ringo cocked an amused eyebrow as he began to hang his suit. “You’re an odd fella, you know that, George?”

“Bah.” George swatted away the comment and pulled the door open. “Be back in a minute.”

John and Paul’s room was down the hall from theirs, though it was really only a few steps. The hotel was small, the rooms far from luxurious. The hall was a dull mess of gray and beige, the carpet a crisscross pattern and the wallpaper about a thousand years old. He scoffed in distaste of the place. They were the fucking Beatles now, for God’s sakes. You’d think they could afford some better living. George kicked at a spider on the water-stained trim as he approached his mates’ room.

He had just raised his arm to knock when a strange sound caused him to pause his movements. Intrigued, George inched forward and pressed an ear close to the frame. What was the harm in getting a little listen?

There was… moaning. And cursing. George nearly rolled his eyes. It sounded like Paul—richer than John’s voice, and clearer, too. He also ran with the hardly faint memory that Paul was quite vocal in bed. He should almost know the lad’s sounds by now. Part of him wondered where John had gotten side-tracked off to, because he could have sworn the three of them went up in the elevator together.

He half-laughed to himself. This guy was too good. George hadn’t even the slightest clue where Paul could’ve picked a bird up on his way from the lobby to the room. Gonna be sick, my arse, he thought to himself.

As George waited outside of the door, he pondered his options. He could wait until Paul’s little rendezvous was over (which, judging by the sounds, was not far off). He could knock and give them a second to dress or hide the bird. And finally: eh, what the hell. He’d seen worse before. If the door was unlocked, he could just slip in.

Besides, George really wanted those socks.

Ultimately, he decided that sneaking in was his best bet. He’d slip past the door and slither unnoticed to the bathroom, and go—yes! He remembered now!—behind the toilet. Pick up the socks and leave as quickly as he came. In and out in a jiffy.

George reached for the doorknob and gave it a slight twist when an expression from inside stopped him cold.

“Fucking hell, Paul.”

Paul was in there; he knew good and well. The question was what was… the other voice doing there? The boys’ closeness had never warranted anything more than an “Oh, shit, sorry,” when walking in on one another and leaving as swiftly as possible. Was the other voice… watching? Just hanging around in there?

George’s pulse quickened, his grip beginning to slip from the door as he desperately fought the pounding confusion in his head. He had to have misheard. It couldn’t have been that voice. He was delusional, imagining things, that’s all.

The voice called out again, breathless, grainy: “Christ.”

It was unmistakably John.

George remained frozen in front of the door, unable to tear himself away. Faintly, he registered Paul moaning John’s name. John was in there. And so was Paul. He had heard them call out to each other… for each other…

“John, I can’t—” Another pause, and bedsprings creaked incriminatingly. “John, stop, I-I’m gonna come—”

Before a second thought could cross his mind, George threw the door open and stood gaping at the scene in front of him.

The first thing he noticed was the sheer look of terror on Paul’s face. This was almost comical, considering the obvious next thing to notice was that Paul was stark naked, a furious burn in his cheeks as he scrambled to cover his intimacies. Intimacies that John was—was all over.

John had been touching him like a bird should. George’s eyes raked over John’s form. The man didn’t look nearly as terrified as Paul. In fact, he looked almost… smug. His cheeks were flushed pink, his eyes bright and teetering on wild. He laid propped up on one elbow, making the hard-on in his trousers conspicuously evident. Despite throwing himself off of his mate as fast as possible, he looked completely at ease, glaring at George almost daringly as a shadow of a smirk twitched at the corner of his lips.

George took this opportunity to switch stares back to Paul, sickened by whatever fucking game John thought he was playing. The ends of Paul’s hair were curled with the sweat that beaded on his neck and forehead. His hands trembled where they tugged at the bedsheet, which could have done more to hide him. There was something pleading in his eyes, something desperate. If only George knew what it was for.

There was nothing he could think of to say. Rather than waste time standing and waiting for someone to speak up, George turned on his heel and swiftly shut the door behind him.

—

George leaned with palms pressed against the door, chest heaving from exertion and overwhelming bewilderment. The scene had played over and over in his mind since the fervent escape. It was his fault, he knew—that was the worst part.

He had only been going to look for a pair of socks. And they were rather nice socks. His favorite, even. That’s all he had wanted. Socks.

George had heard about these kinds of people before. Seen some of them, even, in Hamburg. He was fairly certain that Brian was one. The ones in Germany always tried to make a move on him and the others, but he never saw why; he didn’t fancy any of them were that attractive, anyroad. George suddenly recalled a conversation, not so long ago, when John had gone on a slight rant about The Homosexuals in Hamburg, and Paul had nodded along disapprovingly. It was Ringo, eventually, who edged them out of the discussion: “Eh, come on lads. It’s none of our business what they do, anyway.”

What the hell just happened?

“Whasamatter, Georgie?” Ringo stepped out of the bathroom, words coming out garbled as a toothbrush dangled from his lips. He tossed it in the trash and turned to spit in the sink. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“J-John and Paul,” George stuttered, his mind working frantically to piece together what had just happened. It seemed to be the only coherent sentence he could form. “I saw—it was John… and Paul. With Paul.”

“No kidding,” Ringo gave him an understanding nod and a slight chuckle. “Intense fellas, they are. They give me a downright scare sometimes, too. Writing a song, then?”

“Ringo, you’re not hearing me,” George tried, his voice unsteady. “I saw them. Doing—together. It was both of them, with each other.”

Ringo’s brow knitted in confusion. George’s ramblings only seemed to perplex him more, draw him farther away from the conclusion. “I… Congratulations?”

George rubbed his forehead shakily. He wasn’t so much frustrated as just helplessly exasperated. There were no connections in his mind that made the situation make sense. He stifled a groan.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, mate.”

“They were shagging,” George blurted. On instinct, a hand flew to cover his mouth as soon as the words left his lips. The phrase sounded so bizarre, so wrong, and was yet the only thing he felt accurately characterized what he just saw. “Almost.”

Ringo blinked. “Shagging who?”

George began to pace back and forth across the small room. “John. Or-or Paul. Each other. They were almost-shagging one another.”

Ringo stared, looking just as baffled as George felt. “What do you mean?”

George continued slowly. “I went to go get my socks. I was gonna knock, but I heard something, and I didn’t know what it was. So I listened for a moment, and I just thought that Paul was in there with a bird. Y’know.”

Ringo nodded, no more convinced.

“But I heard another voice, and they were saying Paul’s name, and then Paul said it back, and it was John. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You went in?” Ringo didn’t sound surprised, just curious.

“I wasn’t thinking. I couldn’t believe it. I s’pose I thought I had to see for myself. And-and then I did.” His voice broke a bit. “I don’t know what to do, Ringo. What the fuck?”

“Where are they now?”

“I don’t know. I just left.”

Ringo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We can’t tell anyone.”

“We can’t.”

“We have to talk to them.”

“About what? D’you want me to go in there again and say, ‘John, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal, what were ya doing in there, jerking Paul off? And Paul, ya bloody bastard, what were you doing enjoyin’ it?” George ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck. How are we supposed to talk about this? What about the band?”

“Hey.” Ringo’s voice was gentle as he took a step closer. “One thing at a time, mate. We’ll worry about the band when the band gives us something to worry about. Right now, we need to go promise them that we won’t tell a soul, and that we’re not judging them really, but that they need to be more careful, and—”

“Be more careful?” George was bewildered. “Ringo, they were in the privacy of their own room. How much more careful can you get?”

“Do you want to be the one to tell them to stop?” Ringo raised an eyebrow. “Because one, I don’t think we have the authority to do that. And two, if I know anything about John and Paul, it will only make them want to do it more.”

George pondered this for a second. “They’re going to kill me.”

“No, George, come on—”

“They are.” George began to panic. “I walked in on them. I never should have done it. I should have just left in the first place. I should’ve knocked before anything. Oh, Christ, Ringo. They’re gonna kill me!”

Ringo’s gaze was soft and sympathetic, but George could pick up on a hint of worry in the lines of his face. Not that he would blame him for it. It’d be one thing if George had walked in on Paul and the fantasy bird George had originally thought. It’d be one thing if George had walked in on Paul with a random guy, and it was decriminalized. It’d even be one thing if George had walked in on Paul with a random guy, period.

But none of that was the case.

“Look,” Ringo started, laying a hand on George’s shoulder to temporarily halt his pacing. “Let’s go back to the room. We’ll talk to them. I don’t know about what, yet, but they need to know that I know."

“Okay.” George sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

—

Paul was sitting up, staring off into the distance and frantically nibbling at his thumbnail. His expression was hard, the other hand drumming nervously on the bed beside him. He was almost dressed, but everything carried an air of distractedness: his fly was down, his shirt haphazardly buttoned, his tie draped across his shoulders. He barely acknowledged when George and Ringo entered, lazily casting his gaze in their direction.

“Paul,” George tried, attempting to take hold of the conversation early. Maybe, at least, if he was in control, it would be easier for both of them. No more surprises.

Paul blinked up at him, looking dazed. He didn’t speak.

“I’m not mad.” George spoke quickly: reparations for earlier. “I-I was just shocked. ‘M not angry at all. I didn’t know how to…” He cleared his throat. “Not make it… worse?”

“Hm,” Paul affirmed.

“Where’s John?” Ringo asked suddenly, tentatively, as if he were afraid to stir Paul.

“Fuck if I know,” Paul shot in response.

