#hazelnut tree au

[analog-cottage-gore]

how would the Chose your own adventure arg play out in some of your AUs? like hazelnut and curiosity

Honestly these two AU's coexist in my mind as one universe.

On the HNT side of things, Hazel's already gotten to Winnie, so he's less of a threat. But he's not the one you should worry about.

Because I think I've decided on how Wiatt dies.

Litho gets the bright idea to copy the virus Oliver made, and makes it so that at the press of a button, any animatronic infected with it tries to hunt down both Celio and Wiatt.

Litho naturally decides Starlight is the perfect host for his new creation.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 1

-Imagine that after John Wick wins his freedom from the High Table, he [re]retires to your sleepy little mountain town, where you work in a coffee shop...

-Your quaint little town tucked in the mountains is the kind of place people go to get away from it all, and you can’t help but wonder what Mr. Wick is running from. He is an unfairly handsome man. You nearly make a huge fucking fool of yourself, the first time he approaches your counter, so taken that you could hardly speak. For all his good looks there is something compellingly melancholy about him. You see it in his soulful dark eyes, and the set of his shoulders. You can see this man carries a weight beyond what anyone of his years should bear.   

-He becomes a regular at your little coffee shop, and you get over your shyness with him. He’s soft spoken, sometimes a little grumpy, but usually impeccably courteous compared to some of your unbearably entitled clientele visiting from the Big City for the ski resort or the hiking. He never orders anything fancy, just black coffee, and he likes to stay for an hour or so in the cozy cabin atmosphere of your shop. He favors a corner table tucked in the back by the river-stone fireplace, usually reading an old book, though sometimes you think he just sits, his attention fixed beyond the page he’s on, eyes not really seeing the room.

-You manage not to stare too hard, when you see him without gloves for the first time, and realize he is missing his left ring finger. You are not repulsed. You just wonder what happened to him.

-In time you notice he barely touches his unadorned coffee, and you wonder if he even likes it. You don't know where you get the cheek to tease this so-serious man. “Do you just order it like that to match your clothes?” You’ve never seen him in anything but head to toe black.

At first he looks at you as though you have grown a second head. Then he answers, completely dead pan, “Maybe it matches my soul.” 

You snort with laugher, not believing him.

Maybe you should have, looking back.

“Sure, Mr. Wick.”

The next day you surprise him with a cup of something you concocted with him in mind. It's nothing too scathingly original. Just a dark chocolate mocha, with a splash of hazelnut, and just a bit of steamed cream. “Try this,” you say, setting it on his table totally unsolicited. You feel validated, for he's barely touched his black coffee again. 

“What is it?” he asks, peering at it suspiciously. 

“I just think you might need something a little sweet.” 

He looks up at you through his long hair, and you don't know why, but a little chill runs down your spine. It's not fear, exactly. It's like walking in the woods, and stumbling on a powerful animal on the trail. Something that maybe could eat you, if it chose, but instead just disappears back into the dark trees.

You do not pester him anymore that day, even if it is the highlight of your shift sometimes. But when you go to clean up his dishes you do notice the cup you gave him is empty. 

He doesn’t come in for almost a week after that, and you fear that maybe you were too pushy and pissed him off with your boldness. 

Maybe it's a little pathetic, the way your heart leaps when he walks through the door again.

“I’ll have…whatever that thing was you made the other day.”

You try not to gloat, but your lips twist in a smile.

-It becomes your little mission in life to make this man smile, and if just the corner of his mouth ticks up at some point during his visit you feel as though you’ve accomplished a good thing.

Maybe it’s totally a cliché, but you’re an artist, and when you’re not making coffee, or cleaning up coffee, you draw bright designs on the chalkboard around the menu with your pastels. You make elaborate landscapes and art nouveau maidens inspired by Mucha. People in town seem to enjoy your weekly designs, which is nice, even if it’s not entirely the recognition you crave. Four years of art school just to doodle on the chalkboard, you can hear your father say. He’s not wrong, but it still stings.

One day, you sketch Mr. Wick reading in the corner on the back of a discarded receipt. He is…such a lovely man. When you walk past you slip it on the table for him. You don’t let yourself watch his reaction. If you had, you would have seen his expression soften, the stony façade cracking even if just for a moment.

Is this how you see him? Not some broken down old man, the way he absolutely feels after his war with the High Table, but something…not unpleasant to look at.

You don’t know it at the time, but this is the action that sets off an avalanche. You wake a sleeping beast in him, and a dark obsession begins to kindle.

[imshii-kin]

Echoes of Devotion’

A Ninjago Story

Yandere Kai Smith x Male Reader

Summary: A sneak peek into something I’m working on. This is a rough, rough draft.

Yesterday, today, tomorrow, They are not consecutive. They are connected in a never-ending circle, Everything is Connected

- The Stranger

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The sound of traffic filled the night air, a strange calmness settling over the usually rampant city. M/n sits outside on the apartment fire escape, his legs dangling over the edge as he gazes at the sleepless city.

It was late summer, school was going to start in a few weeks, which meant the city was buzzing with life.

M/n had heard all kinds of stories about Ninjago City, from snake attacks to Overlord takeovers, this city has been through it all. Resting his head on the fire escape railing, M/n allows his eyes to close, peacefully enjoying the night air. 

Nights like these temporarily make M/n forget about his troubles, a moment of escape before he inevitably gets dragged down again by the reality of his situation. 

A soft buzzing interrupts M/n's thoughts, pulling him back to reality. M/n pulls his phone out and flips it open to check the caller.

"Dad..." M/n's expression softens a bit as he sees the familiar face of his father, an older gentleman with peppered hair and a wise old look in his hazelnut eyes.

M/n accepts the call, gingerly putting the phone up to his ear. "Dad? What are you doing calling me at this hour?" M/n's voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

He patiently listened to the call, nodding now and then.

"I don't mind, I'm right next to the coffee shop, I can pick up a few pastries right now for you and Mom tomorrow." M/n reassures his father. "I'll let you go and start heading over there now."

M/n hangs up the phone, silence blessing him once more. He pauses momentarily, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere, before standing up and leaving the fire escape.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

M/n travels down the street, making his way to the local coffee shop. Eternal Espresso Emporium was its name, it was open 24 hours, which was something M/n could appreciate.

Reaching the small cafe, M/n quietly enters the shop, the bell atop the door ringing softly, announcing his presence. There was no one there except the barista, a young girl by the look of it.

Approaching the girl, wallet in hand, M/n's eyes glance over the pastries on display. "...I'll take three Pain au Chocolat please." He softly spoke, "And a lavender latte." lazily, his eyes drifted up to the girl, who was staring at him.

"Is something wrong?" M/n asks. The barista jolts in surprise, "Oh-! Um no- sorry," her cheeks glow red from embarrassment as she quickly turns to prepare his order.

M/n raised a brow but let it go, deciding to take a closer look around the shop instead. The place was small but cozy, warm lights hung from the ceiling which was decorated with fake leaves, all of which were some shade of orange, yellow, and red.

The place sort of gave a cozy autumn feeling. The tables were made from wood, resembling tree trunks, and couches with yellow and copper color schemes accompanied the tables.

"Here's your order sir." M/n looked back over to the barista who was now holding a small box and a well-decorated plastic coffee cup. "Ah, right, thank you." He takes the box and coffee out of the employee's hand.

There's another ring, alerting everyone that someone else has entered the shop. M/n looks over, curious about who else was here this late at night.

A dark red hoodie was the first thing M/n saw.

The boy had warm brown hair that was spiked, it was odd but strangely fit him. His eyes were a reddish brown around his pupil with a darker chocolate brown color surrounding it. He had a scar on his eyebrow, giving him a rough look, as well as a few other scars on his hands.

"I'm here for a pickup under Kai." The boy in the red hood announced.

[ginithemeerie]

Fem!Noise and Masc!Noisette

Double feature Boss 3! My idea for the Noises was pretty much making them look like they've just clothesswapped lol.

Noise got to keep the name since its derived from the last name anyway (Ig her name would be Theodora). But for Masc!Noisette i kinda struggled because i wanted to keep the meaning of the name somehow while still having noise in it. So i found out that "Noisetier" means hazel! (As in a hazelnut tree) there couldnt have been a better one honestly lol.

Noisetier is like a Ken type silly malewife to the unhinged show-host that is his gf. Also first masc character feature in this AU hoorray!

[honey-minded-hivemind]

For the Wings of Fire 🐛SilkWing🦋 AU, I have a few things in mind. SilkWings are colorful and rare in this au, as for each separate tribe au, that tribe is the equivalent of mutants for the dragons. SilkWings aren't necessarily hated or anything, but there aren't many, the ones that do exist act elusive for the most part, and the young ones, the dragonets, are hard to find but once found are hidden away. Flamesilks, the rare few who were caught by the other Pantalan tribes, were used for their silk, and the other SilkWings freed them. SilkWings are usually calm, but when one of their own is endangered, especially a dragonet, they go from serene butterfly to deadly moth. Are vegetarians.

So. Many. Colors. Reds, red-oranges, oranges, yellow-oranges, yellows, golds, yellow-greens, green-yellows, greens, green-blues, blue-greens, blues, indigos, purples, browns, whites, silvers, grays, pinks, etc. ... And they are iridescent to boot.

Just because they are vegetarian doesn't mean their food isn't tasty. Roasted yams, baked potatoes, mushrooms, broccoli, carrots, sweet peas, charred brussel sprouts, tomato bisques, cream of mushroom soup, fried onions, cream of corn, corn-on-the-cob, grits, apples, oranges, bananas, pineapples, raspberries, blueberries, strawberries, lemon cakes, key lime pies, strawberry tarts, cherry preserves,, pecans, walnuts, cashews, chestnuts, hazelnuts, peanuts, pecan pies, hazelnut mousse, boiled peanuts, walnut brownies, honey, honey-roasted everything! Even different grains, like white rice, brown rice, jasmine rice, oats, barley, wheat, whole-wheat bread, oatmeal, porridge, crackers, biscuits, cookies... Herbs such as rosemary, garlic, thyme, pepper, dill, mint, sage, etc. ... Even seaweed from the sea...

Hugging is practiced, crocheting and knitting silk blankets and scarves happens every other day, planting gardens and collecting seeds, feeding birds and making bird feeders with pinecones, peanut butter, and various seeds, collecting various rocks and minerals and gems, weaving silk hammocks between their tree top homes and constructing bridges and building homes and huts and the like with wood, flax, leaves, and more silk...

Dragonets are cared for and protected, but seldom allowed to leave the hidden home of the SilkWings... But they are met with open arms and wings, accepted completely as they are, and aren't expected to get everything right all of the time.

And then Monarch (SilkWing! Reader) stumbles into their lives...

[cdreambur]

dreambur drei haselnüsse für aschenbrödel au with wilbur as cinderella, living in a big estate and suffering from abuse by his stepmother and stepbrother after his father died.

the only connections he really cares about are the ones to his animals, dog tommy, horse tubbo, and owl niki, and the one to servant phil.

one winter morning, after escaping a punishment of separating lentils and ashes with the help of a flock of white doves, he goes on a ride with tubbo and interrupts the hunt of prince dream and his two companions george and sapnap.

the three chase him through the woods and manage to catch him, but instead of backing down, wilbur insults the prince and flees on dream's horse, said to be unpredictable.

at the same time, wilbur's stepmother and brother manage to get invitations for the royal ball where dream, after too many shenanigans, is forced to choose a betrothed.

since the two need material for outfits, they send phil into the city, where on the way there, he meets wilbur, who's washing clothes in the ice cold river.

after talking about the ball for a little while, phil leaves, promising wilbur to bring him back a gift that 'hit him right on the nose'.

and that's exactly what happens when on his way home, a nest with three hazelnuts falls onto phil.

he gives them to wilbur.

a few days pass, and after getting away from another punishment with help from the doves, wilbur finds himself talking to niki, expressing his wish for a disguise so he could escape for a while.

as if it heard his words, one of the hazelnuts drops to the floor, transforming into a hunter's outfit.

relieved, wilbur takes tubbo and tommy and leaves for the woods where he stumbles upon dream's hunting party, who are competing for a ring from the royal treasury.

the challenge being to shoot down a bird of prey, wilbur is the only one to manage it, even from his hiding spot.

when he steps out, true to the promise, dream puts the ring on wilbur's finger.

but wilbur slips away soon after, and when the prince comes to look for him, he has already changed back into his normal clothes and hidden in a tree, making fun of dream and refusing to tell him where the 'hunter' went before disappearing.

