#rising quietly each morning to blanket the earth from the sun

[upmala]

midsummer morning mist in the flower garden

[reidamancy]

written in the stars || spencer reid

summary: You haven’t truly stargazed until you’ve snuggled with Dr. Spencer Reid under the midnight sky, with him teaching you everything he knows about the stars (spencer reid x gn bau!reader)

category: fluff

warnings: none

word count: 1.2k

a/n: i wasn’t kidding when i said i’m using my classes as fanfic research... my final paper was about the constellations and all i could think about while writing it was this fic playing out lmao. besides, who doesn’t love a little cliche stargazing fic <3

also! this is the extended version of this blurb before i decided to make this entirely fluff :)

MASTERLIST

After an especially hard case, Rossi had invited the team over to wind down. You felt the tension slowly leave the team as you ate his signature pasta and watched as your teammates drank their weight in wine. It wasn’t long before everyone had crashed from both the wine and the exhaustion.

You woke up in the middle of the night, mouth dry and in desperate need of water. As you stumbled your way into Rossi’s kitchen in the dark, your steps seemed to echo throughout his mansion. Soft snores from the rest of your team came from the various guest bedrooms as you felt you way through the darkness until you found the kitchen.

As you filled a glass up with water, you looked outside and noticed a figure sitting on the yard. You smiled to yourself; you’d recognize his silhouette anywhere. Bringing your glass with you, you quietly opened the door to join your boyfriend outside.

“Hey you,” you greeted, voice hoarse, as you neared him.

He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He turned, startled, but smiled once he saw you. “Hey,” he returned.

You took a seat next to him on the grass, hugging your knees over your chest, water still in hand. You rested your cheek on top of your knees as you gazed at him. “Can’t sleep?” You asked.

He shook his head. “It’s hard to sleep without you.” He shyly admitted.

Your heart fluttered in your chest. “Aww,” you cooed. You leaned to give him a peck on the cheek, but before you could pull away he brought the blanket around both of you and pulled you in closer. You took the blanket from his hands and held it against your shoulder, using the other arm to pull him in close.

You smiled as he snuggled into you, his fluffy hair tickling your neck as the warmth of the blanket engulfed both of you. With your hand on one end of the blanket, and his on the other, you both snuggled into each other and held the fabric tightly against your bodies. After a few minutes of enjoying each other’s presence, you then reached out for your glass and offered him a sip of your water, which he gladly accepted.

“Thank you,” he mumbled before handing you back the glass.

You kissed his forehead in response. After taking a quick sip of the water yourself, you placed the glass back on the ground.

“How long have you been out here?” you asked.

“Not long. I just needed to clear my head.”

You nodded in response and started rubbing his back. You wondered if it was the case that made him come out here, but decided it was best not to bring it up. Instead, you comforted him silently, leaning into him and embracing him as closely as you could. He let out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and basking in your scent. It was calming. You were calming.

Holding him close, your hand found its way into his hair as you began to massage his scalp. You felt Spencer’s smile against your shoulder as the two of you enjoyed each other’s presence in the serene night, quietly observing the halcyon woods in front of you.

You felt Spencer’s gaze shift upwards, and you followed his eyes to the sky. It was a clear night, and the bright stars twinkled against the night sky. Clusters of stars glittered across the sky and you marveled at the beauty. Spencer did the same, and the two of you admired the sight in silence, each in your own worlds.

“Do you ever think about them? The stars?” He asked.

“No,” you admitted. You brought your gaze back to him and stared at him as you said, “Tell me about them.”

A small smile spread on his face as his eyes remained locked on the stars. He sat up to point out a constellation, and you adjusted, placing your hands behind you and leaning back to look at the sky. 

“There’s the Orion,” Spencer stated. You followed his finger to a cluster of bright stars. You watched them twinkle as he explained, “In the Greek myth, he’s a hunter who becomes so successful he declared that he would hunt all the animals on Earth.” Spencer leaned closer to you in order to point out, “See? There’s his sword.” You followed his finger. “And belt. And shield.”

“Hm. I don’t see it.” You replied.

Spencer looked back at you with a smile. “Then what do you see, my love?”