George and Ringo exchanged a look. This was certainly not the picture George had left only minutes earlier. The air itself was hostile, heaving with McCartney’s own breaths until the others swayed uneasily on their feet.

“We can talk about it,” George offered, despite every nerve screaming at him not to do so. It was the last thing in the world that he wanted to do, but he couldn’t conjure up any other consolation.

“What is there to talk about?” Paul’s voice was cold. He was refusing eye contact.

“Paul,” Ringo tried again, taking a step closer. “It’s all right. George and I, we don’t care if you guys…” He trailed off, looking at George pleadingly.

George filled in. “…Want to be together.” The end of his sentence unintentionally lilted up, posed as a question.

Paul had the audacity to look at them now as if they were mad. “What?”

George watched confusion wash over Ringo’s features, mirroring the perplexity he felt on his own face. He tore his gaze away and focused on Paul, who looked nothing short of furious. The two men stood awkwardly, neither making a move to speak, which George figured was a smart decision. Let McCartney talk his way out of this.

“What?” He said again. George shook his head.

Paul pushed himself to his feet, his eyes sparkling maliciously. “No, George, tell me. Just what do you think you’re implying?”

He began advancing towards them. Though part of him knew, deep down, that Paul would never actually get physical with him, George flinched back noticeably into Ringo, making the older lad stumble as well.

Something changed in Paul’s expression at the interaction. The fury melted into fear, and then, almost… despair. He reached out for George’s arm, then seemed to think better of the choice and pull his searching hand back.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked as he retreated. “I’m sorry.”

“Come now, Paul, it’s all right.” Ringo’s voice was unsteady, but his words were comforting and secure. He took a tentative step and placed his hand on their friend’s shoulder. “Just tell us what’s going on.”

“I don’t know, Ritchie,” He near-wailed. “That’s the problem. I don’t know what that was. What happened.” Paul raked a hand through his fringe. “I can’t tell you. And now John’s fucked off to God-knows-where, and he was already in a bad state. Oh, shit. This is bad.”

Again, George and Ringo exchanged a nervous glance. Paul could be moody, manic, bizarre. The lad could go seemingly weeks without expressing a single intimate thought or feeling. He could also have outbursts, usually at John, about the smallest of things. George had always believed it to be pent-up frustration and emotional suppression, but this? This was no typical McCartney venom. This seemed like something entirely different.

“I’m not queer,” Paul suddenly asserted, mostly to himself.

“I believe you,” Ringo lied through his teeth. When Paul’s gaze was cast downward again, Ringo gave George a helpless shrug. “But we can’t just sweep this under the rug if you want to move forward. We have to find John, too, and talk about it. A-and make sure it doesn’t get out, or that you’re caught again. Or—”

“I need a smoke,” Paul interrupted.

And with that, he pushed past the two and disappeared out of frame, leaving George and Ringo trembling in his wake.

[lu-undy]

A Sniper/Medic Short

I took part in a Secret Santa and my giftee wanted a Sniper/Medic short with cuddles in front of a fire or exchanging gifts. I did both :) Here it is!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28489524

"Gosh, it's freezing." 

Sniper woke up in his van on that cold morning of late December. He rubbed his eyes and pressed a switch to turn on the heating in his campervan. Engineer had been kind enough to fix him a button next to his bed that connected with the electric radiator. So the Aussie stayed in bed for an extra half an hour to wait for the van to warm up to an acceptable level. He could afford the wait as that day was off for both teams. 

In fact, the mercenaries enjoyed two weeks off at the end of the year's holidays.

Sniper looked at the time and took a deep breath. 

"Right, should probably get up now." 

And he followed his morning routine. He put some clothes on with warm socks and a season coat. It was thick and lined with synthetic yet warm fur around the hood. He put on a scarf and gloves. When the Aussie finished slipping in his boots, he opened the van's back door and the ice cold air bit his very skin. 

Everything was covered in a thick layer of white snow and as he jumped down to the ground, he landed in a muffled thud and sunk to the middle of his legs in snow. He hissed and winced. The kangaroo wasn't much of a fan of the feeling of cold wetness on his legs in the morning, or at any other time of the day either.

He locked up his van's backdoor and walked back to the base's main building. He entered and shut the door before feeling the drastic change of temperature. 

"Crikey, it's hot in here…" 

Sniper pulled back his hood, removed his coat and unrolled the scarf around his face. He placed all his clothing items on the coathanger there and proceeded to the kitchen for breakfast, where he found most of his colleagues, as usual. 

"Mornin' Sniper." Engie waved. 

"G'day." 

The rest of the team present in the kitchen nodded to the Aussie who went straight to get a warm mug of coffee. As he reached the coffee pot, he stuck his frozen hands on it and let it sizzle his skin nicely. 

"Here, your coffee." 

The white mug marked '#1 Sniper' slid on the counter to him and when he raised his head, he saw a lab coat float away, back to the table. He smiled. 

He took the mug and resumed his usual seat around the table to partake in the usual morning debates. Well, partake was a big word, maybe just listen in and nod from time to time. He liked his colleagues' banter. It had taken some time for his head to stop hurting at it, but now he was fully used to it and he even appreciated it. He listened to it like the radio and watched it like TV. He would sometimes add his grain of salt to the conversation but he much preferred to listen and watch. 

"Hey, fancypants! Not wearin' a suit today? What is it, Christmas?" 

Spy entered wearing a knitted jumper that went up his neck, to the color of the team and a dark, matching pair of trousers.

"Very observant." He answered and went to the coffee pot to help himself. 

"Funny, eh, my Ma' knitted me the same kind of sweater!"

"Funny indeed." The Frenchman answered and the rest of the team sighed gently. 

"Any plans for today, guys?" The Bostonian asked.

"Today is a great day. You will all respect and celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ!" Soldier exclaimed. "And if I catch one of you numbnuts not partaking in the festivities, it will be extra physical training and scrubbing duties!" He raised an authoritative index finger. 

"Calm down, laddie, what about a snowball fight? The snow's nice and fresh." Demoman suggested. 

"Yes, Sir!" 

"Right! Can me and Pyro join you guys?" Scout asked. 

"Of course, lads! The more, the merrier!"

"Heavy, you wanna join us?" Scout turned to his impressively built colleague. 

"Nyet."

"Come on, Stalingrad! Let me give you a Second Cold War!"

"Aye, c'mon, Heavy, what are you gonna do inside, eh? It's Christmas and there's snow!"

Heavy rolled his eyes and smiled behind his crossed arms. 

"Fine." He yielded and the mercenaries rejoiced. 

"What about the support club?" Scout turned to Medic, Spy and Sniper. 

The Frenchman was reading a newspaper while Medic and Sniper looked briefly at each other. 

"Spy, d'you wanna-"

"Non."

"C'mon, Spy-"

"Non."

"But-?"

"Non." 

"Why?" 

The old French man sighed. 

"I am busy."

"What will you be doin'?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"C'mon, what could be better than a snow fight? Join us!"

Spy sighed from his side of the newspaper. 

"A phone call with your mother would be incomparably better than a snowball fight."

The mercenaries tensed around the table and their eyes all shifted to Scout. 

"Yeah, well, you're not gonna get it anyway so c'mon!" 

They facepalmed and rolled their eyes. Scout was remarkably oblivious. 

Little by little, the mercenaries left the table. Sniper's eyes rose from his final bit of toast when the flapping of the white lab coat caught his attention. Medic was leaving the table. The Aussie finished his breakfast but stayed a bit longer in the kitchen. He helped for the dishes, as he owed it to Engie.

"Wanna help me prepare lunch, Sniper?" 

"Sure." 

"If you'd rather go with the others in the snow, that's fine by me, eh." 

"Nah, it's fine. I'll give you a hand."

At the other end of the building, Medic was filling some paperwork that he had been putting off for too long.

There was a knock at the door. 

"Ja?" 

"Uh, it's me, Doc'."

There was the noise of a chair moving and footsteps before the door opened. 

"Hey there."

"Hallo, Sniper."

"Mind if I join?" 

"Please." 

Medic shut the door after his guest. 

"What brings you here?" 

"Van's freezing." 

"Ah, so you're just here for the radiator?"

Sniper chuckled. 

"Yeah, nah…"

"I was about to stop and take a break. Shall we go to my living room? I will make some coffee."

"Sure." 

Both mercenaries went through a corridor and Medic opened the door in the end. Medic, like Spy, had his own suite, which consisted of a living-room, a kitchen, bathroom and his bedroom. They were all a few doors away from his workplace.

"After you."

"Thanks, mate." 

"Make yourself at home, I will set the coffee."

"Right." 

Sniper entered and removed his old boots right at the door. The floor was carpeted and he didn't want to give his friend some extra work cleaning it. He slipped his coat off and hung it on the coat-hanger before proceeding to the sofa. He sat down and made himself comfortable as he heard his German friend busy in the kitchen. 

"Hm." 

Sniper soon got off the couch and went to the kitchen door. He gave it a few short knocks. 

"Need some help with anythin'?" 

Medic turned to him, who was peeking from the door. Sniper's eyes fell on the tray that the medical expert was preparing. 

"No, I should be fine, danke, Sniper."

"You sure?"

"Ja, go get yourself warmed up in front of the fire. I will be just an extra minute." 

"Alright, gimme a shout if you need me, ok?"

Medic smiled.

"Will do." 

The Aussie turned and went back to the sofa. In front of it was a coffee table and a fireplace against the wall. It was lit up and Sniper could feel its heat diffuse to the sofa, slowly. 