-

on the day of the ball, after enduring mocking comments from his stepbrother, wilbur finds himself back with niki and the hazelnuts, wondering and hoping if he might get another outfit and a chance to see the prince again.

eyes closed, he lets the second hazelnut fall, almost breaking out in tears when he finds a beautiful suit made out of silk and chiffon, gemstones shimmering in the low light.

tubbo and tommy accompany him to the castle, and after fighting with himself for a bit, he finally enters.

he doesn't notice the way all eyes are drawn to him.

hiding his features behind a veil, he enters the ballroom, almost immediately running into dream who just wanted to leave after an outburst, tired of all the people throwing themselves at him.

but intrigued by the mysterious stranger, he decides to stay, asking wilbur for a dance.

his curiosity only grows when they talk a little, and he's soon captivated by his dancing partner.

it's easy for dream to voice the wish to marry him.

against his expectations, the stranger doesn't accept.

wilbur steps away and ties his agreement to a riddle dream has to solve, a riddle that references their previous encounters.

when dream fails to answer, wilbur runs.

he's out of the castle in seconds, but on the steps outside, he stumbles, falling and losing one of his boots.

with no time left, he leaves it, taking tubbo and tommy and riding off to get back home.

dream doesn't give up that easily though, way too enamoured with the stranger to just let him disappear.

with george and sapnap in tow, he follows wilbur, arriving at the estate not long after him.

wilbur has already quietly returned to his small chamber, and compared to his arrival, dream's is loud, alerting the servants and workers of the estate and its farm.

they're surprised to find the prince, even more so when he starts to question them about a beautifully dressed stranger.

it's george who finally suggest that all the men try on the lost shoe, something the villagers agree to but not without jokes and humorous pushes.

in the chaos, no one notices the stepmother and her son returning, and they're the only ones who catch sight of wilbur through one of the windows, still in his suit and coat and the tiara used to secure the veil on top of his head.

without any eyes on them, they have no problem sneaking up and overpowering wilbur, taking his coat and leaving him tied up on the floor.

when they arrive back in the courtyard, it's with all attention on them this time.

dream, who recognizes the coat, approaches them, but the stepmother stops him before he can get too close, trying to get him to propose and refusing when dream wants her son to try on the shoe.

instead, she takes the boot and the two of them leave in a sled.

the prince follows, but when the sled crashes into a pond, he recognizes the stepbrother as someone who tried to flirt with him at the ball, and he grabs the shoe, riding back to the estate.

in the meantime, wilbur was able to free himself, now seeking refuge in niki, hopeless and heartbroken.

only with the owl's encouragement does he reach for the last hazelnut, letting it fall to the floor.

it turns into a wedding outfit, white and embroidered, lace and small gemstones decorating it. a silver crown rests on top of it, and wilbur lets out a breathless laugh when he realizes that one of the boots is missing.

it's in these clothes that he takes tubbo, tommy, and niki and returns to the estate.

at his arrival, everyone is staring at him, and in the end, george and sapnap have to push dream towards him for the prince to finally get to him.

the shoe slips onto wilbur's foot without any problems, but when he wants to give the ring back to dream, the prince protests, sliding it onto wilbur's finger again.

it prompts wilbur to repeat his riddle, and this time, dream remembers.

the boy in the woods, the talented hunter, the mysterious stranger at the ball.

wilbur, the name he got from phil, falls from his lips, instantly followed by a marriage proposal.

wilbur smiles.

and of course, he accepts.

[sourmiguel]

All I Want for Christmas is Brew (and You) by snarkatthemoon (wc4784, teen)

Summary: “One spiced hazelnut mocha for the dude with the impressive eyebrows and cute scarf,” he says, handing Derek the cup instead of putting it down on the counter like all the baristas do. Their fingers brush gently, and Derek takes far too long to take the cup from Stiles, their eyes meeting. Ask him for his number, his brain supplies in a voice which sounds scarily like his sister’s. Stiles raises his eyebrows, their eyes still locked and both still holding the cup. The second Derek opens his mouth, the moment is broken by one of the other baristas shouting, “Stiles! We could all use a little help here considering we have a line going out the door.” Stiles pulls his hand away as if he’s been burned, giving Derek a sheepish smile before he turns to get back to work. Derek heads out past the line of irritated customers, ignoring the dirty looks he’s being given while he curses himself inwardly. Idiot. That voice sounds like his other sister. . Or, the one where Derek has a crush on a hot barista with a talent for baking and a questionable taste in festive headwear. Written for the Sterek Secret Santa 2021 gift exchange.

Yes yes so cute love it. Gotta go gooey for a seasonal Coffee Shop AU.

**Double Rec Incoming** Two holiday fic recs for the price of one (and yes, they have similar titles!)

All I Want for Christmas is [for you to wear this stupid had in our holiday pictures, PLEASE Derek] You by @sassystarboard (wc9782, general)

Summary: Holiday presents, baking fails, overly tacky decorating, gingerbread themed innuendo, Christmas tree themed innuendo, and so much more! Derek secretly loves Christmas and grumpily knits everybody stockings, Stiles is half Jewish and determined to make Derek enjoy the holiday season.

This is such a precious collection of holiday events! A must read.

[steele-soulmate]

Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 501, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

WARNING: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault, fingering, hand jobs, blow jobs, 69, P in V sex, blood, noncon rape, violence, death, vandalism, graffiti, attempted kidnapping, break-ins, wild animal attacks, terrorist attack (sabotage) consensual impregnation, bareback, impregnation kink, creampies, terrorist attacks (shootings) hit and run pedestrian accident, precipitous labor, neonatal death

WORDS: 1076

When we got back home a few hours later, I only asked that Peter tuck me into bed.

“I just want to sleep, my love,” I had explained in a weary voice. His only response was to mutely kiss my temple and do as I had asked.

I didn’t get up out of bed except to use the bathroom, and even that was a chore. I just felt so emotionally depressed, like nothing in the world would ever make my sad little heart smile ever again.

My mommy senses told me that the family had begun engaging in various forms of grieving. Elizabeth was writing songs and playing her mother’s harp. Katie crafted in my workroom and coded, a new pastime of hers. Peter worked in the backyard on building something. Isabelle studied day in and night out. The babies kept me company as I graduated from the bed to the kitchen, where I poured my grief out by baking bread.

Cinnamon bread.

Blueberry yogurt bread.

Honey oatmeal bread.

San Francisco sourdough bread.

Chocolate hazelnut bread.

Strawberry shortcake bread.

Peanut butter bread.

Sandwich bread.

At night, we would all lump together in the master bedroom, the babies in their bedside cradled on my husband’s side and the girls in between Peter and I.

Mittens and Primrose stayed within easy reach of me, the cat and skunklet both clearly worried about me. Mittens would sit on my lap and purr loudly and Primrose would take naps on my chest. The two pets were clearly worried about the family and would flit in between family members.

Daisy stuck close by Elizabeth, always the loyal canine member of the family, spending most of her time with the girl in her bedroom as she plucked at her mommy’s harp.

Peter and I haven’t had any private time to talk about what we would do next. I really wanted to get pregnant again, but I didn’t know if my husband as ready to get me pregnant again.

He had casually mentioned to me in passing a few months ago that he had started a college fund for Baby Violet Marie and by the time of her passing, he had stocked away a little over seven hundred dollars. He had to go down to the bank to close down the account and told me that he donated the money to The Foundation for Grieving Children, a charity dedicated to increasing, sustaining and expanding the resources available to grieving children throughout the United States and beyond, assist families in locating services in their communities, create awareness of the challenges of grieving children, and educate parents, other family members, society and the professional communities to their needs, according to their website.

My physical wounds from the trauma of giving birth to Baby Violet Marie healed, and pretty quickly, it was the day before Christmas Eve. I had mutely made the kids Christmas jumpers, but didn’t really put a big effort into the holiday otherwise. My soulmate on the other hand, chopped down a pine tree from the property, dragged it inside and decorated it with the decorations from the basement.

I had come downstairs on December third and found that the house has been transformed into a Christmas at Hogwarts winter wonderland. The Hogwarts Express choo choo train chugged along underneath the tree, which was decorated with whimsical, trinkety props from the movies and books. House stockings were hung to the side of the fireplace and a Sorting Hat tree topper topped the Christmas tree.

In the meantime, Aaron and James had swung by to pick up little girl- Aaron looked tanner and James looked fatter. Little girl had been so overjoyed to see them, babbling away happily in her Pepe Bear’s arms while Aaron came in to thank the family profoundly for caring for her, in between James’ great grandmother’s funeral and a serious outbreak of Covid among the family that resulted in everyone being quarantined for weeks at a time.

“Thanks a lot, and oh- before I forget-” Aaron settled a box packed with wrapped presents under the tree. “Gifts from France!”

“Yay yay!” cheered Baby Tommy, galloping into the room with his dollie tucked in tight to his chest. “Yay yay!” He skidded to a stop right in front of Aaron and exposed his chubby tummy, something that he’d taken to doing as of lately whenever he wanted tickles.

I smiled at all the hustle and bustle that was happening- tomorrow would be Christmas Eve, and although I hadn’t really done anything for the holiday season, it was evident that Peter was trying to carry on as normal- and I just did not know how to respond to that.

I knew that this Christmas would be different, as how a beloved member of the Ratajczyk family wasn’t here to celebrate, and so I had the feeling that this holiday would be different- more forlorn and weepy, in a sense of the emotions.

But I knew that the rest of the family- Peter, Elizabeth, Elle, Katie, Jing, Isabelle, Baby Tommy and little girl- yearned for some normality right now, a chance to just forget the trauma of Baby Violet Marie passing so suddenly unexpected, and I would always smile at my husband for attempting this with our motley family.

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@ch3rry-c01a

[analog-cottage-gore]

“And most importantly not Celio” WHAT GRUDGE DOES THIS CHILD (Hazel) HAVE AGAINST CELIO OR DID I READ IT WRONG

Also me and Damien have the same nickname (Ghost Eye) and I find that funky

So I meant for it to read as Damien walking into this weird ass situation and not even finding Celio, but your idea is so much funnier.

I think Celio might be slightly annoyed at Hazel because she managed to redeem Winnie with no experience, whilst Celio is a literal therapist.

[educatedsimps]

heyyy I wanted some angst so here I am :))))

okay, dad Oikawa disappearing after flying overseas to another country for a competition. he’s been missing for nearly a year and his wife and kids back home in Japan have been watching the news but no one has found him since his last competition

i wanna shed some tears i’m ready :D

request - my love, where are you?

≪ back to fics masterlist

timeskip!oikawa x f!reader

includes: timeskip spoilers lol, *ANGSTTT* bolded italicized highlighted asterisked so don’t enter unless you’re ready to cry, parenting au, mentions of cheating, also christmas-ish vibes (jo when you beta read this lmk if u cried LOL)

a/n: hey there! i want some angst too, so here we go >:) i've never written for Oikawa before but this was a pretty intriguing prompt so i hope i did it justice. a huge ass thank you to Yves for helping me write more than half of this fic since i’ve been stuck on it for the longest time. anyway, enjoy the fic and do lmk what you thought of it <3 -lyssa

"I'll be back before you know it, my queen. And you, too, my princess," he added, bending down to hug your eleven-year-old daughter. She giggled and kissed his cheek.

The airport was crowded. People from all walks of life, with different destinations in mind, were all milling about you and your little family. You and your children were there to send him off. He would only be away for two weeks - three, if they made it to the world finals.

"I'll miss you, Daddy," she said.

"I'll miss you too, Princess," he replied, unshed tears brimming his beautiful brown eyes. He turned to you and planted yet another kiss on your soft lips, then he leaned down to kiss the little boy clinging onto your leg.

His teammate called him over soon enough, and he reluctantly pried himself away from his beloved wife and children, grabbing his luggage and carry-on items.

Jogging over to his team, they checked in and eventually made their way to the lounge to wait for their flight. He turned to wave back at you and your kids, your daughter vigorously waving back with one hand while the other clung onto your leg. You blew a kiss to him, which he caught and returned to you.

That was almost a year ago, and the last time you or your kids had seen of him.

"Kiyo-chan, do you want to come with mommy and Onee-san to get the Christmas cake?" you bent down to meet the height of your young son.

The six-year-old shook his head. "I wanna be there when Santa Claus comes.” He pointed towards the bottom of the glistening Christmas tree, where the presents would usually reside.

You nodded and ran your fingers through his soft brown hair, the same colour as his father’s. Your son’s hair had a much rougher texture because he wouldn't use any conditioner despite your incessant nags to use it. You placed a light kiss on his forehead.

You and your daughter waved back at him as you stepped out the front door and into your car.

"Mommy," Your daughter called.

"Yes, Erina?" Your eyes are still fixed on the road as you continue to drive to the mall.

"Will Daddy be back for Christmas this year?"

He hadn't been around for a whole year. Missed Kiyo’s kindergarten graduation, Erina’s first solo with the Japan National Youth Orchestra, and your 15th Wedding Anniversary, to name a few.

Even you couldn't believe that a whole year had passed.

Erina’s hazelnut eyes widened to give you the best puppy-eyes she could muster. You chuckled, finally understanding why your husband could rarely say no to your daughter when she pleaded.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie, but no. You know he’s busy in Argentina,” You sighed.