You stared at the constellation once more, trying to interpret the stars as something more than dots in the sky. “Um, I don’t know. I just see a bunch of stars, Spence.”

Spencer laughed. “So you can see the slightest change in behavior during interrogations but not a man in the sky?”

“Hey!” You lightly shoved him. “That’s different,” You laughed.

“You know, in other cultures the Orion represented different things. In South America, it was a wife cheating on her husband. In North America, it was seen as a hand.” He paused to look at it more. “And in Australia, it was a canoe.”

You stared at the constellation as he talked, imagining the things he was describing. “That’s so cool how different cultures saw different things when looking at the same stars.” You commented.

“Isn’t it?” Spencer looked at you excitedly, happy you found it as fascinating as he did.

“Tell me about that one,” you pointed.

“That’s actually a planet. It’s Venus, the brightest planet because it’s the closest.”

“And that one?”

…

Somehow throughout the night you had changed positions and Spencer was now laying in between your legs with his back against your chest. His arms were hooked under your thighs as he softly ran his large palms up and down your leg. Your fingers found their war back into Spencer’s hair and played with his curls.

“Doesn’t it all just make you feel so small?” He asked.

You crossed your arms over his neck to hug his head as you placed a kiss at the top of his head. Resting your chin on top of his head and pulling him close, you breathed in his scent as you responded, “It really does.”

Before long, the sun began to rise and started to illuminate the sky.

“It’s morning,” Spencer said. “We should head back inside before the team wakes up.”

You sighed against him as you held him tighter. You heard the clanking of glasses from the kitchen and turned around to see Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss staring at you and Spencer behind the window. You softly giggled and rested your chin on top of Spencer’s head.

“Spencer?”

“Hm?”

You kissed his head again. “I think they already have,” you whispered into his locks.

He quickly turned around and this time the three agents waved. You laughed into his hair as Spencer immediately turned back around, clearly embarrassed.

You felt the heat radiating off his cheeks on your arms and you giggled, only holding him tighter.

“Can we stay out here a little longer, please?” He asked, voice soft. 

“Of course.”

[heyitsjay03]

Headcanons about each of the lords (+the Duke if you're writing about him) if they ever happen to adopt a little child?

THANK YOU ANON MY THE UNIVERSE BLESS YOU WITH PILLOWS THAT ARE COLD ON BOTH SIDES

okay okay okay okay this has definitely been on my mind so lets get into the thick of it

Alcina Dimitrescu

(im starting off with alcina for obvious reasons)

Alcina would be on the way to the church with the slimy moron, the demented doll, that disgusting manthing and Mother Miranda

She'd kiss her daughters goodbye and head off through the snow, quietly muttering about how cold her ankles were

while Moreau is literally up to his chin in snow but its fine

as she gets closer to the church she keeps hearing this. thing. it sounded familiar but she couldn't exactly put her finger on it.

she strays from the path to find it because it was just so familiar

as she weaves her way through the snow, her dress gets caught on something. she leans down to get her dress unstuck when she realises its this tiny basket.

like seriously. just a little woven basket in the middle of the snow. and it doesn't look like its been there for that long- there's hardly any snow on it

when she tugs at her skirts again, the basket makes the same noise she's been hearing

she stands back up to her full height, staring down at the basket with narrowed eyes

this cannot be a good idea, can it? opening a strange basket in the woods after being lured out here. it's probably some village manthing's trap.

she's about to step away when she hears the sound again- much more intense and much more clear

Alcina leans down and opens the lid of the basket

inside is this tiny thing- all soft and warm in a padding of blankets

a baby

she stands and looks around

who on earth would be so moronic as to leave their baby in the snow? it's much too cold for a baby to survive-

oh

she sighs, getting onto her knees to pull the baby from the blanketed basket

the meeting will have to wait. it's too cold even in the church for this tiny thing.

when she finally makes it back home, she's greeted by her daughters in a swarm of buzzing flies.

as they manifest in their true forms, they're asking what- or who, rather- their mother brought for dinner

Alcina smiles and shakes her head, unwrapping the small bundle clinging to her breast

"this... is your new sibling" she announces, "they'll be staying with us from now on."

and the sisters are ecstatic. a new sibling!