"Here, coffee and some cookies." 

Medic brought the tray and sat down next to Sniper. 

"Cookies?" 

"Ja, Pyro baked them for me the other day after I fixed his arm."

Sniper stared at the star and heart-shaped cookies with multicolored sprinkles. 

"Guessed as much."

"Did you?" Medic asked, handing Sniper his mug. 

"You don't come across as the heart shaped cookie bakin' type…" Sniper leaned his arm on the back of the sofa.

"Very perceptive you are." Medic leaned his head on the Aussie's shoulder and they chuckled. 

"Should take a break like the others, y'know, ease out on the work."

"Experiments don't carry themselves out unfortunately." 

"Guess so. But what if I ask you to take a break?"

"Why?"

Sniper put his now empty mug away and looked down at Medic. He held his chin between his index and thumb. 

"Cause I wanna spend time with you, darl'." He tilted the German's face upwards and stared into his eyes, through the thin pair of glasses. Sniper smiled. "Please." 

Medic's eyebrows rose up and he grinned back. He removed his gloves and threw them away on the sofa before wrapping an arm around Sniper. 

"Hard for me to refuse when you plead me with such beautiful eyes." 

"You got some pretty eyes too, eh." 

"Flatterer." 

"Nah, just sayin' what I'm thinking."

"Mmh." Medic buried his head under Sniper's jaw, on his chest and he felt his arms wrap around him. 

"Missed you, luv'."

"So did I." 

They stared at the dancing flames of the fireplace and their breaths synced slowly, Medic's head was rising and falling to the rhythm of Sniper's calm breathing. 

"Oh…?" Medic's surprise escaped his lips as he felt Sniper's fingers slide between his. 

"I wanna spend a bit more time with you, y'know. Sometimes, I don't go to your office not because I care about what people would say or because I don't want to. It's cause I don't wanna bother you but…"

"But?" Medic asked. 

"But I miss you, I really do…" Sniper tightened his hug and clenched his fingers between the German's. "I wish we could spend a full day together and…"

"I thought you were wary of the others learning for us?"

"I'm sure Spy knows, the rest will, one day or another. Besides, I just wanna spend the winter break with you." 

Medic raised his head to his lover. 

"Me too, Sniper…" 

Their lips met in the quiet and dark room, the warmth from the fireplace hardly rivaling with the hot touch of their hands brushing past their clothes. 

"Please…" Sniper asked, sliding a hand behind Medic's head, through his hair. "Please stay with me tonight." 

Medic bit his lip. His hands slid on Sniper's collar and up to his rough, scruffy cheeks. 

"I will."

Sniper's delight came out of him in a silent gasp and a wide smile. He pulled Medic's face again to kiss him, for longer this time and they dived on the sofa, the German on top of the Aussie, ruffling his brown, short hair as their lips brushed, nipped and pulled. 

"Give me more than one night… Wake up next to me, please…"

Sniper curled a leg behind the white lab-coat and pulled the man below it flush against him. Their kisses went more heated and their lips were wet and slightly swollen from all the attention there. 

"I will." 

Medic removed his lab-coat and threw it away. Sniper pulled the blanket that was hanging on the back of the sofa and covered them both. The German just lied on top of the man that kept him safe after a long day of work. Sniper understood him, wordlessly. He knew when to ask for attention and when Medic didn't have the strength for it. 

That day, all the German wanted was affection. Affection and strong arms to hold him. He lay on Sniper, his head on the Aussie's chest and he felt long fingers play with his black, short hair. 

"Thanks, luv'. I know I might be askin' a lot from you but… You have no idea how good it feels to wake up with you instead of just, y'know, a big empty bed…"

"I do apologise, Sniper. I should spend more time with you."

"It's alright. I understand, you like your work, it's fine."

"Yes but…" Medic raised his head to look Sniper in the eyes. He smiled. "I love you and I would much rather spend my evening with you than with paperwork. You are right, my love."

"About what?" 

"Let's make this winter break all about us."

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean that you can bring a bit more clothes here and stay with me for a couple of weeks…?"

"Seriously?" 

"Ja, I can spend my days and my nights with you."

Sniper's face radiated with a wide smile. 

"You'd do that? Really?" 

"Ja, we all deserve a break and I could do with a bit more affection from you." 

"Well I got loads of it for you, eh." Sniper's hands brushed Medic's back slowly under the blanket. 

"Perfect…"

"Uh… Would you…?"

"Would I what?" 

"Would you… have some… for me, maybe?" Sniper blushed and his eyes darted left and right in embarrassment. He wasn't so good when it came to words but had an incredible intuition when it came to moves...

"Of course." Medic pushed his lips on Sniper's and let his tongue brush past the hunter's chapped lips, which pulled a low growl from the wild man.

"Gosh… I'm so happy, I… Thanks, really." 

"You are welcome, Sniper." 

They snuggled up under the blanket and in front of the fireplace, they both warmed up nicely. 

"I got you somethin' for Christmas."

Medic's eyes snapped wide. 

"Did you?" 

"Yeah."

"Why? I mean… I didn't."

"Yeah, you did." 

"What?" Medic asked.

"You're spending a couple of weeks with me. That's… Better than Christmas…!"

"Saying things like that makes me realise even more how much I neglected you…"

Medic raised his head with his now ruffled hair and they exchanged a kiss.

"So please, show me what you got us…?" Medic asked.

"Want it now?"

"Ja, why not?"

"I guess I can… I've been carryin' them on me all the time for you not to find them by accident or anythin'."

"Oh…" 

Sniper slid a hand in his pocket and retrieved his secret gift. 

"Alright, you're ready?" He asked, putting his still clenched fist in front of Medic's face. 

"Ja." 

Sniper opened his hand and two bracelets lay in his palms. 

"Oh… They look lovely…" 

"I made them m'self." 

"The wooden pearls you carved yourself?"

"Yeah." 

"Oh, and what is this pendant?"

"Look at it. Carved it myself too. I had to go and get a book from the Teufort library to do it, cause I didn't really know what it looked like."

Medic held one of the bracelets. 

"It looks like an anatomically correct heart with an arrow piercing through it, but that's only the left half of it…" 

"Look at the other bracelet, luv'."

Medic took the other one and looked at the pendant. 

"Oh mein Gott… That's the right half…!"

"Yeah, I carved a little wooden heart, lookin' at an anatomy book, then carved the arrow, then cut it in halves. You get one and I get the other. Looks less ridiculous than a classic heart and it makes sense."

"Ja! And I guess the heart represents me and the arrow, you?"

"Yeah, you got it."

"I am… Speechless… It must have taken you hours to make them…"

"Who cares? It was fun and it made me think about you for hours. C'mon, wear it and show me!"

Medic slid one around his wrist and put one around Sniper's. 

"I feel like a little boy again…" The German doctor chuckled. 

"Yeah, bit childish maybe but uh…"

"Nein, please, I didn't mean it in a bad way, on the contrary. I guess this is the true spirit of Christmas." 

"Yeah, sort of." Sniper slid his fingers through Medic. 

"I love you, Sniper. Thank you so much for your gift."

"You're welcome. Love ya too, oh, mmh…" 

Medic slid up on Sniper to take his lips again. The flames of the fireplace danced as their bodies followed another choreography. The doctor and the hunter took their time that night. Maybe it was Christmas, maybe it was the gift, or maybe they had yearned for each other that much. 

That year, they did spend a Merry Christmas indeed.

[mikkomacko]

Dear Daisy 6

Harry enjoys Saturdays. For the past two months, Saturdays have consistently been his day off from patrolling. Occasionally he'll get Sunday or Friday off as well, but he doesn't get his hopes up. It doesn't matter to him. He's completely fine only having Saturday off.

A shop in town (one he's yet to learn the name of because he's still confused by the French language), had a nice leather bound journal he'd bought the first week of being stationed in the city. It's similar to the one he'd left at home, the one he's comfortable with, so it makes writing his letters easy. Which is what Saturday is for. A letter to Daisy, a letter to Anne, a letter to Gemma, and a letter to Niall who's unable to fight due to his old knee injury. Today he gets through Anne's, Gemma's, and Niall's letters quickly. He's addressing one to Daisy when he pauses, recalling the letters she sent last week. Harry quickly flips to a blank page, scribbling the name of a man he's only spoken to a few times.

Dear Robin,

I wasn't sure you'd remember me after all these years. The last time we spoke I was about thirteen, right before my uncle started grooming me on the steel business. I've changed a lot since then which is why it was quite shocking to hear about you from Daisy. She told me of your generosity, a quality I'll always remember you for if the books in my library are anything to go by. I'd like to thank you for taking Daisy in while I'm away and distracting her with the gift of baking. She may not look it, but I know she gets awful lonely when she's left to herself too long. I remember a few years ago, when I was maybe seventeen or eighteen, I'd passed by her near the park where she was sitting in the grass, chatting with a pigeon. Of course I teased her for it. What kind of nutter talks to birds? But she'd gotten flustered and yelled at me, told me birds need friends too. She also mentioned being stood up by a boy from my mum's neighborhood so she was complaining to the bird. It wasn't really my business, as she so snottily put it, but I knew she was continuing to speak me because she was lonely. I suppose I'm glad that Bill whatever didn't show up that day.