That was all your could tell your daughter. You couldn't bear to tell her the truth. That her father had been missing in Argentina since his last game the previous year.

The child looked back at the snowy roads, trying her best not to feel sad. You couldn't blame your daughter for it. You knew that it wasn't good for Tooru to be gone for this long, especially since Erina would be approaching her teenage years the coming spring.

You didn't like the idea of your children growing up without a father at such a crucial age. You weren't exactly holding up well as a new 'single parent' either, but it was only for the time being, right?

You could still remember having to face the press last year when the Argentina Volleyball Association first announced that a fellow player could not be found, and a large-scale manhunt for your husband started.

The flashing lights from the cameras, the never-ending questions from reporters all intimidated you. You were never quite one for the spotlight.

His current and old teammates and friends reached out to you, telling you to ask for help if you needed it. Even Iwaizumi offed to babysit your kids every now and then, so that they could play with his kids while you took some time off for yourself.

Back at home, you had to face your mother-in-law screaming at you for stealing her son's fame, being fully convinced that you had kidnapped Tooru while your own mother wanted you to file a divorce and be with someone who wasn't - quite literally - lost.

You knew the gossip magazines theorised that he could have run away to a private island to rendezvous with another woman, along with any other detail that could have possibly hinted at him cheating on you. You hoped they were false with ever fibre of your being. He would never do something like that to you.

Picking up the christmas cake was a blur and soon, you were back home with your two kids. Iwaizumi and his family arrived not long after. He had brought his wife, their two sons, Ryūjin and Eiji, and their daughter, Atsukō, over for the christmas dinner.

The sound of excited chattering and the joyous laughter from the kids echoed throughout the house. Iwaizumi and his wife asked if you were okay and how you were holding up. Conversation flowed easily with the three of you, but the undercurrent of longing and sadness was unmistakable.

Iwaizumi’s phone rang just as dinner was about to start. The children quickly quieted down, giving the man some semblance of silence in the house. He gestured for the rest of you to continue while he stepped into the living room to pick up the call.

Not a minute later, you watched as Iwaizumi slowly stepped back into the dining room, eyes wide and breathing heavily. He ran a thick hand through his spikes and let out a shaky sigh. Looking up at you with a look that could only be described as pure devastation, he whispered the words from your nightmares.

“They found the body.”

a/n: I’M SORRY not really

tagging: @tearofvenus @chifemi @mysterystarz @toorusplant

© educatedsimps 2021. do not repost, copy, translate or plagiarize any work from this blog on tumblr or any other platforms. if you do, the simps will hunt you down (likes and reblogs are appreciated)

[fluffyydumplings]

Gone (방탄소년단)

Summary: Life is a collection of happy and sad memories, where everything is absolutely beautiful. Whether it is the late nights you spend writing stories or the many dates with your lovers. There is colour everywhere, both vibrant and dull. So, as you glance briefly at the windows to your past, you can’t help but cry. Because that’s not what your life is anymore. No more ooey-gooey chocolate chip cookies from the shop by the intersection of the bustling streets of New York, no more sipping green tea from the side of a cup in Kyoto, and no more cuddling till the sun rises. There is no light here, so no flowers will ever bloom again. You hate that so much, yet you can’t do anything about it.

Genre: poly!au / painter!namjoon x sculptor!yoongi x fashion illustrator!jin x traveller!reader / angst / fluff/ poetry / romance

Warning: Will vary every individual chapter...

Word Count: Around 50k

Status: Complete

Window One - The One Who Deserves Better

A step so close to your happy ending, yet life had to be a bitch and snatch it all away. It all started with your mother, and now it ends with them. Fights really do get messy, for now there is blood on your hands. No.. There is blood everywhere.

Window Two - Your Fluffy Little Dumpling

Who knew you’d end up meeting your childhood best friend once again. Who knew you’d end up meeting him while racking your brains up in another chaotic year of high school. Yet after all this time, he remains the same boy you’ve remembered. Cheeks fluffy as clouds, affection for dumplings still strong as ever, and sleepy as the days go on. Sure.. He’s a little grumpier now, but that does not change the fact that he's the cutest little thing to ever waddle into your life.

Window Three - The Boy Sitting in the Corner

Being a regular at ‘Bonsai Cafe’ you’ve come in every day to get your daily dose of tea. But, there is one more thing that catches your eyes. That’s a tall man with hazelnut dimples sitting in the corner while drinking a water-downed americano as he gets lost in the world of books. You don't mean to stare, but he just fascinates you way more than he should. And that one time your orders get swapped by accident, you realise just how alike you are.

Window Four - The Handsome Friend of a Friend

Jiwon, the guy who had a crush on you during elementary school is back in town. And he’s brought a friend with him. A broad-shouldered fashion illustrator with chiselled features like one of the many marble sculptures that Yoongi swears his life over. But.. ties run deeper than they appear. For aside from being a beauty he happens to be an old friend of Namjoon’s and a fellow part-timer of Yoongi’s. The fun part is, they both seem to be rather fond of him. Maybe even a little more than necessary. And you can see why. He’s one charming fellow.

Window Five - The Chilling Truth

It’s heartbreaking how you’ll never be able to meet them ever again, and how all of it is now nothing but a memory to forget. But you can’t seem to move on, not when Namjoon is blaming himself, not when Yoongi is overworking, and not when Jin is pretending to be someone else.

Window Six - The Journey to Letting Go

Life goes on - even after your death, even if moving on proves to be more complicated and heart-wrenching than anything could ever be. They don’t know where this is going, they don’t know what they are doing. But one thing is for sure, they’ll always love you. Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting you, it means getting the closure they deserve and need.

Window Seven - The Tale of the Forgotten

Forty-five years ago, you planted a tree in the backyard of your boring old home with the person you hoped to cherish for as long as the tree would stand.. Forty-five years later, the tree flourishes - shrouded in pink when spring stays over, shrouded in green when summer comes by, orange as autumn says hello, and a dusty white as winter kicks in.. But only he remembers of that day, and of the love you once shared.. You, on the other hand, you have forgotten.. Completely and for eternity.

Window Eight - Empty Canvases

Tae’s dreams were nothing but a tunnel with no ending - dark, bleak and empty.. Yoongi made him smile, you opened his eyes to light.. the world and everyone in it made him cry.. Through this abandoned tunnel that now has a torch shining its way and an ending to reach - he runs to it - with joy.. To the sparkly eyed fool who follows him around everywhere and anywhere..

[hochgouez-nerzhus]

Yannick Dubois art

La classe sacerdotale druidique respectant la loi du ternaire se divise en trois ordres ; les Druides, les Ovates et les Barbes. Un arbre correspond à chacun d'eux, le chêne au Druide , l'if à l'Ovate, et le bouleau au Barbe.

Le chêne est non seulement un emblème naturel de la science, du savoir et de la connaissance, il est aussi un emblème de la force et de la longévité. D'ailleurs la force première des celtes fut celle du savoir druidique. Pour les celtes, le chêne est  " l'aspect visible de la Divinité " Pline faisait des Druides les hommes du chêne.

Le Gland du chêne et  La manducation ( mastication) des glands par les druides est mentionné dans le scholiaste (commentaire) de Lucain, elle est généralement mise en rapport avec des pratiques divinatoires. Comme les noisettes et les noix les glands sont des fruits de science et de savoir, leur importance provient de la sacralité du chêne et du sanglier symboles sacerdotale du druide.

La mastication s'apparente à la répétition des noms divins. Si l'arbre est l'image de la divinité , l'axe qui rejoint le monde céleste au monde terrestre , il est indéniable que ses fruits contiennent certaines vertus et le symbolisme de la manducation réside donc dans l'acquisition de celle-ci.

Les glands qui par leurs formes peuvent évoquer l'oeuf cosmique ajoute à l'importance de ce fruit.

The Druidic priestly class respecting the law of the ternary is divided into three orders; the Druids, the Ovates and the Barbs. A tree corresponds to each of them, the oak to the Druid, the yew to the Ovate, and the birch to the Beard.

The oak is not only a natural emblem of science, knowledge and knowledge, it is also an emblem of strength and longevity. Besides, the first strength of the Celts was that of Druidic knowledge. For the Celts, the oak is "the visible aspect of the Divinity" Pliny made of the Druids the men of the oak.

The Acorn of the Oak and The manducation (chewing) of the acorns by the druids is mentioned in Lucain's scholiaste (commentary), it is generally related to divinatory practices. As the hazelnuts and the walnuts the acorns are the fruits of science and knowledge, their importance comes from the sacredness of the oak and the boar, priestly symbols of the druid.

Chewing is akin to repeating divine names. If the tree is the image of the divinity, the axis which joins the celestial world to the terrestrial world, it is undeniable that its fruits contain certain virtues and the symbolism of the manducation therefore resides in the acquisition of this one.

The acorns which by their shapes can evoke the cosmic egg adds to the importance of this fruit.

[romioneficfest]

2021 Final Masterlist

Greetings fans, readers, voters, and everyone else. The time has come - to close the curtain on the 2021 Romione FicFest. 39 stories were submitted and published by an amazing list of authors.

I wish to thank each and every one of them for their hard work, their courage to hit send, and the fact that they had to keep quiet while awaiting positive feedback for their works. (And if you've held off giving rave reviews on their works, please please please do so now for their benefit. I beseech thee!)

I applaud every single one of you, yes I do.

Every single story submitted has been enjoyed, appreciated, and cherished. The more, the merrier, when it comes to more fic, and more writing.

So, without any further ado,

2021 Masterlist:

Bottom of the Bottle Author: @ballerinaroy Summary:  He’s been searching for the answer in Firewhiskey but it’s never been there.

And I’m in love with every colour of you Author: @ballerinaroy Summary: He fills her rainbow. Every colour is made better because of him.

Before and After Author: @ballerinaroy Summary: It’s hard to remember before.

The Curious Case of the light switch Author: @aprofessionalprotagonist Summary: Why can’t Ron ever turn off a light switch?

Theirs and Ours Author: @voldemorts-tap-shoes Summary: Who knew babysitting 4 kids would make Hermione doubt herself and the future of the Weasley-Granger household?

Thirty Years Author: @ballerinaroy Summary: She’d laid it all out, beginning to end. A whole life, theirs.

Ever so Smart and Clever Author: @arianatwycross-fics Summary: Hermione is visiting Grimmauld Place in her Christmas holidays and Ron has just gotten his results back from an exam at Auror Training.

Dreams Author: @voldemorts-tap-shoes Summary: the line between dreams and reality can sometimes blur in brilliant ways.

Little Unicorn Day Center Author: @voldemorts-tap-shoes Summary:  Hermione Granger runs the Little Unicorn Day Center and meets one of the Dads and is smitten. Is it so wrong to appreciate a charge’s dad?

Mine Author: @accio-broom Summary:  A newborn Hugo refuses to sleep. Can Rose be the answer to the young parents finally getting some sleep?

I Need You Author: @adenei Summary:  A Romione Ficlet inspired by the TV Show New Girl Season 2: Episode 15 “Cooler”

I Knew it would be You Author: @adenei Summary:  Seventh Year AU when Ron and Hermione receive their final Hogwarts letters.

Just a Snog Author: @adenei Summary: 6th Year AU - Ron confronts Hermione immediately following his row with Ginny.

Nice to Meet You Author: @cheesyficwriter Summary: “The moment I first saw her, I knew I was in trouble.” A muggle university AU one-shot featuring Ron/Hermione.

Right Here, Right Now Author: @cheesyficwriter Summary: Ron and Hermione share a tender moment under the stars during the summer following the Battle.

Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato Author: @be11atrixthestrange Summary: Muggle AU. Hermione Granger is new in town, and she has a pretty complicated coffee order.

Early Morning Light Author: @rafa-rafaelx Summary: Ron and Hermione in the early hours of the morning at Shell Cottage

Warm Author: @honouraryweasley12 Summary: Hermione decides to reconcile with Ron after the poisoning, and learns something interesting.

Pen-Y-Fan Author: @accio-broom Summary: Hermione wakes Ron up crazily early to climb the side of a mountain. Whilst he grumbles at first, he soon discovers that the view is worth it.

Valeria Author: @acnelli Summary: Sometimes someone steps into your life when you least expect it. Ron and Hermione had made a lot of life-changing decisions together, and this is the beginning of another.

The Promise Author: @maggotsstuff Summary: Ron goes missing and Hermione reacts

The Right Decision Author: @adenei Summary: Hermione questions her decision to return to Hogwarts for her seventh year.

Why am I so ugly? Author: @lobster-lost Summary: This takes place in the 6th year when Harry drinks the Felix Felicis potion and “make” Lavender broke up with Ron. He goes out for hours in his missing to pursuit Slughorn. Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione got some time alone.