Daniela especially is happy that she is no longer the youngest. she usually is the one to parade around the castle with her sibling on her shoulders, showing them the coolest hiding spots for hide-n-seek and the windows with the best views

Bela is incredibly protective. like. incredibly.

she smelt blood from across the castle and when she found her little sibling sniffling about a skinned knee earned from a game of tag with Angie, she lost her shit and almost broke the damned thing with her sickle

And Cassandra has been caught reading bedtime stories by nightlight multiple times. she tries to play it off but everyone knows that she loves- absolutely adores- her newest sibling

we all know Alcina is such a wonderful mother to the girls so adding another baby to the mix was a guaranteed success

she's so doting and careful (a little overprotective at times but she means well) as she is with her girls

as the child grows into a teen, she panics a bit because "my beautiful baby is growing into such a beautiful, talented adult" so expect a lot of late night visits when she just sits on the edge of her bed and just admires how much you've grown

Salvatore Moreau:

now this one is an easy one too if i'm 100% honest

think Moses type beat

(if you don't know, Moses was found in the riverbank in a little basket)

apparently i really like baskets

anyways

Moreau was so out of his element when he found this tiny, screaming, writhing piece of soft flesh

the first few weeks were rough

but he eventually got the hang of it (with Alcina's help of course)

he would take his child fishing every now and then- just the two of them out on a boat for a few hours

the kid would literally swim more than walk and that little fact would make Moreau so freakin proud

also this kid would be so well-versed in movie and film history it's stupid

like expect this little 4 or 5 year old babbling not about toys or snow or how many sticks they found but instead about the copyright war over the film Nosferatu and the destruction of its copies

Moreau, as the child gets older (like 11 or 12) would have just a tad of trouble trying to keep the kid out of the village

he'd wake up one day and go out onto the lake, expecting his child to be swinging their legs off the dock and watching the sun rise over the water

and when he finds that they were not, in fact, swinging their legs off the dock and watching the sun rise over the water, he p a n i c s

i mean, full blown red alert

all of the lords are summoned to help Moreau look for his missing kid, the lycans are given an article of clothing to help find the scent, Mother Miranda goes to search the village herself- the whole shebang

and when the kid is found playing with the village children, Moreau bursts into tears

needless to say, the kid isn't allowed to go to the village anymore

until they're fifty (Moreau's words, of course)

but the kid sneaks off more and more as they get older, using Alcina or Donna or Karl as an excuse to be away

and Moreau knows but he never says a word

seeing his child happy and free with the kids their age makes him happy, even if he is a tad, a tad, a tad bit nervous

Donna Beneviento:

when Donna found this child huddled up against the base of the stairs leading up to her front door, she at first thought it was a doll of hers

it was only when she actually walked outside that she realised it was this shaking, shriveled child in tattered clothes

she spent a good five minutes just staring, wondering how on earth she's supposed to react

that's when Angie jumped in and pulled at her skirt, telling her to "let the kid inside, already!"

Donna went immediately to work on some clothes- why on earth were they wearing such ragged things?! it's freezing outside!- while Angie entertained in the parlour

honestly, it didn't go well

the kid was a little bit unsettled by the floating doll that moved and spoke on its own FOR GOOD REASON

and when Donna walked back in with her measurement tape and some fabric, the kid backed themselves into a corner of the room with their gangly legs tucked into their chest

Angie sighs from the opposite side of the room, letting her little feet fidget as she gestures to the kid. "they're no fun" she pouts, "wouldn't even let me know their name"

Donna puts her materials down slowly and lifts her veil back before attempting a small smile

it takes a while but upon the offer of food, the kid finally lets Donna make them some clothes while Angie makes conversation

she works in silence, only offering small awkward smiles

Angie finally brings up the topic of where their parents are when the kid's clothes are done

when the child goes silent, Donna nods in understanding before hurrying off to make a room for them

as Angie helped tug the blankets up to the child's ears, they promised they'd be gone in the morning

Angie was the one to tell them off.