I was worried about leaving her. Her family has hurt her. She wouldn't want to spend much time with them. And her friend Summer has taken up a babysitting job so her time with her is limited as well. Knowing she's enjoying her time with you brings me comfort. I can't thank you enough for watching over my love.

She told me of your son's and I'm sad to not know them very well. I'm sure they're just as wonderful as you if not more. Perhaps you could give me their names or where they're stationed and I could keep an eye out for them? I believe it's a fair deal; you watching my family and I'll watch yours?

Wishing you a happy fall and hoping the bakery stays busy,

Harry Styles.

The bakery is a big company in town so he doesn't need to ask for the address. Finishing up that letter and stuffing it into an envelope, a titter of giggles flows through the November air. Harry peeks up through his eyelashes, finding two girls in long coats not so subtly looking at him. A red head one wiggles her fingers at him, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Harry thinks she's the kind of bird they'd put on a postcard around here. With the Eiffel Tower behind her, trees turning autumn shades that compliment her hair. It's a nice picture, but not one he'd like to look at forever. French girls are pretty, but he prefers English. Particularly English girls with frizzy brunette curls and freckles on her nose and cheeks. Light brown eyes that stir like honey and drip warmth into his veins when they look at him, whether it be through tears of frustration or sparkles of adoration.

He ignores the girls, shifting his shoulders under his thick army coat. At least the uniform is warm. Harry turns back to the letter he had started writing to Daisy, teeth sinking into his chapped bottom lip as he continues to scribble.

Dear Daisy,

I've never enjoyed autumn. I find it uncomfortable. That brief period between the peek of life in the summer and the bittersweet end in the winter. The one thing that I do enjoy, is my mother's pumpkin soup. I'm glad Gemma visited you on Halloween and I'm glad you had so many pumpkins. I would say I'm jealous but I think that'd give you an edge over me so I'll admit to nothing. As for the fighter pilot girl, I wish I could have seen her. My father was a fighter pilot and I use to have a photo by my bed of him in his plane. One time I had a dream that my daughter flew planes, crossed oceans and looked down at mountain tops. She might've looked like that girl you saw. I can't know for sure seeing as I'm here and you're there. Again, I won't say I'm jealous, but do you think there's a chance she'll be a pilot again next year?

Anyway, I'm sitting on a bench in the grass around the Eiffel Tower right now and there's two girls watching me as if they'd have a chance. Suppose I should tell them I'm a married lad? Or should I let them dream? I reckon it'd rile you up if I didn't say anything so I'll stay silent. Who's jealous now aye?

Think I'll go to the bakery down the street after this. You've given me an awful craving with that dream of us in our house, dancing as your pies burn in the oven and my roast beef cooks to perfection. One of my bunk mates gets cookies sent to him from his mum. He likes to brag about it. Think ya could send me some oatmeal ones? Oughta show his mum who's boss.

I don't like raisins though. If there's raisins in my cookies I'll have no choice but to divorce you.

Until then, I hope you're staying warm. Niall told me he'd drop by sometime, check the heater and leave some firewood for you. I don't know if you'll need it but there's extra blankets in my closet as well. My nan knitted a nice green one for me a couple years ago. Spilled some tea on it once but it's awful nice. Feel free to use it. It'll keep ya warm at night. Not as warm as me of course, but it should suffice. If it doesn't you can go to the church and complain to my Nan's grave. Tell her Harry sent you and maybe she'll only hit you a few times.

Heard a rumor the other day that if things are still slow around here by December a few of us might be able to go home for a bit around the holidays. Don't get your hopes up too much but know I'm brown nosing the hell out of my sergeant for the next few weeks. It'd be nice to be able to hit you with a snowball. And it'd be nice to spend my first Christmas as a married man with my wife. I promise I'll keep updating you (only if you send me cookies). Don't tell my mum or sister, they'll try writing to my sergeant about sending me home and I don't need him knowing I'm a momma's boy.

I'll dream of you baking cookies tonight, tossing raisins into the trashcan just for me and I hope you dream of me sitting here, getting oggled by some Frenchies. Happy November love, enjoy this time in the twilight zone.

I'll be home soon Daisy, I promise

The Harry Styles x

~

Harry's week has gone by too slowly. Typically, roaming the streets of Paris or cleaning up around the base is enough to keep him from straying but not this week. Everything he does, everything he sees, everything he smells pushes his mind to Daisy. Mopping the kitchen floors reminds him of the day they worked together to clean her room. The trees remind him of how it felt to sit in the backyard with her, listening to her soft breaths as she worked on her blanket. The smell of the bakery, flour and cinnamon, remind him of her warmth and the cold air only makes him long for her even more. He doesn't think he's ever had such a terrible week, so he decides he'll push himself to do more next week. Initiative will definitely earn him a ticket home for Christmas, right?

He tries not to let himself get too discouraged as he collapses onto his cot, fingers clutching to the envelopes he received today as well as the medium sized box addressed to him. He's got a letter from his mother as well as Robin, but it's the one attached to the box that he goes for first.

Dear Harry,

French girls may have cute accents but can they make Robin's famous oatmeal cookies perfectly on their first try? I really hope not because then I've really got nothing going for me. Except for the fact that I've already got your last name of course.

I don't know how often you go see the Eiffel Tower but I'd appreciate a thorough description and rating of it from you please. I'd love to see the Eiffel Tower one day but I think I'd like to see the whole world too. Maybe your daughter will be a pilot and she can fly us all over the planet. If not, I'll have to divorce you myself. Assuming you haven't already divorced me by then. I think it would be funny if we divorced each other all the time. Then we could just keep getting married over and over again. I wouldn't mind it if you wore that suit you wore on our first wedding day. You looked really handsome. I was thinking of dragging Summer to town with me to get our wedding photo. If you're nice I'll send you one. If not, I'll save it for the holidays when you come home. I know you said not to get my hopes up but I also know you. You're a born leader Harry whether you like it not, and I'm positive you'll be allowed home.

I just realized something a bit funny. Home. Home used to be my parents house. The home I grew up in. Then I thought it’d be your house, the one I took over by planting flowers everywhere and actually cleaning. I don’t know what home is right now. I keep telling you to come home but what does that matter if I don’t even know where that is? Maybe I’m overthinking it. I hope you know your home Harry and I hope you’re able to come back to it.

Enjoy the cookies, I put extra extra raisins and love into them.

-Daisy o

Harry heart pounds, teeth biting at his bottom lip as he lays the letter down on his pillow and wiggles his finger under the seal on the box. Tearing it open, he fights back a smile at the smell of cookies that hits his nose. They’re not hot or anything, but they’re relatively fresh and wrapped up in a cute basket with green ribbon.

“What’d ya get Styles?” Pip, a bunk mate, asks from two cots over. Harry pulls the basket out, smirking at the other man.

“Gift from my girl,” he says proudly, chest puffing out “she’s a baker.” Pip chuckles at Harry’s sudden uplifted attitude, peeking at the cookies that do look quite delicious.

"Hope they're better than Frank's wife's." He makes a disgusted face and Harry laughs. Frank only shared his cookies once and they were bloody awful. He's never tried Daisy's baking but he's sure it's better. She's better than every other girl on the planet. How could her cookies not be better as well?

Harry tucks them safely into the little bedside table he has, glancing over her letter one more time because he loves her words before tucking it into the drawer that holds all his letters from her. He can't help but think of her claiming she knows him. If Daisy knew him as well as she thinks she does, then she'd know that his home isn't some silly house. And she'd know that he's her home. He's always been her home.

~

Time is supposed to heal. That's what Harry's always been told. The words first arose after his father died and he has blown them off for a long time. Until they rang true. Because one day Anne stopped crying, and people stopped leaving casseroles at the house, and Gemma started going on dates again, and Thomas showed up to chat with Harry more than he used to.

Time. Harry thinks he's pretty tolerant of time. He'd waited hours to speak to Daisy the first night he met her. He waited years to finally be more than the boy who almost killed her. And he's held onto two big secrets for all these years because he knows she'll need time before she can see him as someone she doesn't hate anymore. Years flew by so months should be a breeze. Right? Harry thinks so, but the two months away from Daisy are agonizing, and they're getting worse as days go by. Since when did November turn from 30 days to 300?

Extra training. Extra shifts. Extra work. Extra letters. Extra sleep. Yet nothing is helping to speed the process. He's gotten snippy (snippier than usual) to the point that he pissed off Frank for saying his wife's baking was "absolute shit" and he snapped at that red head girl in town for batting her eyelashes at him. There's a chance he told her she's skin to something the dog would drag in but he honestly can't bring himself to care at all. He just wants a moment with Daisy. Just one moment so he'll know that she's still is because sometimes he feels like he's been stuck at an army base his whole life and their marriage is all one big dream.

When the final day of November rolls around, Harry breathes a sigh of relief. He tells himself that he'll see her soon although he really doesn't know when soon will be.

He's hunched over a table in the cafeteria, hidden in the corner because he really doesn't want to talk to anyone, with his journal and mail sitting before him. He'd told his mum how hard the days were getting and she started sending letters more often, filling him in on random events and gatherings happening back home. He'd just gotten one yesterday talking about the neighbors starting a victory garden so he's a bit surprised to have another one so soon. Surprised, but grateful.

Dear Harry,

We've gotten more snow this week, enough for Niall to come over to shovel out the driveway for me. He stopped by your's and Daisy's home as well, insisting he help take care of "Harry's gals" as he put it. He's awful nice and I heard he's been checking in on Daisy often which is great.