Sleepy (M Rated) Author: @lobster-lost Summary: This takes place 2 years after the war. Ron and Hermione are together, but as there are not married yet, Mrs. Weasley still prefers them to sleep in separate rooms. The whole family was at the Burrow for Christmas.

Saying the Words Author: @honouraryweasley12 Summary: Ron works up the courage to tell Hermione something important. Then he has to do it again.

Scared of losing You Author: @adenei Summary: Hermione wakes up for the first time not knowing where she is. Fortunately, someone is there by her side.

A Practical Stranger Author: @cheesyficwriter Summary: Hermione receives assistance from someone who may not be as much of a stranger to her as she initially thinks.

 A Little Motivation (M Rated) Author: @lobster-lost Summary: Ron and Hermione share a very intimate moment after a long day of work.

Will they or won’t they Author: @adenei Summary: The last few days have been stressful, what with the recent attack on Mr Weasley. So, Sirius does the last thing he can think of to help the teens relax now that they know Mr Weasley is going to be okay.

Until the very end Author: @cheesyficwriter summary: Hermione and Ron find solace with each other in the days following Malfoy Manor.

The Beholder Author: @acnelli Summary: Hermione is not happy with the way she looks in her new lingerie.

Sod It Author: @adenei Summary: Parks and Rec Crossover from the episode “Smallest Park”. Hermione and Ron are Leslie and Ben. Most of the dialogue is taken from the scene in the episode.

Tutor Girl Author: @accio-broom summary: Inspired by One Tree Hill Season 1 Episode 3 - Are You True?

Defender Author: @honouraryweasley12 Summary: During rounds, Hermione sees something that gives hope.

The Second Gift Author: @adenei Summary: Hermione ponders Ron’s intentions after receiving perfume as her Christmas gift. She makes a hasty decision to attempt to give him something that’s more meaningful than a ridiculous homework planner.

Family Ties Author: @adenei Summary: Hermione learns about the family ties between the Blacks and the Weasleys.

Flutter Author: @adenei summary: Ron can’t sleep because Hermione can’t sleep because Rose can’t sleep.

The Fallen Hero Author: @maggotsstuff Summary: An account of the night of escape from Malfoy Manor by the golden trio from Ron’s POV- Reference DH

Common Ground Author: @voldemorts-tap-shoes Summary: Ron’s first assignment as a Prefect for Hufflepuff is making him a little nervous: Rounds for the evening with Ace student and Ravenclaw’s school Know it All Hermione Granger.

[nameless-shrimp]

A REASON WORTH LIVING || PIANIST! OSAMU DAZAI

↳ PAIRING: Pianist! Osamu Dazai x GN! Reader

↳ TYPE: one-shot

↳ WORD COUNT: 6.3k

↳ WARNINGS: Heavy Dazai suicide references, mentions of worthlessness and suicidal actions/attempts, implied suggestive/sexual content, angst and fluff.

↳ SYNOPSIS: Osamu Dazai didn't have any reason worth living for until he realized that there were auditions for a gig. For the first time in his life, he became determined to achieve a dream. But instead, he learns something new about life.

↳ AUTHOR'S NOTE: hello everyone! i hope you liked this one. cause this is looooong, damn. also, i do like this one. i cried while writing it. so please, enjoy. i hope you will, hehe. inspired by @bsdparadise's pianist brainrot au along with @alittlesimp's pianist dazai fic as well. also, i think this is kinda bad... so i am sorry if it sucks lol

Fingers danced on the keys where hazelnut eyes had gotten lost to the rhythm. The students watched in awe, eyes open, and curious expressions lingered on their faces. And never did the thought of black and white keys could ever be so beautiful to him.

Dazai was a complex person. Suicidal desires were kept underneath his—still—beating heart yet he decided to immerse himself with the sound of music. At first, the melody was a still dove, wings resting near the shore. And soon, the rhythm picked up its pace. The dove flew, wings flowing against the ocean breeze—with high notes to its lower peak, Dazai was lost in the notes. Creating a story with the music he portrayed.

The students close to him watched, pure curiosity was twinkling in their eyes underneath the dim-lit lights. They immediately clapped—or, well, one of them did, where the other just nodded and hid back a smile.

“That was beautiful, Mister Dazai!”

A cheery voice echoed. Dazai smiled at one of his student’s responses and then he turned to them, elbow resting on his crossed leg. “That’s nice of you to say, Atsushi!” He responded with a false smile arose on his lips. Dazai turned to his other student, who only tightened his lips and looked away from his teacher’s gaze. “No words, Akutagawa?”

The younger one that was in the black coat sighed deeply, closing his eyes. “It was… beautiful, Mister Dazai. One of the—” he held up a fist to his mouth, coughing into it harshly. “—better pieces you’ve played for us, sir.”

“Right!” Atsushi exclaimed, fists clenched in excitement and he turned to Dazai, interest peeking his eyes and Dazai was able to see the sunlight beam from his colored irises. “Mister Dazai, teach us how to play like that! We wanna play like you!”

And Dazai loved hearing those words from his—very small class—though part of him despised the agonizing thought of coming into work. However, when it came to being a piano teacher, he was already lost in his own world of thoughts; music was partially an escape, though it became a mental drainage throughout his years.

Black and white piano keys were always beautiful, but just as the leaves fell during the rose of autumn, the trees would soon wither into an empty batch once winter flew its way in. At some point, something beautiful was meant to fade away into nothingness—at least, to Dazai’s viewpoint.

Every time he came home from work, groaning every time he’d glance over at his grand piano resting in the living room, he’d only turn away. It was despicable yet frustrating. To be devoid of such beauty and trapped in a whole different world wasn’t pleasant for Dazai. He wondered mindlessly every night—a bottle of alcohol in his hands and eyes gazing at the ceiling above him—if there had been a purpose for him.

And that was when one of his colleagues had informed him of a gig at the nearest jazz nightclub.

(Kunikida; the other math teacher at the school Dazai worked at, and he held out a flyer that portrayed that there were auditions opening up at the nearest club. Kunikida always knew Dazai had something hidden in his heart to get him fired up. “Stop dwelling on the negative,” Kunikida would always say, shaking his head.

Kunikida always looked unamused; glasses on the tip of his nose and eyes darting at the music teacher who kept his plastic smile glued on his face on a regular basis.

However, Dazai knew that Kunikida did care for him.)

So, once Dazai heard about the auditions at the nearest gig, this might be it. The moment that Dazai would have been waiting for, where he would finally find a reason to live and that his purpose in life was going to be a famous pianist. Maybe someday, he’d grow, fluttering onto a bigger stage with roses thrown at him as he was glistening in a white suit. Yes, Dazai was able to picture it now.

The bottles of liquor had faded from his apartment. Dazai consistently practiced, hoping to create new pieces and there had been broken pencils in the process and crumpled up papers, but he was able to muster up a new story. Exquisite notes that were able to create a piece that he believed was a masterpiece; maybe his life did have a meaning.

Whenever Dazai taught his two students at school, Atsushi and Akutagawa noticed the faint glint of glow in his eyes. Beneath that long tan trench coat, they noticed that their teacher had a passion for something, and they believed it had to deal with music.

Because every time their teacher would play a piece for them, even if it was warming up with a child lullaby, they noticed that he wasn’t drenched in his own agonizing blood. Dazai had a smile on his face; he was dancing with his eyes, one spin after another. Atsushi thought it was gorgeous—to see his inspiring teacher be so consumed by the beauty of black and white piano keys, and Akutagawa thought the same.

(Only he refused to admit it. But he’d compliment his teacher on his efforts here and there.)

By the end of the week, the auditions were coming up. Dazai would go to bed, a hand clenching his heart deep down, and anxiety consumed him. Though he had never felt determination in so long. Usually, laziness would bask him in; a ghostly image of his figure where he believed that he wasn’t capable of holding such achievements in his life. He’d drown in it. Even get stabbed by his own ghost.

Dazai wasn’t sure what lit up his heart. And he was starting to feel the excitement, nearly on the edge of his toes. He’d curl them whenever he played his piece. Perfect. For once, he was starting to be proud of himself. He usually never was. Because it was Dazai—and to him, he never mattered. His existence was a flaw.

Rather so, he believed he was one of those forgotten pieces. Dazai wondered—one night, where he took a break from playing; it had been one more week until the auditions were coming up—and he thought as if he were to vanish from this world, completely, would his works ever be noticed?

(Perhaps. Maybe someday. He didn’t even know.)

But it was one morning, where Dazai was rushing through the streets, nearly bumping into people as he was hastily making his way to work. He knew he would be running late—again—but at least this time, he wasn’t calling off for once in a blue moon. Even Dazai felt himself changing, and was it for the better? He didn’t know; he was never productive, anyway, but when the flame was lit up in his heart and a generous smile was growing on his face at the image of a piano fluttering in his mind, he felt safe.

Because music was a safe place for him. He believed that it was. A getaway from the tragic world that suffocated him.

And it seemed as if it wasn’t only a safe place for him.

Because his feet stopped at the loud music that rang his ears. It caught his attention and he bit his lip, knowing he was very late for work but he couldn’t help but stop at the intersection, in hopes of finding out where the tune was coming from. And he knew the sound all too well; a violin.

Dazai walked further down the opposite direction, eyes darting from the open shops to the colored cars that decorated the street. The sound was growing louder, brighter, to his ears, and he was able to glance down at you.

Hand carved around the red, grasping onto the wood. A bow in your other hand, secured tight around your fingers as it flowed on the strings. The sound was so mellow, yet so elegant and fierce, in its own fire before it would be taken out by water.

Dazai watched in awe, hand clenching his cell phone and he watched your gaze. Eyes closed, completely lost in your own fantasy. Some strangers dropped coins in your open case, but it seemed as if none of that really mattered to you. All that you were focused on was the strength of your sharp vibrato.

He blinked. Did he ever look like that when he plays the piano? He wondered to himself, continuing to watch your movements. Basking in your figure as a smile crept up on your lips. You were continuing to get into the higher notes; your fingers were doing ballet on the strings, dancing with one note in forte before easing it down to a softer touch of piano. Dazai never saw anyone so immersed with their own music before. Not like this.

Almost as if you were aware that someone was staring at you, you opened your eyes, immediately softening your last note as your finger did its gentle vibrato and the bow was losing its pressure from your hand. A smile grew on your face; Dazai thought you were breathtaking. Not only were you able to play so immaculately, but you still had stunning features that made his breath hitch and he had to clear his throat.

Vibrant colors of red and oranges tickled his heart. Eyes blinking from a short distance; Dazai cleared his throat. You were sitting on the bench, watching his every movement. Wooden instrument resting on your lap. Bow right next to it. That smile still stayed on your face; a flash of curiosity sparked your eyes.

Dazai smirked, allowing the warm colors to consume him, and he ignored that he was starting to feel the heat creep up the column of his neck. “Let me take a beautiful violinist like you out for a drink, sometime,” he insisted.

Without hesitation, he dropped several bills down into your violin case.

(And, for some reason, he couldn’t get your smile off his mind.)

At first, Dazai was well aware that he had his ways of attracting those around him. He knew he was confident enough to capture the attention of others. But when you sat next to him, at the same nightclub with the jazz music that was sprinkling the bar with its soft rhythm, Dazai usually found himself at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure if he was taken back by that damn smile on your face again or if it was the outfit that you decided to wear, but Dazai continued to allow himself to listen to your words.

You spoke about a story—a silly, childhood one, and Dazai didn’t want to admit it but he found himself trailing off from your words. Your voice was heavenly. And the way you looked underneath the dim-lit yellow hues of the bar lights wasn’t making it easier on him. Wine glass in your hand, the red swooshed as you twirled it around, bopping your head side to side at some funny moment of your story—what was it? He wasn’t sure.

You noticed the smirk on his face and you chuckled inaudibly. He raised an eyebrow at you, with his chin resting on his hand, elbow planted on the counter of the bar. “Are you drunk already, Dazai?” You asked, a humorous tone in your question. It sounded so beautiful to him—perhaps your voice, itself, was music enough for him.

“No,” he said, his smile growing wider. And, he wasn’t lying, that was the thing. But Dazai felt as if he was starting to get drunk by the way that he looked at you. Eyeing you up and down, taking in on how breathtaking you looked to him. Sometimes, he felt as if just by talking to you, it was enough to get him tipsy.

You were intoxicating, completely taking him in so quickly and you were smiling at every movement that he did. Whether he wailed his arms around jokingly to push a flirty comment at you and the way you looked at him whenever he talked about a silly story from the school he worked at. Bubbly, happy tints in your eyes; you admired him from only a few feet away. He did the same. And he was intertwining your fingers with yours, continuing to smirk at the touch of your fingers igniting a flame with each other.

He wasn’t sure what had caused both of you to end up at his apartment. Lost in the entanglement of arms. He could taste the raspberry wine on your lips as you were able to smell the intoxication of sake from his ruffled shirt. Dazai didn’t know how it happened, but with his fingers trailing your bare skin, sharing gentle moments with you as he talked about how beautiful you looked underneath the moonlight that hid beneath the clouds from the outside, he found his heart beating quicker than he anticipated.

At that one moment, he was starting to feel complete.

It didn’t take long for you two to rest in his bed, blanketed by his covers as your bodies were intertwined with one another. His fingers playing with your ears as you only giggled at the slight tickles. God, he had only known you for a short amount of time, and he was starting to get lost by the music of your voice.

“The auditions are soon,” you pointed out, head pushed closer into his somewhat bare chest, nearly suffocating yourself with the layers of bandages he kept around his neck. “Are you nervous?”

He chuckled. “In a way, I don’t think it’ll be too bad though,” he waved his hand around aimlessly. “I think I’ll feel more complete now that you’re in my life.”

He wasn’t lying when he said those words though. Dazai felt some type of emotion that he had never felt before. Usually, these emotions were smothering him—dull in a trapped void that he’d get sucked in; ironically, a noose around his neck, yet he felt as if these emotions were meant to be filled with excitement and that he was starting to grow calm. Dazai knew about who he was and deep down, his own character, itself, was a flaw; you managed to break it through him—making him feel these reds and oranges within his heart that he couldn’t even imagine, and eventually, the pinks would grow; not only within his heart but on his flustered face as well.

(He liked it, though. No—he loved it.)

And the night of his auditions came. You weren’t allowed to be in the same room to watch him, but you offered to be there and admire him from a distance outside of the jazz nightclub. With the thought of you in his mind, Dazai smiled every time he played his piece; for once, he was fully confident in himself and completely taken back by his own methods of how he played.

Fingers hopped from one key to another; black and white turning out to be the most beautiful colors to him, and Dazai grinned, finally reaching his grand finale. The moment of truth. He felt his toes curl on the stage, just like how he did when he practiced at home. However, the image of you rose up in his head. He felt the warm colors tickle his heart during his audition, and even those the gaze of the judges in front of him was also unsettling at the same time, the comfort of your image was all the stamina he needed to finish the piece.

When Dazai was finished, he was greeted with a loud applause. Even from a small audience of four people, which were all the main staff members of the club, they all cheered him on. A whistle here and there. Dazai felt a grin rise upon his lips, and he didn’t hesitate to bow quickly, feeling completely accomplished for once in his life.

Because Dazai rarely felt accomplished about his life. He always taught students at school the beauty of music, yet he rarely found it in himself to understand that he had roses blooming in his heart the whole time. However, that didn’t matter—and it wasn’t supposed to, because none of it was true. Dazai knew he wasn’t beautiful, he wasn’t meant to be admired, and his pieces weren’t all that exquisite.

But this time, he felt the roses bloom in his heart for once.

“Saturday. Be here by seven.”

Those were all the words he heard from the club manager and Dazai mentally cheered himself on. Finally. He had an opportunity in his life, he was able to seize his moment in life. Maybe becoming a famous pianist would’ve been his reason to live. The news became overwhelming. The excitement lingered in his mind for so long, continuing to make him feel the giddiness grow within his chest.

Immediately, he ran out of the jazz nightclub to find you—an ice cream cone in your hand—and he roared out the news to you that he got the gig and he was going to be able to grow from there on out. Dazai’s excitement was clear as day in his eyes; you stared back at him, taking in the vanilla flavor of your dessert, and a genuine smile was on your face.

“Thank God!” Dazai nearly shouted, arms wailing close to you. “I finally have a reason to live!”

You looked at him, completely taken back by his comment and you noticed that he held so many vibrant emotions within his eyes. Gulping, you looked down at your ice cream cone before you continued to gaze back at him. He was laughing out loud, in sync with the wind ticking his figure, and he turned to you—with your uncomfortable expression.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, a worried tone evident in his tone.

“Dazai, you know there are many reasons to live,” you responded.

“Not really,” Dazai chuckled. He placed a hand behind his neck and then kept a casual smirk on his face. “I could be near death’s door and everyone around me would congratulate me.”

“Is that what you think?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. He nodded. “Well, I wouldn’t be one of them to congratulate you.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, yes.”

And—Dazai wasn’t expecting that the rest of the day, you’d be talking about the little moments of life. He was thrilled about the official gig that he continued to go on and on about. However, you’d entangle your hand with yours, allowing him to skip down the street, and then you’d talk about the surroundings. Dazai never understood this, though. He’d look at you with a puzzled face, eyeing your smile gleaming underneath the faint sunlight, and you were beautiful yet troubling for him to quite understand.

Half-eaten bagel, leaves falling from the trees, and an empty wrap from a lollipop. Dazai held these little things in his pocket, having him continuously skip down the streets of Yokohama together. The day was still on; his scent lingered on the bakery that you both stopped at not too long ago, vanilla-scented coffee arousing the area and you only asked for a cinnamon and raisin bagel. You ate half of it and handed him the other.

He didn’t eat much. He took a bite, and that was it. You told him to keep it within his pocket for a future purpose. (Whatever that meant.) And it wasn’t long until you both rested on a bench, legs crossed as you both discussed personal life stories that resulted in chest tightening fits of laughter. Until the leaves began to tickle his flushed cheeks, he glanced at the vibrant green, and you insisted that he kept one of the leaves in his pocket.

So, he did.

And then you stopped near a candy store, where the colors of the rainbow decorated the entire store—ranging from gumdrops to gummy bears that nearly intoxicated every visitor with the colors that were portrayed out on the shelves. However, you bought yourself a lollipop. It was cheap, so Dazai paid for it, and you handed him the wrapper.

(He immediately put it in his pocket again.)

It wasn’t long until the night of Dazai’s gig came. For once, Dazai was excited; word had gotten out to the school and he believed that he finally found a reason to live. That there was something worth to this act of living that he always dwelled on. And he kept his hair tousled, as per usual, along with basking in a white suit that he had hidden deep within his wardrobe for some special occasion, and the night had finally come.

When he finally sat on the stage, the lights of the jazz nightclub coming to a soft glow, he smiled out at the audience. Desire. And he had excitement roaring underneath his skin. The glimpses of familiar faces in front of him had nervousness pooling in his stomach. But Dazai wasn’t going to back out now. And with one glance at his two students and a blond colleague, he felt his heartbeat quickly pick up its pace.

After glancing at you, near the front, he grinned confidently. Was this happiness? The unusual feeling that he never really settled for was slowly caving in. And his fingers were gleaming on the black and white keys of his piano. Ambient noise faded down; the melody was only heard—the piece that Dazai, himself, had composed together for himself. All for the people that sat to watch the song that he had immersed most of his soul into.

It was unreal. A mastery of a beloved song. So captivating and soulful, filled with emotions that were only portrayed by the highest to the lowest of notes. Fingers toying with the piano keys in front of him. The usual black and white keys that he had found to be so beautiful; basking in every bit of the sound that echoed throughout the club.

And an applause was heard. Louder than his audition from before. Never did he ever feel so delighted to hear those noises. But it was all over. And he sat on the chair, eyeing those who stood up and applauded afar; Dazai’s eyes were slowly losing their twinkle. The happy bit of gleam that he had in his eyes slowly began to fade out.

A motionless blur. He felt captivated—taken back. And he stood up, quickly bowing in a faster pace than he’d anticipated, and then continued to watch the audience keep up the audible momentum of their claps. It was beautiful. This was his moment, but Dazai wasn’t sure why he started to feel so empty now that it was all over.

He made his way backstage, hiding his figure beneath the curtains. He sat down near one of the chairs, thanking the staff members that were congratulating and complimenting the wonderful performance he gave out. Though his heart felt empty. He thought that he would’ve been thrilled with ecstatic joy once the performance was over. Though he began to simmer down back to those usual thoughts that haunted him so; ghostly, suicidal ideations tapped around his mind.

No. None of this made any sense. He had performed and not too long ago, he was just overhearing one of the club’s managers on insisting to have him perform more gigs in the later future. This was good. Dazai should’ve been excited and captivated by such generosity and achievement. He was proud, yet his heart felt hollow.

During the late night, he sat outside of the jazz nightclub, swirling around a drink in his hand. He rested the back of his head against the wall, keeping his eyes closed as he let himself ponder in misery. Because there was no use; no matter what Dazai would do for himself, even if he tried, perhaps there was nothing for him in this world any longer. There was no reason for him to keep existing. Nothing mattered; his musical masterpiece didn’t matter anymore. He wanted to feel excitement forever, knowing that his music would continue to touch the hearts of others, and he felt that only for a small moment on that stage when he performed, but it had slowly vanished. Gone. Emotions swifted away in a fog.

“I knew you’d be out here.”

Your voice comforted him. He smiled, keeping his eyes closed as he heard your footsteps get closer to him. Eventually, he smiled, gazing up at you, forcing that plastic grin on his face. “Thank you for coming, love,” he said. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me up until now.”

You sat down on the ground with him, not minding that your outfit was bound to be dirtied. Eyeing him, you noticed the shade of emptiness that was pooling his eyes. That honeyed glint you were so used to from before had vanished. “What’s wrong, Dazai?” You asked, tilting your head.

“It’s nothing, love,” he chuckled deeply, turning his head away from you.

“There’s something. I think I know what it is.”

He laughed once more, amusement glistening in his eyes now. “Oh? Enlighten me then.”

“I want to ask you something,” you responded.

Dazai sighed deeply. “Ask away.”

You looked hesitant, but you let out a sharp exhale. “Do you really believe that there is no value to this thing we call living?”

He wasn’t sure what allowed you to ask him such a question. Usually, you were always so radiant with him. A smile from you was enough to make his heart tingle in directions that he didn’t even know were possible. And he closed his eyes once again, mimicking the sharp exhale that you had breathed out. “You have a reason to live, Y/N,” Dazai explained. “Not me.”

“When you got the gig, you had this glow in your eyes,” you said. “Like you finally found a reason to live. You even shouted it outside this exact same building.”

“Well, yeah,” Dazai laughed humorously, yet he was still so devoid of emotion. “All I ever did was work as a music teacher. I finally had some potential for something but in the end, it only made me ever feel empty.”

“You know, Dazai…”

“Yes, love?”

“Do you ever think that your purpose in life is to just live every moment?”

And he never said anything to your question after that. Because Dazai only got up, ignoring your words as he stomped his way home, ignoring your calls out to him. He had broken the glass of alcohol that was resting in his hands at that point. He was familiarizing himself with the night; dark hues that were slowly inching in close to midnight, flickering street lights, and the expression that was so hollow on his face.

Once he returned home, he slammed the front door shut.

Dazai didn’t hesitate to walk to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen, grabbing containers of pills that were placed on the shelves. He slammed the cabinet door shut, not wanting to look back. There was no hesitation with his actions. Dazai shook his head, not dwelling in any more thoughts, and he walked out of the picket, pills juggling in its containers.

His feet stopped at one point, where Dazai looked and knitted his eyebrows at the piano he kept in his living room. He continued to gaze at the large instrument. For some reason, he was frozen. They were unsure of where to go from there. He was already devoid of his emotions at this point. The final act of his life was already set and made. To choose suicide as his way out of the misery that he was so trapped in.

Yet Dazai felt himself moving towards his piano, placing the containers down on the table next to him. His usual tan coat was resting on the chair. Sighing, he grabbed onto the coat to dust off any bits of dirt that were on its sleeves, but then the coat juggled to have some weird things fall out of it—a half-eaten bagel, a lollipop wrapper, and a dried-up leaf. Until it finally hit him.

The day he auditioned, you had him carry these things in his pocket. And he wasn’t sure why you had asked him to hold onto these items but he did anyway, even if it was a stale piece of bread, a torn-up candy wrapper, and a crumpled-up piece of nature.

He picked them up, gently placing them down on the clear space on top of his piano. Dazai looked down at his piano keys; black and white, as usual, and he sat down. His fingers were hovering over the keys. He was shaking; contemplating the correct moves but Dazai wasn’t sure where his mind was going. He had a brief flash of him wanting to suffocate himself and sleep in peace on the brink of death until he felt a sudden urge to play the piano in front of him.

Music helped him—and that was what he thought.

Carefully, he placed a finger on one of the keys before he felt his fingers dance around a little bit longer. A soft hum; so peaceful and elegant with the sound fading into the distance of silence. Dazai looked at his hands. He noticed how sturdy his fingers were and as they continued to play along with the piano, he felt his heartbeat quicken.

But this feeling was different than how it was on stage. He was excited and overjoyed to perform his piece in front of an audience, yet he sat at home, underneath the pale moonlight that illuminated his skin that was devoid of color. And his heart began to feel its warmth, vibrant reds and oranges once again—the same feeling that he had when he first heard the sound of your violin for the first time.