I know you've really been missing her, and I hope this letter brings you comfort rather than heartache. Daisy is devastated without you. I do believe she's happy when she's at the bakery with Robin which I find simply wonderful, but there's multiple nights where she's shown up at my doorstep. She cries for you a lot, misses you more than I think you know. I think she sleeps better here. I always put her in your old bedroom and she's out like a light.

Please don't worry about her Harry. I'm glad she's come to me. She needs companionship and nurturing, both of which I can give. Know that she's safe and happy in your old room, and she's safe and happy with Robin. I know this may not be the happiest of news, but I want you to focus on the good part. Daisy misses you, and to miss you means she's gotten comfortable with you. She's cares about you Harry. I remember the days where I'd hear nothing but you bellyaching about her hating you. Think of how far you've come Harry, and use that happiness when things are tough.

We're all watching over Daisy and taking care of her. Now you take care of yourself, you've got a family waiting for you. I love you very much Harry, and I'm so proud of you.

-Mom

Harry's chest aches, bones collapsing with the image of his sweet Daisy dripping rain, crying in the middle of his mother's living room for him. He knows she's shy, and that she had a hard time being comfortable around his family. Not that he blames her. She was practically forced into the Styles family, so to know that she actually sought out Anne is heartbreaking. He's only ever seen cry a handful of times, all of them his doing, and the most dreadful time were her tears at their engagement party. She had looked so small and afraid, so desperate for safety that he genuinely hated himself at the time too. Because he did that to her. Well, not exactly, but he didn't fix the problem that was caused by his recklessness.

He can see that same look in her eyes. The one that came to mind when he was signing up for the army. Doe eyed, vulnerable, sweet, and innocent. Too precious for him to risk being hurt. He supposes he'd rather being crying over him than being crying over someone else's cruelty. At least if it's his fault he knows she's still safe. He'd never hurt her, not like the world would. Not like secrets between family members, and arranged marriages, and a German army would. No, he only teases her. It's his own stupid but relatively harmless way of getting back at her. She's been breaking his heart for years. He thinks it's fair that he gets to fluster her enough to tears sometimes.

But he never wanted her devastated and broken by his absence. Maybe he did his job too well. He somehow got her to be romantic with him after a decade of nothing but hatred. He cared for her, nurtured her, but then he had to leave, and that sheltered place he created for her left. He hopes she can find some sense of peace with his mother. Anne's always been the best mother anyone could ask for and Daisy could use that love right now.

Folding the letter back up, Harry decides he doesn't want to keep this one. While he feels appreciated and cared for because Daisy actually misses him, he doesn't want to have to be reminded of her teary eyes every time he comes across it. Harry's crumbling the letter up when another envelope is being thrown in front of him, smacking against the table top.

"What's this?" Harry asks gruffly, because the envelope is blank and thick so it couldn't have come in the mail. He looks up, heart jumping nervously when he's met with the eyes of his sergeant.

"Ticket home Styles," he says, lips quirking up under his thick mustache. "you've earned it. Taken on more work than necessary here. And I here you got a bird back home that doesn't want to spend Christmas alone."

Before Harry can say anything, sergeant is turning on his heel and heading towards the door. Harry stares in shock at the envelope, heart thumping in his ears. Pip had to have told sergeant about Daisy because that's the only guy Harry's ever talked to her about. After snapping at those French girls, he'd sat Harry down and told him to him everything. And he had. And now's he's got his ticket to Daisy. His ticket home.

[softly-savage-mint-yoongi]

Saccharine

from An Adventurer’s Guide to Romance

Part 3 of the series collaboration between myself & @guardians-of-exo​!  Please go check out her blog! Her moodboards are *chef’s kiss*  magnificent and this go around she has listened to all of my ramblings about Won Deuk Kyungsoo in 100 Days My Prince, which I binge watched in a week just to help me write this. If you haven’t seen it yet- go watch it. <3 Pairing: Kyungsoo x reader Rating: Fluff. Nothing too smutty or excessively graphic in this one, lads. Words: 7.2k

“Chanyeol, no,” you immediately protest, frowning at him from across the sparring field. He ducks your jab with the training sword, spinning behind you and using his momentum to make a swing for your exposed back. You bend your torso down and to the left, gracefully avoiding his hit. “Chanyeol, yes,”, he replies with a laugh. The mirth in his voice suits him. Here, in one of his favorite places. Sparring with you, his second-in-command and sisterly figure. Rolling your eyes at him, you continue your dance, “She’s a distraction.” You shake the sweat from your fingers, gripping the smoothed wood of your swords and settling into a defensive stance with both. He comes at you with a grin, smacking his wooden great sword down against your crossed ones over your head. He stares you down, “She’s exactly the focus I need, actually.” The Knight Captain believes he’ll overpower you like this, with his height and weight and giant sword bearing down against you. The expression he mocks you with is wiped off his face when you tilt just enough to the right to slide out from beneath his weight. He used too much trying to force you down; now losing his balance and catching the edge of your swords with the flat side of his just in time to avoid a strike. ______________________________________________________ The following morning after roll call you cannot find your commander anywhere in the barracks or the training yard. You were sure he was with the Prince and even walked up all of those stairs to his majesty’s tower. The guards let you pass easily, because, well, you well outrank any of them except for Chanyeol. You’re disappointed when a knock on the door reveals a sleepy Prince Baekhyun, rubbing the remnants of it from his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry your majesty,” you say formally, bowing before him. He smiles through his haze at you, knowing behind closed doors those stiff formalities drop altogether. “I thought Knight Captain Chanyeol was with you.” He shakes his head and covers his mouth to yawn, “No, I haven’t seen him since late last night when I got in fr-“ he freezes, realizing where he is and who can hear him. Your eyes widen at him and your frame sags with relief just a little bit when he realizes the nonsense he’s speaking. “Sorry to disturb you, then. I’ll be off,” you bow once more, turning to hunt elsewhere for your leader. When you enter the Medical wards, the Head Physician tells you she hasn’t seen him, either. An hour later, he is found at last. In the kitchens, bothering the Head Chef and flirting with his new assistant while she tries to work. Work, like Chanyeol should be. “Knight Captain Chanyeol,” you say loudly, giving him a stern glare. “I have been looking all over this palace for you!” The Cook’s assistant, a pretty thing, looks between the both of you with wild eyes and a blush staining her cheeks, her fingers wrapped tightly around a whisk of cream in a bowl. The Head Cook himself is watching you silently from the spits, basting a row of pheasants over the fire. There’s just a hint of a smile at the corner of his plush mouth. Chanyeol looks at you with a frown, “I was with Baekhyun!” You sneer at him, pointing a finger at his chest in triumph, “Oh you big fat liar! I just walked all the way up there and heard from him myself that he hasn’t seen you! He was still asleep.” Chanyeol whines lowly, raising to fist the side of his own head, “Ah, shit.” “Come on,” you urge. “I apologize he keeps bothering you, Master Cook,” you comment, bowing slightly before you grab the tall man by the black fabric against his back and drag him from the room. ___________________________________________ That evening, in the comfort of your best friend’s room, you’re sipping wine and slowly picking apart a wheel of cheese between you. “He keeps going to the kitchens and flirting with the new assistant. I don’t think that’s all, either.” The Lady of the Palace smiles at you, “Oh come on now, let him have his fun.” You give her an incredulous stare, “Absolutely not. We have a code of conduct to uphold and a war to fight and he’s going to get into trouble.” “It’s not a war, don’t be so dramatic. Relax a little, I know you’re worried about him but he’s also working really hard. We all are,” she says calmly. Bringing her own cup to her lips briefly, she drinks before continuing, “I’ve seen him in the training yard in the middle of the night several nights in a row.” “Yeah,” you agree. “Because he’s waiting for our troublesome Prince to come clambering back over the walls.” She nods in understanding. There are a select few of you in the palace who know about Prince Baekhyun and his personal mission to save his own people from poverty and famine brought by the Draugers. As they slowly began to run people out of their homes in the lower parts of the kingdom and farms were beginning to be overrun with the undead at night, he took it personally and his father, the King, has his hands tied in the dilemma. The power-hungry Lords in the upper parts of the city, and even some of the working-class citizens, are taking unfair advantage of the homeless farmers and their families moving into the safety of the inner city’s walls. Baekhyun- watchful, observant and daring Baekhyun, who is fair and just and will someday make a great King, takes it upon himself to save them. He watches, or has ears and eyes in the city to watch and listen for him. He knows who is in need and who is not. Having grown up a skilled fighter and a professional at sneaking in and out of the palace since he could walk, he’s been using his skills to make right ever since. His mysterious heroism just started a few weeks ago. It’s a secret you will all take to your graves unless he tells you otherwise. “Anyway,” she says. “I don’t think you should be too hard on him as long as he is doing his job.” You sigh, considering her opinion, “I suppose. But I don’t like that he’s distracting someone else from their work.” She shrugs, “Does Kyungsoo seem bothered by it?” You chew your lip, “I don’t think so. But you know Kyungsoo. He doesn’t get bothered by much, or at least doesn’t speak up about it.” Smiling, you remember his reaction earlier this morning. “He looked to think it was funny that I scolded Chanyeol this morning.” The Lady of the Palace leans forward in her chair, “Oh? How so?” “He smiled at me,” you answer. She sets her goblet on the table between you, “He smiled at you?” “Yes?” you say, tone uncertain now that she’s questioning it. “I’ve never seen him smile at anyone other than Chanyeol,” she surmises, her delicate brows knitting together. She stares blankly at the cheese while she tries to remember a time she may have seen him with that expression. ___________________________________________________ Today, as is becoming a regular annoyance, Chanyeol disappears after roll call in the barracks, leaving you to separate a pair of green soldiers fighting over the last link of sausage at the table. It's still early for the rest of the palace, but you have an inkling he’s in the kitchens again. When you enter with lungs full of hot air to unleash upon him, the monstrous Knight Captain is nowhere to be found. Instead, you’re greeted by the Head Cook himself stirring a pot. The scent of its contents hit your nose and you smile in greeting, “That smells delicious.” Kyungsoo lifts his head at the sound of your voice as if he were expecting someone else. “Would you like to try some? It’s a new recipe and I’m not sure about it,” he says after hesitating for a moment, with eyes flitting across the room until they settle upon your face. Immediately his voice strikes you in an odd way. Its deep and soft tenor equally compare to the scent coming from the pot. You think both are quite lovely. It’s not that you’ve never heard him speak, but you’ve not heard much from his voice other than simple pleasantries or reprimanding words for Chanyeol. You’re shocked and admittedly a little flustered that he so casually offered his spoon to you. His eyes are sincere as he watches you. The spoon is frozen midair- lifted with a bite crested in the shallow pit and waiting. Some of it drips back into the batch below, and you cough. “Ah, no thank you. I’ve already eaten and don’t want to spoil my stomach,” you explain shyly. His eyes fall back to his task immediately. His thick brows furrow as he concentrates on stirring. “Is there something I can help you with then, Lieutenant?” he asks without looking up. Realizing you’d been standing there watching him, you smooth your palms down the front of your tasset, “Oh, right. I was hoping to find the Knight Captain here. Not that I was hoping he was bothering you but I thought maybe this would be a good place to start looking since he disappeared after roll call.” Kyungsoo turns to you and lets his eyes flick to your face again briefly. The faintest smirk is tucked into the corner of his plush lips, “He was here, but he left to help Kennel Master Sehun carry two sacks of bones down to the dogs.” “Good,” you state. When Kyungsoo doesn’t say anything further you feel embarrassed all over again, “Not good that he was here bothering you but good that he’s not being a pest, I mean.” The Head Cook laughs. He smiles fully, making a whispered sound of joy at your awkward floundering, “It’s okay, you don’t have to keep explaining.” You barely understand what he says to you. You’re much too caught up in how nice his full smile is. The way his cheeks rise to make his eyes crinkle and his lips split into a heart shape that shows his teeth. “Right then,” you gasp, blinking twice. On the walk down to the kennels, your brain wonders about Kyungsoo and how unlike him it is to talk or smile. You wonder if perhaps he has always been that way but you never had the chance to see it. Now that you recall, there was always someone else holding everyone’s attention with a story or a joke. Perhaps this color on him looks so nice that you want to explore it. Now that your commander has reason to go to the kitchens constantly, it mean that you also now have a reason to frequent them in chase of him. To yourself, you admit that maybe it isn’t such a bad thing if it means you get to see Kyungsoo smile more. __________________________________________________ Two days later you’re awoken by a loud clanging from outside your chamber in the middle of the night. You jolt upright, immediately swinging open your door to investigate, but there isn’t a soul in the corridor or outside when you peek into the training yard. Quietly, you open doors to look into the two rooms immediately beside yours, but there is nobody other than heavily sleeping soldiers in bunks. The moment your fingertips brush the iron ring of your own door handle, the faint sound of feet hitting the stone makes your head turn sharply to squint into the darkness. The footfalls are heavy and flat, easily distinguished to know the person is barefoot. The figure passes by one of the windows looking into the training yard, and the blue moonlight gives you a flash of shaggy silver hair and a sharp jaw. A preview of the naked, broad shoulders that come to stop in front of you. “Why are you standing out here?” Chanyeol asks. His voice is not yet roughened from sleep, and even the moon does him no favors to hide the circles beneath his eyes tonight. You look behind you once. “A loud noise woke me up,” you explain. He nods, turning his lips into a deep line that puts dimples in his cheeks. “Sorry about that. I stepped into a bucket,” he sighs. Then adds, “I’m glad you’re awake though. I’ve got orders for you.” _________________________________________________ While you didn’t sleep well, you manage to make it through roll call without taking anyone’s metaphorical heads, and your brotherly Knight Captain was surprisingly present. In six days you’re leaving for a mission, orders directly from the King himself. According to what your commander told you, there’s an Apothecary coming to town to assist in healing those in need from the Draugers. With something as valuable as medical supplies and another set of healing hands, there’s worry it could be dangerous, so he wants the Apothecary well-guarded. During lunch, you catch the scent of something familiar. At the sight of the soup in your bowl, you realize it’s the new recipe Kyungsoo had asked you if you’d like to try earlier in the week. Smiling, you lift the first bite to your lips. From the taste and texture, you consider the broth has a heavier flavor. Something smoked and savory, soaking well into the chunks of potato throughout. There is just a little too much black pepper for your preference, but it does not take away from the dish overall. Still curious at the meals end, you find yourself walking into the kitchens. The Head Cook is balancing a ladle on the edge of a table when you enter. He looks up and gives you a small smile. “Did you eat well?” he asks calmly. You grin at him in return, “Are you awaiting my review of your not-so-sure soup?” You both laugh at the name you’ve given it, but Kyungsoo says nothing else. “It was very good. A little too much pepper for me personally, but that doesn’t really make or break it. What did you put in it to make that deep flavor though? Surely there were no heavy meats in my bowl,” you wonder aloud, leaning to rest your bum against the side of the large stone fireplace. Kyungsoo smirks, crossing in front of you to collect a jar from the shelf hanging above the largest work table in the center of the room. He unties the lid and comes back to you, stepping close to hold the jar beneath your nose. His wide eyes don’t miss anything as they watch you inhale the scent with closed eyes. “Yes, that’s it,” you clarify, eyes popping open brightly. The Head Cook smiles, “It’s a secret.” Your mouth drops into a pouted frown, “Oh.” His lips split into that full smile again, and it makes your breath catch. “I’ll tell you on one condition,” he whispers. You perk up again, looking around the wide expanse of the empty room. “I need an honest opinion of new recipes,” he says quietly. Those big brown eyes of his are still staring into you innocently, and it is a gaze you feel comfort in. Confused, you ask, “Why not Chanyeol?” to which Kyungsoo scoffs. “There are a multitude of reasons why,” he quips, and you can’t help but agree and laugh when you think about it. “Deal,” you comply happily, taking his hand in yours and forcing him to shake. “Beef drippings,” Kyungsoo divulges immediately. It takes you a moment to realize what he’s talking about. “Oh. I wouldn’t have thought of that,” you answer, knitting your brows and considering the taste. After a moment of silence, Kyungsoo clears his throat, “That tickles. May I have my hand back, please?” Shocked, you realize you’d never let go of his hand, idling running your fingers around the callouses on his palm while you thought about the not-so-sure soup. You drop it as if it had burned you, rising to your feet in embarrassment and excusing yourself too quickly from the room. ______________________________________________ The following day you eat with the rest of your squad in the mess hall. Your plate differs from the rest of the soldiers dining. One of them leans over when you sit, his chin flicking toward your plate of greens, fruits and nuts. He asks, “You on a diet or something, Lieutenant?” You laugh loudly at his remark, waving a hand in front of your face, “Yes! Yes, I am. That’s why it’s different!”