And Dazai looked back to the top of his piano. Half-eaten bagel, a leaf from a tree, and a lollipop wrapper; all small components of life. Food and nature sitting in front of him. The same tiny moments that allowed you to smile at him during the same day that he nailed his audition successfully, and suddenly, your radiant personality was popping up in his head.

Your smile, your laugh, your eyes that held a glow that Dazai could not have any words for—the image of you came up in his head and suddenly, his playing began to grow. Someone like you, to be able to find joy and beauty in small moments of life, whether it came from the nature surrounding you or the food that you consumed. All bits of this enlightened your soul; happiness glowing from your spirit.

Dazai felt a smile grow on his lips, taking in the faint memories of when, he—in the past—would even take Atsushi and Akutagawa for candy trips at the same store in Yokohama, along with buying coffee and bagels for Kunikida, and even eyeing the leaves fall whenever he laid on the bench, not minding that others would stare at him from a distance. Dazai was reminded of these moments; so gentle, pure, and faint—they were a bit of a haze, yet he was able to recall these memories easily.

Moments of where he was taking in what life really was, and that he was staying true to the present moment, not thinking about his future accomplishments and goals. Instead of stressing about finding a purpose in life and the reason for the act of living, rather so, he wondered why he didn’t just enjoy life for what it was in the little moments it had to offer.

Dazai glanced back at the three items on his piano and then finished playing his song. His fingers were no longer shaking. His mind was still lost, yet at the same time, he felt as if he was able to find himself. Slowly but surely. And then, he heard three knocks at his front door.

When he reached the door and opened it after standing up quickly, he was met with a face that brightened his eyes more than before. His breath hitched and then, Dazai continued to smile at you. A comforting smile—you could tell that he was biting his tongue underneath the grin that he portrayed and within seconds, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you in close for a hug.

His hug was tight; grip nearly suffocated you close to his chest. You closed your eyes, inhaling the scent of Dazai’s bittersweet cologne and you smiled, humming to the touch of the man that admired every bit of your soul.

“I’m sorry for leaving you like that,” he apologized before sighing deeply. “It has been a weird night for me.”

“I noticed,” you patted his back and then moved your face closer to his neck. “I was worried.”

“Come inside, please?”

“You don’t even have to ask twice.”

And you walked into his apartment, eyeing the place that you were—somewhat—familiar with and then your eyes gazed down to the bottles of pills that were resting on one of his tables. You sighed deeply, fully aware of what actions that he was trying to pull, and you were quick to turn to face him but Dazai had beaten you to it, where he grabbed your arms and then pulled you close to his chest once again.

“Were you—”

“Yeah.” Dazai cut you off quickly, exhaling a deep sigh and you hugged him tightly, hoping that each moment that passed with your tight hug was that you were able to show him that you were there to comfort him through his difficult days and nights filled with nightmares. You noticed this from Dazai all too well, and he felt your grip tighten on him, causing him to smile softly.

“It’s a bit hot in here,” you commented.

“Let me open a window,” Dazai insisted, letting you go, and then he reached over to the window closest to his piano, opening it without hesitation. The breeze came in to kiss both of your cheeks.

He sat on his large piano stool, patting the empty space for you to sit and you obliged. Once you both sat next to each other, Dazai sighed and placed his head on your shoulder. You placed a palm on his cheek, caressing his skin smoothly, and you felt his lips grow into a smile before he placed soft kisses on your fingers.

“Dazai.”

He exhaled. “Yes?”

“No matter how hard life gets, you should enjoy the little moments of it when you are living.”

And just a few hours ago, he was on the stage, overpowered with joy and gratitude for his old skills for making it so far to land his first ever gig. Yet at the same time, he was met with discontent within a matter of minutes. However, Dazai had discovered something about himself; it took a while for him to fully understand. Brain wired in the most unusual ways. And Dazai placed your hand close to his, allowing the both of you to intertwine your fingers together.

Dazai closed his eyes, smiling to himself. His heart was vibrant—reds and oranges, once again, and he felt it form altogether into wild shades of pinks and purples. His heartbeat quickened when your lips met his without warning; an intimate connection. Taking in each other’s breaths, tasting the lingering scent of alcohol, and smelling the faint cologne that danced throughout the air.

The little moments. Moments like these. Where he was able to be captivated by your soul and kind spirit. The little moments. Where he’d flashback to where he made his own students happy with his music and how they had inspiration twinkling in their eyes. The little moments. Where Dazai constantly frustrated Kunikida to get a laugh out of his closest colleague.

The little moments. Where he was able to inhale every bit of you to him—the person that captivated his heart in the most beautiful way possible—and he smiled along with the kiss, causing you to smile back at him once your lips departed from his.

Dazai looked at you in awe. Foreheads touching, he sighed deeply. “I’m falling in love with you,” he said.

You found yourself kissing him again, fingers intertwining into his dark hair. Dazai kept a smile on his lips once you both connected your lips; hands on your waist as you were both lost in your own fantasy. Despite the lack of music, you were already intertwining your souls with one another, sharing emotions of love that Dazai was never able to feel but managed to find comfort in from you anyway, and knowing that you were sharing these feelings back, he continued to allow himself to give all of himself to you.

“I love you so much,” he confessed, breaking the kiss. The little moments—they give a reason to live. Such as kissing the person he had fallen in love with so deeply.

“I love you too, Dazai.”

And you smiled at him. Then you laughed. The smallest moments in life are worth living for; at least, that’s what he thought. Such as the way your smile grew as your noses touched and the laughter that swept past your lips whenever you felt happiness growing within your heart. Every moment that he was sharing with you—so tiny and soft, and Dazai wasn’t going to have it fade so easily.

“Kiss me,” he commanded jokingly, and you chuckled at his comment. You agreed, placing your lips against his again, taking in his scent and everything that all Dazai was—and with your souls underneath the moonlight, Dazai was starting to understand it all too quickly. Intimacy; the little moments of life, and if it meant to continue living in order to take in these moments of sharing a life with you, then he had a reason to live after all.

Not only for you. But for the world around him.

You smiled against his lips.

Intimacy.

The little moments of life were really worth living for.

EXTRA A/N: i believe that a lot of us are going through our own mental troubles, and i just wanna point out that there is a reason worth living. even if it's the little things, such as petting your pet or spending time with your loved ones. enjoy the beauty of it. be there in the moment of it all. go outside for a walk and admire the trees, or go to your favorite bakery and buy your favorite pastry. enjoy the little bits of life. no matter what, it does get better.

tags: @whorefordazai @tender-rosiey @internetkilledtheroxstar @sadcannibal @bsdparadise @pompompurin1028 @dazais-osamu @tetsustation @milky-toast @missrown @requiem626k @jessbeinme15 @kyuus4ku @so-chile @kiyokoxd

[let-it-raines]

What a Lie We’re In (1/3)

All Emma was doing was trying to be nice. Her roommate didn’t have anywhere to go, so she invited him home for the holidays. She thought it would be fine and Killian would be a good buffer for a week at home with her parents. That is until her ex-boyfriend showed up, and while she was freaking out, Killian told him they were dating.

That would have been fine except her parents overheard it.

(A Christmas Fake Dating AU)

Rating: Mature 

a/n: What? A holiday fake dating story? So original, you say? No one has ever done it before? Especially not me. lol. Forget all of that, and let’s jump into this trope-a-palooza of a holiday story!

Big thank you to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading over this and convincing me that I still know how to write ❤️

ao3: | HERE |

-/-

“Did you eat all of my candy?”

Emma opens another cabinet, looking inside to the wine glasses and tumblers, before closing it. She’s been keeping her bag of candy in the cabinet where they keep their plates and bowls, hidden at the very top behind some reusable water bottles. Killian is a healthy eater, always stocking the fridge with fruits and vegetables and food she doesn’t think is actually real food, so she didn’t think she had to hide her junk food that well.

Hide it, yes. Hide it well, no.

Until now.

“What was that, love?”

Emma slams another cabinet closed and turns to look at Killian. He’s walking out of the bathroom, chest still damp, and only has a white towel wrapped around his waist. When he first moved into the apartment six months ago after Ruby abandoned Emma to go live with Dorothy (live with, get married to, same thing), Emma was taken aback by the lack of clothes wearing Killian partakes in. He’s an attractive man. She’s not blind. He goes to the gym as often as she does, but mostly, he spends a lot of time doing heavy lifting at his job as a contractor since he apparently likes to be hands-on, literally. His body is toned, and the son of the bitch knows it. He also knows he’s got the face to be able to get away with a lot of…well, a lot.

At first, it was all disconcerting, but now, he could walk around with his dick out and Emma wouldn’t care.

What she cares about is where her candy is. That’s the real priority. But she knows Killian will try to use his lack of clothes to distract her. Never worked in the past, not gonna work now, bud.

“My candy,” Emma repeats. “Where is it?”

He wipes behind his ear with the small towel in his hand. “I wouldn’t touch the stuff. You don’t like the good candy.”

“Well, my good candy has been moved, and we’re the only two people who live here.”

Emma places her hands on her hips, staring him down hoping he will somehow be intimidated by her stare and fess up to everything. He won’t be, but Emma can try. They both have their tactics.

Killian clicks his tongue. “What about the fellow you brought home last week?”

“Do you mean the plumber?”

“Was that who he was?”

“You know I don’t bring guys back here.” Emma moves from the counter and opens the fridge, taking out a handful of grapes from the fridge. She probably needs to eat some of them and not candy anyway. As she pops one into her mouth, that’s when it clicks. “Your girlfriend ate my candy, didn’t she?”

He scoffs and keeps drying his hair, but she sees the way he scratches his ear. Gotcha, Jones. “I don’t believe I have a girlfriend.”

“What? Tink break up with you because you wouldn’t let her eat dessert on your dates? Wait, I heard it. Don’t make it dirty.” Killian walks toward her, getting in her space, and she knows him well enough to know he wants her to flinch, to move, to stop her line of questioning. That’s exactly why she doesn’t want to. Emma pops another grape in her mouth. “Did you eat my candy? Was it your way of wallowing? It’s okay if you did. I’ll take another bag for payment.”

“For your information, Swan,” he whispers as he places his hand on her hip, “we are no longer seeing each other, but it was mutual. She did, however, eat your candy when she was last here. If you really want to know, we used it to – ”

“Stop,” Emma groans, pushing him away and running to the other side of the kitchen. “Nope. Don’t take that any further. Some things should be left private.”

His head tilts back as he laughs, the underside of his jaw black with stubble, and then he’s reaching into the cabinet above the fridge and tossing her the bag of sweets.

Oh.

“I hid it after Will and Rob found it while we were playing cards last night. Will nearly went through all your milk duds before I realized what was happening.” He raises his brow. “You have something you want to say to me?”

Emma knows what he’s aiming for, and she isn’t going to give it to him.

“Yeah,” Emma says, “you need a thicker towel. I don’t think you want people seeing you when you look like…that.” She nods her head down and then picks up a handful of Kit Kats. “I gotta go to work.”

“Off to die inside at your cubicle, love?”

“Oh, you know it.”

Emma grabs her purse and unlocks the door only to hear Killian speak. “It’s December. How do you still have Halloween candy leftover?”

Emma shrugs. “I bought one bag to pass out to kids, two bags for me.”

“Bloody brilliant.”

“I do what I can. See you tonight. I’ll try not to wake you up from your nap when I come in.”

“That would be the least you could do.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but then she’s officially walking out the door of her apartment and down toward the elevator, a Kit Kat bar hanging out of the side of her mouth.

The thing about Killian Jones is that he’s simple to her.

He likes his friends, his job, his rum, and his women. There’s not much else to him, and Emma is okay with that. While her last roommate was her best friend, this one doesn’t have to be. He can just be a guy who pays the bills so she can keep living in a nice place and who, on occasion, talks shit about other people with her while they binge watch TV.

That’s all she needs.

And all and all, Killian Jones is a…fine roommate. Yeah, fine is an accurate way to describe him at least eighty percent of the time.

Even if she does get annoyed when he brings his dates home. But that’s only because it’s always on the nights she plans on going to bed early, and the noise of other people being around keeps her from catching up on sleep.

Emma is not one to mess around on sleep.

But yeah, he’s fine. Annoying as hell over half the time, but he’s fine in the small dosages she sees him in. He works odd hours, isn’t always on the job, and she is stuck with regular hours in her office. There’s not a lot of glory in working HR for a small engineering company, but that’s what happens when you make dumbass decisions like Emma did. She’s lucky she has a stable job. She’ll try not to complain too much about it.

That’s what she tells herself every morning when she sits in her car and stares at the drab brick building.

Money. She has to make money.

And hey, she gets almost an entire week off for Christmas next week, and that’s fucking incredible, even if she does have to spend it in her hometown with her parents and their Hallmark-like attitude toward the holiday and the events it puts on. Her mom is a teacher at the elementary school and produces the Christmas play every year while her dad is a vet and outfits all his patients in little holiday bandanas and bows. He even has a tree in his office decorated with bone ornaments.