He grunts, leaning back to his own plate of light meats and sops. The colorful assortment of food on your plate doesn’t gain any further attention as you pour the wine-colored vinaigrette over the greens and assess the flavors as you chew the first bite. You feel a sense of push and pull between wanting to eat quickly so you can meet with Kyungsoo about this food and watch him light up with your praise, and wanting to savor every bite slowly to truly examine the taste. __________________________________________ Two days later you enter the kitchens with a brief knock. The aroma of honeyed glaze fills your lungs, exhaling with a delighted sigh. There’s an excitement in your step as your eyes look for Kyungsoo, stopping short when they land on his assistant standing in front of you. She looks bewildered by your presence and a little confused, turning to the Head Cook. “Ah, I’m sorry,” you begin. “I was looking for Knight Captain Chanyeol. I thought he might be here begging for food-“ you explain too quickly. Kyungsoo moves away from the hot kettles, wiping his brow as he grins at you, knowing very well that you know precisely where he is, and that couldn’t possibly be the reason you’re here. He pats his assistant on the shoulder warmly. “Good day, Lieutenant. Thankfully, he hasn’t,” he says calmly, pausing to add. “But I’m sure he’ll show up later.” The question lacing his statement is one that cracks a smile on your own face, earning him the dusty rose that rises to your cheeks. Suddenly, the assistant murmurs a curse and rushes to a kettle as its contents try to boil over the sides. Her action breaks the bit of unspoken words between you and the handsome Head Cook quickly. You pat your tasset down against your thighs with a smile, “Right. I’ll take my leave then. I’m sorry I disturbed your work, Master Cook.” You’re sure to smile warmly at his assistant as well before you turn to leave the room completely. An hour later you return to the kitchens as nonchalantly as possible, first peeking through the crack in the door to make sure Kyungsoo is alone. There’s a voice singing softly coming from the room, and you stop to listen when you realize it’s the Cook himself. You watch the hard plane of his back as he works, bent over the pork he was roasting in honeyed glaze earlier, singing the ballads of Red Run Keep and the Age of Oppression. His voice is soothing to your ears, more pleasant than the scent of the honey glazed meat he slices evenly and plates for Supper tonight. You enter the room as quietly as possible, sneaking in to lean back against the edge of a table along the wall while you listen. He turns around not long after you’ve settled, remaining calm rather than jumping like you would expect. His eyes lift from his work to your frame. “Is there something you needed, Lieutenant?” he asks. You laugh, “Yes, actually.” “Good. I hope you’re not trying to be a distraction just like your commander,” he jests, but it makes you freeze, feeling like you’ve been struck, and a little self-conscious regardless of the joke. Your smile falls from your lips a fraction, and Kyungsoo’s eyes don’t miss the way you wilt. “I was joking. I enjoy your company, no matter the reason,” he states clearly while he busies himself washing and drying his hands. “I have a mission,” you get to the point. He slows his movements, thick brows knitting together as he dries the last of the water from his hands with the rag tied to his smock. “I leave in two days.” “Can I ask what for?” he inquires, coming to stand beside you, leaning against the same table. You nod, “The King has hired a new Apothecary to help with the wounded. I’m leading a squad to fetch him and bring him here safely.” Kyungsoo nods, “He doesn’t want Chanyeol to go?” With a sigh, you confirm, “We all know Chanyeol’s main focus in the Prince. He can’t go and leave Baekhyun unguarded. Do you doubt my abilities, Master Cook?” His innocent gaze whips to your face immediately, full of surprise. Your eyes pierce through his gaze as if they were your swords themselves. “No, not at all. I’ve heard the stories. I know you’re more than capable,” he assures you. You squint at him, discerning the color of blush tinting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Good,” you surmise with an air of absolute finality. Kyungsoo seems to notice the tension in your posture and the way your attitude shifts to one of authority. “What do you need from me?” he asks politely, standing to his full height again. You bring a finger to tap against your lips twice, “I wanted to let you know. I hope you can wait a few days to make any new recipes.” You feel a little sullen, still self-conscious about whether or not the handsome man was really telling a joke. Kyungsoo folds his arms across his chest, bringing one hand to wipe at his chin thoughtfully, “I suppose I can wait. I appreciate you letting me know.” ________________________________________________ “I can’t believe he said such a thing,” says the Lady of the Palace. She twirls a goblet of wine between her fingers, gently swirling its contents with her wrist. You tear off a bite of crusted bread with your teeth from the piece in your hand, “It is what it is.” She sets her cup down, clapping her hands excitedly as she sits up straight and fixes you with a devilish smirk, “I know! You should go on a date with Sehun!” You choke on the dry crumbs of bread in your mouth, gasping briefly in shock. “What are you on about? Why would I do that?” you sputter, taking a full swallow of wine from your cup. You wince from the sour bitterness as it slides down your throat. The Lady of the Palace laughs cheerfully, “Oh, come on, Y/N! He thinks you’re amazing. Especially how well you handle a sword! If Kyungsoo likes you the same way you like him, it should make him jealous.” She wiggles her perfectly manicured brows at you. Sinking further in the velvet chair, you shake your head with a scowl, “No. It’s a waste of time. I’m not interested in the Kennel Master like that.” “But Sehun-“ she tries, pouting at you from under her lashes as she sips at the wine in her glass. “I said no. Chanyeol is bad enough with his lovestruck puppy eyes. I don’t want to be compared to that any more than I already have been,” you warn. She clicks her tongue at you, “You’re right, okay? I get it. But it’s, ah… how to put this?” She considers, breaking a chunk of bread from the loaf between you. “Those feelings won’t go away so easily. It’s better not to resist them.” You deadpan, staring at her like there’s an extra head sprouting from her shoulders. She smiles at the bread, toying with it in her hand softly before she pops it into her mouth. When she swallows, she looks at you again, “That’s why you should go out with Sehun.” You groan aloud, “You’re insatiable.” “No, I just think it would be fun to double date with Junmyeon and I,” she clarifies with her strong air of dignity. “Fun isn’t something you normally have time for,” you comment with as much snark as you can muster. She smiles, tilting her head to one side briefly, “Correction- fun isn’t something I thought I had time for. Now that I’m having it, I can definitely see how much I actually needed it, and I for one am quite confident I can manage my duties and my romance, thank you.” She clears her throat, sitting up a little straighter. You roll your eyes dramatically at her, “I’ll admit he’s handsome, is that what you wanted?” Her lips stretch into a menacing smile, and it scares you a little how unlike her it looks across her face. “It’s a start. Now I only must get you to agree to a date with him,” she tells you honestly. You laugh at her boldness. She’s always been a terrifyingly smart tactician. She must be, to be the Lady of the Palace, and she runs the place with a kind but firm fist. You smile fondly at her because she’s your friend and you enjoy the relationship you two have as the most influential women in the palace. With her mind and knowledge of how to run a kingdom and your and power and leadership in war, you make a powerful combination. _________________________________________________ Uncertain whether it was the wine or your scuffed pride you ultimately, reluctantly, agreed to go on one outing- not a date- with the Kennel Master of the palace, along with your friend and her lover. In this moment, two evenings later, you feel strange as you walk back to the palace in silence. Two pairs of boots in unmatched pace walking along the wet road beneath the lamplight. It is hot and muggy and the dress you’re wearing is irritatingly itchy. Of course your dear, lovely, well-mannered and closest friend decided to go back to the Bakery with Junmyeon when you mentioned the hour and that you were leaving for a mission in the morning. Kindly, Sehun had agreed to walk you back. It is with a sigh of relief that the palace walls come into view. You cross under the iron gate in silence, turning to acknowledge the man giving you six feet of space. “Look, Sehun,” you begin with your best smile. He removes one of his hands from the pockets of his trousers, holding the palm flat up and smiling so hard that his eyes crinkle into half-moons and his cheeks dimple, “It’s okay, Y/N.” He laughs after, rubbing the same hand against the back of his neck and looking toward the ground. His hair is slicked back from his forehead, a style that compliments his features. “You’re very handsome, but I’m sorry, I don’t think I feel that way about you,” you apologize, feeling awkward. He laughs again, and the sound of it makes you feel a little better, “Yeah, I mean, I think you’re really amazing, but I agree. I think we’d be better as friends.” The weight and sticky feeling of the tension dissipates immediately after he says it. “I am happy with friends,” you say. “Half of this is Junmyeon’s fault anyway,” he laughs some more. “Always fussing at me about wanting grandchildren soon.” You laugh with him, aghast at his best friend’s antics. “The Lady pushed me into it, too,” you nod with a smile. “I’m glad we can agree they’re both terrible friends to have.” He looks at your face genuinely, “Guess we’re just going to have to be better friends to each other than they are to us, then, hm?” He steps closer to you to whisper the words, sticking out his pinky to link with yours. Craning your neck up to his face and then back down to his hand, you twist your own small digit around his, shaking them firmly with a small giggle. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he quietly comments, stepping back. You move toward the steps of the palace, sending him the same well wishes for a good night with a wave. He gives you a friendly one in return as he turns and enters the Kennel House. ________________________________________________ Yawning, you reach for your canteen, frowning while you drink sparingly from the bladder of it. You’ve ridden North for nearly twelve hours. Your thighs remind you achingly that the short break you took half way through was not nearly long enough. The map you checked twenty minutes ago told you another two kilometers would put you where you need to be, in a tiny settlement in the Sweetwoods. Although you’ve never seen it with your own eyes, you’ve been told such a name fits the landscape, in a forest surrounded by good soil full of sweet smelling wildflowers. As long as you reach it and make camp before nightfall you won’t be as worried. Nothing a full stomach and a few slim hours of sleep can’t fix for you. You’ve certainly fought and survived on worse. Lost in your thoughts, you don’t realize as the sun begins to glow deeper shades of ruby and kiss the horizon. When you notice, it’s because a heavy log gate comes into view, crested between two greater beams that end and begin the sentry walls surrounding the Sweetwoods settlement. Smiling up at the men along the ramparts, you pass through the gates, leading your troop into the small town. There aren’t many buildings or people around, but the working-class people give you odd looks as you go. Sometimes you wonder if it’s because of the troop at large, or if it’s just you in particular. Being a woman in a militant leadership role is not common practice in many places. Raising a hand, you slow everyone to a halt in front of a two story building with a golden ram’s head sign hanging from the banister of the second level. Dismounting your horse, you know this is the right place. The creaking of the door hinges is almost hidden by the sound of the bell chiming upon your entrance. “I’ll be right out!” calls a voice. You note the crates and barrels and packages wrapped in fabrics and chord in the center of the room. The barren shelves and cabinets confirm this is the right place. “Ah,” the voice projects, pulling your gaze to the left. “You must be here to fetch me.” A young man stands in the doorway to a small room off the side of the main space, one arm lifting the curtain draped across the threshold as he enters. He pushes his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose and stops in front of you with an outstretched hand. Shaking it, you smile a tad brighter, “Yes, sir. My name is Lieutenant Y/N. I’m here to ensure you and your things make the journey safely.” He nods in understanding, “Wonderful. What is the plan, Lieutenant?” Getting straight to business, you brief him kindly, “Rest tonight. We’ve ridden a whole day’s ride. The soldiers and horses are tired and hungry. We’ll load up your supplies tonight after supper, and head out at dawn.” Smiling, he gestures to the back wall, “There’s space to make camp just around back in the yard. It’s a little small, I hope you won’t mind.” Shaking your head, you agree to his offer, “I’m sure it will do just fine, thank you.” Ten minutes later, you’re hissing as your thighs protest to your position when you finally settle on the ground behind the shop. You ensured the horses were turned out in the grass and your soldiers were settling in for a well-earned supper before you sat down. Someone has started a new fire with the half-burned logs in the pit. Opening your pack, you notice a small bag that hadn’t been there when you’d packed it before passing it off to the stable keep to put on your horse, Fox. With furrowed brows, you inspect it’s contents. There’s a small bit of folded parchment and two delicious looking apples inside the small canvas pouch. There are words scribbled neatly on the parchment. ‘These are Spring Dragon apples. Rare, beautiful and delicious… Please eat well and come back safely. -K.’ Blushing, you shove the note back into your pack and whip your head up wildly out of embarrassment. Someone could have seen! Not only that, but your rising feelings for the sender of this gift pull at your heartstrings. The blow your pride had taken from him forgotten in the wake of his gesture. You remove one from the sack, cradling it in your palm as you watch the fire’s glow glint off the shining skin. Smiling, the first bite is taken gently, with your breath held in your lungs. There’s a refreshing flow of juice into your mouth and the satisfying crack of fruit as it breaks off from the body of the apple. Kyungsoo is right, it is the best apple you’ve ever tasted. The texture, flavor, consistency, all perfect scores as it melts in your mouth with a happy hum. The treat disappears from your fingers all too quickly, leaving you to swipe your tongue across your lips repeatedly to taste the addicting sweetness. ____________________________________________ “If I’m not allowed to leave the bed who is supposed to make sure this buffoon stays out of trouble?” you complain loudly. “Hey!” comes Chanyeol offended cry. Even though he wants to, you know he won’t drop you in retaliation of your comment, clutching you to his side as he helps you walk to a bed in the Medical Ward of the palace. The Head Physician pats the linens of the bed she wants you to sit on, “Relax, it’s just for a few days until the bones begin to set. Better than being gone forever, right?” She smiles softly at you, taking an arm to help the Knight Captain lower you comfortably onto the bed. Scowling, you let her get to work wrapping the bruised and painful flesh as gently as she can. Chanyeol stands back, watching her work with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “I’ll get your stirrups adjusted while you’re in here,” Chanyeol mutters without looking at you. His eyes remain unblinking at your leg- a look you know means he’s very much in his thoughts. “Chanyeol it’s fine, don’t worry about-“ you protest quietly. “Absolutely not,” he commands. “I’m not going to risk your leg getting caught again. This could have been so much worse. What if Fox didn’t just spook, hm? What if he threw you off and then dragged you for who knows how long?” “War horses are trained not to do that. I’d have been fi-“ you wave at him nonchalantly, but the flare of his anger makes you flinch. There’s a reason he’s compared to both fire and a monster. “That horse is lucky,” he growls. Frowning, you reach for him and squeeze his forearm when the pain gets a little too intense, wincing. “Please leave Fox alone. It’s not his fault,” you groan. Your commander makes a disapproving clicking sound with his teeth, scoffing at you, “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that, woman?” At least his eyes finally find yours. “Don’t you take that tone with me,” you snap back at him playfully. Just like that you start bickering with him, forgetting about the pain in your leg until the Head Physician stands and sighs, brushing her hands off on her apron. “That’ll do you well for now. Please, Y/N, stay put, yeah?” she asks with a small smile. “I’ll make sure someone brings her something to eat,” Chanyeol comments, turning to leave the room with a nod. His disappears beyond the white curtain draped between your bed and the next. “Just for three days, until the bones start setting. Then we’ll change it and get you set up for light duty only,” she warns you, holding up her index finger between you. Waving dismissively, you shimmy yourself further up the bed and twist, smacking the flat pillow loudly with a sigh, “Fine, yes, yes.” She pauses, narrowing her eyes at you as she considers if you will behave. After a breath, she leaves. Minutes pass in the quiet warmth of the Ward, listening to the quiet groans of other sick and wounded people lying behind curtains in the wide room. Eventually, the door opens and footsteps are heard evenly across the floorboards. Waiting patiently, you’re surprised to see the separation reveal Kyungsoo. He has a plate held between his hands, smiling at you. He shakes his head gently and clicks his tongue at you, “I thought I asked you to come back safely. What part of that meant you should get thrown from your horse?” You grin, raising a hand and wanting to smack him. You don’t, lest he spill all of the food you assume he brought for you. He grins back at you, pulling a stool close to the side of the bed. “Are you hungry?” he asks quietly, balancing the plate on the edge. You try your best to scoot closer to the far side, giving him space to rest the plate beside you. “I am, thank you,” you confirm. He tries not to watch you eat, silently waiting for you to finish the meal. “It’s nothing new this time, sorry,” he apologizes quietly. His hands fidget in his lap as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. “No, this is great,” you assure, raising the last forkful to your lips. Kyungsoo clears his throat, “Can I ask you something?” Blinking at him, you’re a little confused, acquiescing, “What is it?” He turns to face you fully with a hard and thoughtful expression on his face, “Are you and the Kennel Master… seeing each other?” You don’t mean to laugh, but the unexpected question doesn’t give you time to think about your answer as you burst forth in laughter. Kyungsoo only looks at you with wide, confused eyes. “Heavens, no!” you shake your head. “I mean our friends tried to make us date but we’re just friends,” you clarify.