It’s…a lot. But it’s family, and as Emma stares at this building that’s sucking the life out of her, she can’t wait to have a change of pace and some home-cooked meals, even if there are as many downsides as upsides to going home. Her Kit Kat bars aren’t giving her the nutrients she knows she needs.

Being an adult is not all it’s cracked up to be sometimes, especially when going home for the holidays is seen as more of a burden than a gift with a fancy bow on top. It’s more like that turkey that dries up and falls to pieces in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.

Well, that and the squirrel crashing every decoration in the house.

Happy holidays.

-/-

“Nah, mate, I don’t have any plans.”

Emma quietly puts her keys down on the table next to her front door, laying her purse down with it, and she kicks her boots off until they topple over each other and lay in the middle of the hallway. She can hear Killian talking, and it gets even louder when she walks into the kitchen and turns on the coffee maker.

“No, no, well, you know, I rarely do anything, not since Liam.” There’s a pause as the coffee begins to percolate and Emma grabs another Kit Kat from her bag. “I went home with Milah once, but that was years ago…no, mate, it’s alright. I don’t mind staying here by myself…yeah, I think Emma is going home to her parents.”

And that’s when she realizes what Killian is talking about.

Christmas plans.

He doesn’t have any. Emma didn’t know that. She didn’t really bother to ask. She doesn’t bother to ask much of Killian. She picks up pieces here and there, as she’s sure he does to her, but they mind their own business.

He doesn’t have a family to go home to? She knows he’s originally from England, but still. There must be someone.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Killian says. “I promise if I need anything, I’ll let you know. Alright, bye Scarlet.”

The coffee finishes, and Emma picks the pot up and starts pouring, filling her large mug halfway before getting hazelnut creamer out of the fridge and making the coffee drinkable. Killian joins her in the kitchen and perches himself on one of their stools.

“Good day at work?” he asks.

“Eh, it was a day. You?”

He shrugs. “The same. I’m finishing up on this house tomorrow, hopefully, so tomorrow will be a good day.”

Emma nods and sips on her coffee as Killian taps his fingers on the counter, the rhythm the same as the song he usually hums when cooking. “So, when are you heading for Storybrooke?” he asks.

“Monday after work.” Killian nods and keeps tapping his fingers, and Emma, stupidly opens her mouth because despite what her exes have told her, she does apparently have a heart. “If you don’t have any plans and have off work, you’re welcome to come with me. My parents are always thrilled to welcome more people. Just be prepared, it’s like a Hallmark movie up there.”

His eyes widen, the blue lighting up, and his upper lip starts to quiver, laughter very obviously waiting to break through. Dammit, why the hell did she decide to be nice? This is going to give him all of the wrong ideas.

“Why, Swan,” he smirks, leaning forward and resting his chin in his propped-up hand, “are you inviting me home for the holidays with you? You’ve been harboring a crush this entire time, haven’t you? I can’t say I’m surprised. I see the way you look at me when I finish up in the bathroom. Don’t be ashamed of it. Most women find me attractive.”

Emma flicks Killian’s forehead, and really, he should be thrilled she didn’t dump her hot coffee on his lap like she wanted to.

“I was just trying to be nice. You didn’t have to be an asshole about it.” Emma rolls her eyes and turns on her heels to walk away. She is going to her room. She doesn’t have to put up with his shit. “Forget I even offered.”

“Wait, wait, Swan.” Emma’s shoulders tense, and she doesn’t turn around. “Are you serious about your offer?”

“I mean, it would have some conditions in that you are a slightly less obnoxious version of yourself, but yeah, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, you can come home with me.”

“I’d like that.” Emma twists around, trying to size him up, and for once, everything seems genuine. “I have a condition as well.”

Idiot. “What could your condition possibly be?”

He winks, and she already knows this is going to have her eyes rolling so far into the back of her head they get stuck there. “Don’t go falling in love with me.”

What a cheesy ass sarcastic line.

“In your dreams, Jones.”

What the hell has she gotten herself into? This is absolutely the last time she lets her conscience guilt her into doing something nice. Emma was already going to be miserable, but now she’s miserable with a buffer.

At least her mom will be happy getting to go into hostess mode.

-/-

In the days leading up to them leaving for Storybrooke, Emma convinces herself Killian is going to back out of the trip. He’ll realize this is awkward and not a good idea. They live together, sure, but they don’t actually know each other. They’re not close friends.

But Killian never backs out. Instead he asks her things like what the weather is like there, if her parents drink wine, if he needs to bring his own bedding. He asks a million questions a day, and they continue when they’re in her bug making the drive from Boston to Storybrooke. He wants to know what her parents do for a living, what their hobbies are, pretty much everything someone needs to know when they’re about to spend half a week in the house of strangers.

Strangers who don’t actually know they’re having someone stay at their house to awkwardly sit on the sidelines as Emma’s family celebrates the holidays and has their usual holiday arguments.

Yeah, Emma didn’t ever tell her parents Killian was coming. She knows her mom well enough to know the moment Emma mentioned bringing someone home, her mom would have stopped listening before Emma could explain that it was just her roommate. It would have been this whole big thing, and Emma knows she can handle explaining it better in person when she can snap her mom out of getting excited about nothing.

Plus, who doesn’t want a Christmas surprise?

(Emma doesn’t.)

After Killian stops being one of those obnoxious kids who never stops asking questions, they sit in relative silence for the car ride, music entertaining them, and little by little, cities fade away and more trees pop up, evergreen forests surrounding them. It’s always the sign for Emma that she’s leaving her life and going back to her old one.

That and the “Welcome to Storybrooke” sign.

Everything about the town is the same. The buildings are small and kind of dingy downtown, and when she passes Granny’s, she bets those onion rings are the same too. God, she hopes they are. This is probably the only thing that can get her through this week. She should have texted Ruby and made sure her grandmother hadn’t changed any of the recipes. If she had, Emma definitely would have stayed home.

People walk down the sidewalk all bundled up in their coats and scarves, saying hello and chatting with others they pass. It’s the opposite of Boston where Emma can go her entire day without having to say hello to someone, and a little shiver runs down her spine at the thought. She needs to get out of here as soon as possible and to the isolation of her parents’ farmhouse, even if that presents her a new set of problems.

Storybrooke, Maine is, decidedly, not Emma’s favorite place for a hell of a lot of different reasons.

Killian, though, seems to be taking it all in with the wonder and confusion of someone who has never lived in a small town like this and who is a bit shell-shocked.

Get used to it, buddy.

“Oh, hey, one more thing,” Emma sighs as she pulls up to her parents’ street a few minutes later. “My real last name is Nolan. I changed it after high school, so my parents’ names are Nolan. The whole ‘Swan’ thing is a sticky situation for them even though it’s my mom’s maiden name.”

Killian’s eyes narrow, and she has definitely shared too much about herself now. “Am I allowed to ask or…”

“No. just try not to call me ‘Swan’ around them.”

“Whatever your heart desires, love.”

Emma slows down as the road turns from paved to loose gravel leading up to their driveway. There are several cars parked alongside it, and either they now own extra cars or her parents have friends over. Great. Just what she needed. Other people around when she’s coming home and surprising her parents with a guest. At least Killian will likely be that buffer she keeps hoping he’ll be.

They get out of her car, and Emma pops the trunk for them to get their bags. Killian grabs the bigger ones despite her arguing with him about it, but she’s fine to just carry her purse and the bag with presents. Emma closes the trunk, slamming it shut, and squares her shoulders.

This is fine. This is all fine.

Until ten steps later, it’s not.

Her parents have this incredible wraparound porch with swings and rocking chairs, and sitting in one of them is Neal Cassidy.

What the hell?

She doesn’t…she can’t…why is he here? He has no right to be here, no business being here, and seeing his face makes her want to vomit.

It makes her want to cry, too, but Emma can’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, she’d like to sink into the dirt and never emerge again.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles, stopping and turning toward Killian who is looking down at her with an arched brow. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What is it?”

God, she can’t believe she has to tell this to him. It’s too many pieces of her past in too short a period of time. This isn’t something she ever wanted to talk about again and certainly not to Killian. She was really hoping she never had to see Neal’s face again.

Honestly, she never considered it to be a possibility.

If only.

“That guy sitting on my porch is an ex of mine. And I’m talking about a bad ex, not one of those who you can be friends with afterward.”

“What the bloody hell is he doing here then?” Killian looks over her head to look at Neal, but Emma grabs his hand and yanks on it until he looks at her. “What?”

“Don’t look at him,” she hisses. “I don’t know what he’s doing here, but I’m sure it has something to do with my parents. Just…I don’t know what to do.”

“Do we need to turn around?”

“No, no, that’s pathetic. Just…maybe he’s going to leave soon, and it’ll be a quick hello and then I never have to see his face again. Let’s get it over with.”

“If you’re sure, Sw – Emma.”

“I’m sure.”

She’s not sure at all. Mostly, she wants to take Killian’s suggestion and run far, far away.

Once more, Emma braces her shoulders, and she moves forward. If she stops and thinks too much, she’ll chicken out. It’s how she is. If she thinks about something for too long, it ruins every bit of courage she has. Now isn’t the moment for that when this week is one that makes her need courage.

Maybe, Emma realizes, she didn’t invite Killian here just to be nice. Maybe she needed that buffer to keep her old demons at bay, even if just barely, and that was her motivation all along.

That really makes her asshole of the year. Well, after Neal. She hasn’t seen him in years, but he still gets the asshole of the year award.

Neal sees her before she can get to the front steps. He rises from the rocking chair and moves toward her. He looks older now. He was always older than her, but she can actually see it now. There’s gray in his beard and more lines on his forehead. His features are similar, but she swears there’s an eeriness to his eyes and a lie to his smile. Maybe those were always there, but Emma imagines she was blind to it all when she loved him.

Amazing how opening her eyes to love blinded her to so much else.

“Emma? Is that you?”

No, jackass, it’s some other blonde woman walking into her parents house.

“Hi, Neal.” She forces a smile that she knows is awkward, but he was never good at reading her enough to know the difference between a real smile and a fake one. “What are you doing here?”

“You’ve just seen me for the first time in half a decade, and your first question is what I’m doing here? Nice to see you too, Ems.”

It’s illegal to murder, Emma, she reminds herself. You don’t want to end up in jail because of him.

“It’s my parents’ house. I’m supposed to be here. You’re not. So, again, what are you doing here?”

He shrugs and ignores her. “Who’s this?”

Emma turns to Killian who is staring ahead, his jaw clenched, and he speaks before she gets a chance to. “Killian Jones,” he begins, dropping a bag and reaching forward to shake Neal’s hand, “Emma’s boyfriend.”

Emma nearly chokes on her own air and possibly her own lungs and whatever else is down there, and she’s stuck. Her brain and her feet and especially her mouth are all stuck. What the hell is he doing?

“Emma’s boyfriend,” Neal repeats, his voice incredulous like the fact that she could have a boyfriend is ludicrous to him. “Really?”

“For awhile now,” Killian lies. Wow. Has he always been this good of a liar? “It’s nice to meet you, but I think Emma and I need to get inside and put our stuff away. It’s been a long drive.”

Neal nods, but Emma catches his eyes glance over at her. What was that? “I understand. I need to get my fiancée from inside, but then we’ll be on our way.”

Fiancée?

Neal has a fiancée? Who is in her parents’ house?

What kind of upside down hell has she walked into and how does she reverse time and get back to the place where things are normal?

“Nice seeing you,” Emma lies, but Neal is already walking inside, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him as if it’s his house to go into. She quickly turns to Killian and hopes her face conveys the “what the hell” look she’s going for. And in case it doesn’t, she hisses, “what the fuck was that?”

“Forgive me, love, but you obviously didn’t want to see that man, and I figured there wouldn’t be any harm in saying that. You weren’t planning on ever seeing him again, aye?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“So what’s the harm in him thinking you have a devilishly handsome new boyfriend?”

Emma rolls her eyes, ready to take the piss out of him, when her mother comes running out the front door.

“Emma, you brought a boyfriend home?”

Well, that’s the harm, Jones.

-/-

Emma tries explaining to her parents that Killian isn’t really her boyfriend, that he’s just her roommate who came home with her because he doesn’t have any family, but she never really gets the chance with Neal still hanging around. That would be mortifying, so she rolls with it, hoping that she can clear it all up sooner rather than later.

But Neal never seems to leave.

His fiancée, Tamara, apparently teaches with Emma’s mom, and from the looks of it, they’re great friends. She can’t imagine any other reason why her parents would let Neal Cassidy in their house, but then again, they have always been great at doing the exact opposite of what’s good for her. It’s torture, and as the night goes on, it seems like it’s never going to end.

When are they going to leave?

When can she stop listening to Killian falsify their life?