“But he thinks you’re amazing and I thought I saw you with him and-“ the man in front of you questions, clearly befuddled.

You wave your hands in front of you, “Yeah but we both agreed we’re just better as friends. I don’t feel that way about him.”

Kyungsoo’s brows furrow deeper, and his eyes focus on the linens of your bed momentarily before he asks instead, “Is there someone you

do

feel that way about?”

His bold curiosity heats your cheeks and you find yourself unable to speak. Rather, you nod lowly and stare at the last item of food on the plate, an apple. With shining skin, all of the shades between red and gold seemingly painted on with a brush, it is unmistakably the same as the ones he gave you for the mission you just came from.

“Spring Dragon…” you whisper between you, taking the fruit between your fingers and twirling it around to admire how pretty it looks.

Kyungsoo smiles at you, “Did you like them?”

Your eyes light up at his question. “Yes, they’re perfect! Thank you so much for sending them with me. It was a nice surprise,” you praise, pressing your lips to the skin just before you take the first bite.

You practically moan at the taste, choosing to sigh wistfully at the pleasure it brings.

The man beside you chuckles, “Is it really that good?”

Fixing him a stare with one brow turned up, you confirm, “Of course!” adding sarcastically, “Have you never eaten one of these?”

To your shock, he shakes his head, “No, actually I haven’t.”

Gaping at him, you flounder for words, feeling embarrassed and shameful that you’re enjoying his gift like this, “Why not?!” You place the apple back on the plate.

“They’re rare. I don’t have any more,” he comments matter-of-factly.

Curiously, you need to know, “You gave them all to me?”

He nods with a small smile tucked into the corner of his plush lips.

“Please have a taste,” you tell him, looking back down to the apple resting between you. You reach for it, intent on giving it to him, but his fingers circle your wrist to stop you.

When you raise your head to look at him, you’re met with a kiss. One that is unexpected but pleasant and sweet. Kyungsoo moves his lips against yours slowly, truly sampling the flavor of them before pulling away.

You do nothing more than stare at him in shock as he settles back on the stool. There’s a self-satisfied smile gracing those lips that were just pressed deliciously against yours.

“Very sweet,” he surmises gently.

Your fidget with your fingers in your lap, “Why?”

He laughs quietly at your expression and your heart thunders in your ears at how wonderful this image of him makes you feel. “You asked me to have a taste,” he says simply.

Suddenly your heart feels so light it makes it hard to breathe. You need to feel it wildly beating against your sternum, so you do the one thing you know will make it do what you need.

Reaching out, you pull Kyungsoo by the front of his tunic back to you. You plant your lips directly on his, feeling him smile against your mouth as his hand finds your neck.

____________________________________________

It isn’t until two weeks later that Chanyeol finally mentions anything about you and the Head Cook, Kyungsoo. He’s seen you two or three times in the kitchens when he’s come to beg for snacks or see if his own lover is present, but you’ve always been a respectable distance away from Kyungsoo’s grasp.

You suppose it’s easy to break apart from the nectar of his lips when you hear those heavy footfalls and clinking armor growing closer, but that’s not something you’re going to point out to your Knight Captain, either.

“That looks delicious… why did you get something different?” he groans beside you, frowning at his own plate of equally delicious food. It just looks different.

You laugh at him, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Feigning ignorance, you take a mouthful with closed eyes and a quiet hum of happiness, half way finished already.

When you open them again, Chanyeol is still staring at you, but his fork stabs around the contents on his plate, “No fair… Kyungsoo is playing favorites.”

Although you still have to look up to see his face, you do your best to stick your nose up at him. “Perhaps it is merely thanks for not coming and distracting his assistant every waking hour of the day,” you comment smugly.

He gapes, resting a heavy elbow on the table and motioning towards the kitchens with his now empty fork and a cheek stuffed with food, “You’re worse! You go and distract the Master himself!”

Swallowing your last bite, you lean in close to whisper, “Oh I do a lot more than distract him, Knight Captain.”

You don’t turn around to see the shocked expression on his face when you excuse yourself from the table immediately after, wearing a saccharine smile. All you can tell is that he doesn’t move for a very long time.