She’s got to say that he’s fantastic at taking truths and turning them into lies. According to him, they met when he became her roommate (true) and got to know each other as friends first (eh, a half-truth). Then, slowly, feelings started to develop in the little moments, and they decided to give their relationship a chance (unequivocally false).

He’s got this uncanny ability to make everything feel…not ridiculous. She doesn’t know the word she’s searching for, but she’s sure as hell that Killian could find it and incorporate it into a story to make everyone here think they’re in love.

Emma has no clue how they’re going to get out of this without her parents being heartbroken because Emma can see the hope and happiness in her mom’s eyes. She’s over the moon. Her dad, however, doesn’t seem to be.

Of course this is how it goes. Her mom is thrilled because she’s not a spinster, and her dad is upset because she’s not a spinster.

“So what do you do, Killian?” he asks. “You need a roommate apparently.”

“Dad,” Emma hisses, wanting to sink into the couch, especially because she knows she’s the one who needs the roommate and not Killian. “Don’t.”

“What? I’m not allowed to ask about the man who my daughter is dating?”

“You are, but you’re not allowed to interrogate him.”

Killian places his hand over Emma’s on her thigh, and God, this really is the worst night. Why do people have to go home to family on the holidays? At least she didn’t automatically flinch at the feeling of Killian’s hand on hers.

“I’m a contractor,” Killian tells her dad. “I used to work with my brother. It’s his business, but I’m the head on projects now. It’s hard and unpredictable sometimes when my job is to make it predictable, but it’s good work. There’s a lot of good new housing popping up in the neighborhoods outside of Boston. Beautiful new construction.”

“What happened to your brother?” her mom asks.

Killian’s hand tightens over hers while his other hand scratches behind his ear. “Liam passed last year. Car accident.”

Mary Margaret places her hands over her chest while Neal and Tamara look at each other, obviously ready to go. Emma, meanwhile, tries not to act shocked. She should know this. She should know that he had a brother who died. She’s heard him talk about Liam before, but she thought…she thought he was alive, just that he lived really, really far away or something like that.

“I’m so sorry, Killian,” Mary Margaret sighs.

“Thank you, Ms. Nolan.”

Silence falls in the room, and it feels like a lot of her time in high school when she got caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. At least now she can have alcohol or drive away. One or the other, though, obviously.

Or she can go back to that sinking into the ground thing. That seemed like a good idea.

“Oh, would you look at the time,” Tamara sighs with a clap of her hands. “Honey, we need to go.”

“Won’t you stay for dinner?” Mary Margaret asks.

What the hell, Mom?

“We really have to go,” Tamara insists. “It was nice seeing you guys, though.”

“Oh, it was wonderful seeing you, sweetie. Good luck in New York. You’re going to be great at your new job.” Mary Margaret hugs Tamara. “Nice seeing you as well, Neal. You’ll fit right in, but I know your dad will miss you.”

Emma is so busy trying to take in all of this brand new information that she doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation. Through blurred vision, she sees her mom hug Neal, and yeah, Emma wants to go home. She wants to go back to her apartment where she doesn’t have to put up with this kind of shit.

Where there’s no Neal and his fiancée and especially where her mom isn’t hugging her asshole of an ex and treating him like he’s a good person.

There’s a squeeze on her hand and suddenly, Killian’s fingers are wrapping around hers. That’s when everything snaps back, and she realizes Neal is telling her goodbye.

“Yeah, bye,” Emma mutters, putting on that fake smile again.

“Maybe we could go for lunch while I’m still in town,” he suggests.

Emma bites her tongue to keep from scoffing, but she can’t help the words that come out of her mouth. “Yeah, that’s not happening. Have fun in New York.”

Neal looks like a wounded puppy when Emma manages to look at him, but she doesn’t care. He shouldn’t have had the audacity to ask her in the first place, not after everything he’s done.

Happy holidays to them all.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret hisses as soon as the front door has shut and Neal and Tamara are gone, “that was so rude of you! You can go to lunch with Neal.”

“Oh my God, Mom,” Emma groans, letting go of Killian’s hand and standing up. “I am twenty-eight years old. I’m not going to go to lunch with the man who ruined my life because you don’t like being rude. Just…let’s eat dinner, and you guys can tell me what we have planned for this week. Killian is thrilled to go to the play. I told him all about it.”

“Emma, I still don’t think – ”

“Come on, Mary Margaret,” David sighs as he claps his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get these two dinner. They had a long drive, and I’m sure they’re starving. You like ham, Jones?”

“Love it,” Killian says as he stands from the couch. “Can I help with anything?”

“You can get a wine bottle from the rack.”

They’re all going to need it. Or at least Emma is going to.

Dinner is, well, awkward, which Emma expected, but she expected the usual awkwardness of having dinner with her parents after going a year without seeing them. This is an entire other level. Killian tries to ease it. He’s put on his most charming smile, his accent coming through thicker with each story he tells, and while her Dad seems put out, her mom is every bit as charmed by him as Emma would expect.

That makes it all fine and good until Emma’s reminded that her parents think Killian is her boyfriend, and his place would go down in flames if she told the truth now.

As much as she would like to spite her mom, that is the last thing she needs.

“So, Killian, you can stay in Emma’s room,” her mom says as they finish up dinner. “I’d have you stay in the guest room, but it’s currently filled with props and costumes for the play. But you're both adults. Who are we to keep you apart at night?”

“The couch would be fine,” Killian insists, holding his hands up.

“Nonsense, you are a guest here. You need to be comfortable. Let’s get you all settled and ready for bed.”

It’s almost like she’s in a trance as her mom guides them up the stairs to Emma’s old room. She vaguely hears her tell stories of different pictures hung on the wall by the staircase, but she doesn’t really notice. Instead, she hangs back with her dad who does not look thrilled at the whole situation.

For some reason that offends Emma. As far as her dad knows, she’s brought a man home for Christmas. A man who she loves enough to bring home, which is not all sunshine and roses for her. Once again, she’s jealous of the people who go home for the holidays and know it’s going to be a happy time.

“You know, you don’t have to act like I’m sixteen,” she tells her dad. “I live with this man. I think it’s okay for us to share a bedroom here for the week.”

“What makes you think I’m not happy about this. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Emma stops at the landing and turns to her Dad, crossing her arms over her chest and staring him down. Or up. She forgot how much taller her dad is than her.

“Try a little harder to make that believable.”

David laughs and leans forward to kiss her forehead. “Welcome home, kid. I’m glad you and Killian are here.”

-/-

-/-

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[shyvioletcat]

I read your Christmas list of prompts

And I feel like these 3, 14, 38, 62 SCREAM aelin and Rowan (mainly aelin to Rowan) lol

This one is late, I know. But here it is! Another fic for my Rowaelin Holiday Celebration. Set in my teacher au, which includes Camp Shenanigans. Please enjoy. Oh and i just went with 1 out of the 4. It’s the card.

~~~~~

Aelin sighed in frustration. She was great at giving presents, fantastic even. She always knew what to get everyone once Yulemas rolled around. But this year she had lucked out, and it was really bruising her ego.

She prided herself on the annual Secret Santa at work, every year the recipient of her gift gushed about how perfect it was. But this year she had no idea what to get, and that was because she had managed to pull stick-up-his-ass Rowan Whitethorn from the moth eaten Santa hat Lysandra had held in front of her. Her best friend and most likely future cousin-in-law had been incharge of the whole thing but had refused to let Aelin swapped when she asked. That’s the name of the game she’d said and sauntered off.

So now Aelin had dragged Aedion shopping with her, just so she could get some sort of help. Aedion had agreed because he’d managed to pull out a dud himself.

“What do you get Manon Blackbeak?” Aedion mused and he browsed a table of holiday inspired knickknacks.

“Bottle the blood of her enemies,” Aelin replied. “I think she’d drink it straight.”

“She probably would,” Aedion agreed and he left the knickknack table.

Manon worked in the science faculty and was honestly one of the most terrifying people Aelin had ever met. So naturally, after a tense getting to know you period, they'd mellowed out into being respectful collegues and eventually some semblance of friends.

“We’ve got a betting pool going on how soon into the end of year party her and Dorian end up in some closet making out,” Aelin dropped casually. “Again.”

“Does Dorian know?” Aedion asked as they walked side by side to go browse elsewhere.

“Dorian is in on it,” Aelin said. “He thinks a half hour tops.”

“Manon would never let him have it that easy,” Aedion added.

“That’s what I told him,” Aelin said. “And then I also told Manon and she said he’s dreaming.”

Aedion scoffed. “Did you just rig it for yourself?”

“Of course not, I never mentioned the bet to her at all,” Aelin replied innocently.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

Aelin tried not to smile. “Fine I did, I promised to split the money with her.”

“I knew it.”

The cousins had reached a holiday display, decorations, cards, and holiday specific foods all set out.

“Hey,” Aedion said with a grin. “You could give him this.” He held up a card.

Aelin looked over and saw what the card had on it.

Will you be my ho ho ho?

“What, and end up in the middle of a sexual harassment case? No thank you.” Then Aelin added, “Why would I even get that for him anyway? I hate him.”

“Of course you do,” Aedion said like he knew all the secrets of the universe.

“What?” Aelin snapped.

Aedion gave her a grin that made her understand exactly why people tended to get infuriated with her. “Nothing.”

Aelin picked up a candy cane and pointed it at him threateningly. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”

The grin stayed, Aelin wanted to throw something at him.

“Okay, let’s focus here. You’re his friend of sorts. What should I get?” Aelin said, wanting to just get out of the bustling shops by now.

“I dunno, he’s still pretty private even though it’s been six months,” Aedion said.

Aelin sighed heavily. “I’m going to have to do it. I’m going to have to do the mug and pen.” Even just saying it left a bad taste in her mouth. “I don’t know what else to do and you’re absolutely no help.”

She didn’t want to resort to the cliche teacher gift but really she had no other choice. She had to get something. Dragging her feet Aelin walked to the kitchen section to look for the least offensive mug she could find, then she would make her way to stationary and find a nice pen. Why did she have to get Rowan Whitethorn? Her reputation would be ruined.

~~~~

The last day of term rolled around and that evening they had the staff get together in a function room of a local restaurant. They were all standing around snacking, drinking, laughing, holiday songs playing in the background. Aelin held court in the corner with most of her faculty, honestly the loudest group in the room. Although Dorian was off trailing Manon like a lost puppy. The two of them were yet to disappear, Manon holding out to the appointed time. Aelin caught her eye across the room, Manon gave her a wink, Aelin tipped her glass in return.

“Ho! Ho! Ho!”

Fenrys appeared in a very cheap looking Santa suit, foregoing the beard, not wanting to hide his beautiful face apparently. He walked over to the tree and started calling out names, obnoxiously good in his role. Aelin sighed, she was still a little cut up about her more than average present. Maybe she could keep it from getting out, keep her reputation intact. It wasn't likely though, everyone loved the intrigue and gossip of who got who.

“Rowan! Seems that even if you’re a grumpy bastard you still get presents,” Fenrys’ voice boomed in the space.

Rowan made his way to the front, even managing half a good natured smile at the joke as he got his wrapped mug and pen. Aelin had to turn away; she was so annoyed. A few other names were called out then Aelin heard her own. She put her drink down and made her way to Fenrys. He was giving her a winning smile.

“I just want you to know your secret Santa had absolutely no help from anyone,” Fenrys said as he passed her a small package.

Aelin took it back to her little corner, shaking it before she started unwrapping it. What she found inside were her favourite chocolates, her all time favourite chocolates. Chocolate hazelnut truffles. These were one’s you didn't just buy from the grocery store. These were only sold at a little store in the heart of the city.

“Okay, which one of you got me this?” Aelin asked her friends.

No one came forward, adamantly denying it was them, it looked like Aelin would be joining in on the present gossip tonight. It took her a while, but curiously it had been Lorcan to give her the answer she wanted.

“It was Rowan,” he snapped as Aelin had been hounding Connall for information for quite a while. “Now, go away. I’m sick of hearing your voice.”

“Happy Yulemas,” Aelin said far too sweetly. She was too stunned to give him any more of a threat, replaying what Fenrys had said in her head. Rowan hadn’t had any help so how did he know exactly what chocolates to get her? She spotted him over by the drinks table, steeling herself she made her way over to him. Not only had he managed to get her the perfect present, but she had given him such an abysmally awful one she hoped he never found out it was her.

Aelin cleared her throat as she poured herself a drink from the punch bowl. “Thanks,” she said lamely.

“It didn’t take you long,” Rowan said.

“Lorcan gave you up,” Aelin told him and she saw Rowan roll his eyes. “I have to know, how did you find out they were my favourites.”

Rowan gave her a wry smile. “Santa told me,” he said cryptically. “And I don’t mean Fenrys.”

Aelin just looked at him, confused, gears in her head working. Before she could figure it out or ask more questions Rowan was walking away.

“Oh,” Rowan said, turning back to her. “And thanks for the mug.”

~~~~~

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