"You'll stay as long as you need, you silly goose!"

and the child did

Donna would let them tag along for meetings so long as they promised to keep quiet and help keep Angie out of trouble

most of the time, it didn't work and they both would end up in trouble but Donna let them come nonetheless

and when the other Lords question where on earth this little kid came from- all dressed in black fabric that matched Donna's dress, she just shook her head and let Angie chase them off verbally

she'd spend literal HOURS locked in that workshop making new little friends for her child and when they were old enough, she'd let them into the workshop

and when they were even older, she'd walk them through making their very first doll on their own

she'd just watch with pride as they carefully painted the freckles with a shaky hand while Angie danced around their ankles singing of how excited she was to have another friend

The Duke:

he would be setting up shop near the base of the Dimitrescu castle when he catches a kid trying to steal some his wares

he wouldn't be terribly upset, more concerned

it wasn't something shiny or expensive that they were trying to steal

it was some of the steaming-hot food he had left to cool in the wintry air

he confronted the child gently and with a warm smile

"That's cordon bleu," he says, gesturing to the steaming plate. "I can make you some if you'd like"

and as the child eats, the Duke continues tidying up his shop for any future customers

the child, through a mouthful of food, points to different items and asks their purpose, their price, their possible enhancements

the Duke answers each question with patience, happy for the company

but he doesn't just let the questions go one-way

"How about a trade?" he asks as the child asks about the strange-looking bottle of green liquid. "An answer for an answer."

the child agrees and the Duke starts to peel back layers of why the child was here looking for food

they had been orphaned by the last lycan attack, only barely making it out by fleeing into the woods

they tried to forage off of berry bushes and successfully managed to kill a pig- only for the blood to attract lycans before they could properly eat it

the Duke nods and continues busying himself with his shop, feeding the horse that pulls the wagon

the thought had hit him when he watched the child petting his horse

that horse hated everyone. including him at times.

maybe...

when he offered to take the child in, the kid nearly burst into tears and thanked him repeatedly, swearing to earn their keep

and they did, seven times over

what started off as a purely business venture morphed into something more as time went on

when the child would come back from selling smaller household items like gasoline and the occasional package of bullets, the Duke would have them climb onto the roof of the wagon and watch the sun set together with a plate of food

speaking of which, like Moreau, the Duke would raise the most cultured child

this kid would know how to prepare and identify different dishes and their ingredients just by looking at them or smelling them

and their palate would be far more sophisticated than most adults

the Duke, as the child gets older, would eventually allow them to choose destinations to set up shop- even outside of the village

wherever his child wants, the shop would go

it allows them to see the world and its earthly wares together- something the Duke had lacked in his life before the child was brought into the picture

Karl Heisenberg:

listen to me very very carefully

this man would be the most chaotic father ever to walk this earthly realm

when he finds this kid in the elevator of his factory, he's kinda standing there like 🧍 "what the hell-"

and when the kid starts spamming the button while maintaining eye contact, he kinda snaps out of it and starts chasing after them as they drop down to a different floor

it goes on for a solid twenty minutes before he finally managed to track them down in the corner of his office

and when i say this man is confused, i freaking mean it

i mean

why the HELL would some random kid be in his factory? don't they like... play with ponies or something at this age?

to be fair, this man literally has never been allowed a childhood so

obviously he starts scolding the kid ("what the hell are you doin' in here? it's dangerous and there's some really freaky shit here, kid"), dragging them to a nearby sink because "holy shit kid, you're filthy"

the kid is silent essentially the whole time, just kinda staring into his eyes

and of course Karl's gonna be like "...the fuck're you doin'?"

the kid's face is cleaned off and Karl sends them back out towards the village with a scratchy blanket he pulled out of the bottom of his desk drawer

he's working on his 'equipment' one day when he starts reaching for a wrench, keeping his focus on the body on the table

when i say this man jumps skyhigh at the kid asking a question, i mean it

he drags the kid back out, yelling about how dangerous it is and how "you shouldn't do that! you're gonna get yourself killed! go back home!"

the kid doesn't listen

it becomes a regular thing- Karl finds the kid wandering around the factory, Karl brings the kid out of danger, Karl tells them to get lost

eventually (day thirteen of this) he asks why the child keeps coming back

and he hates the answer he gets

it was something along the lines of "it's warm and there's nowhere else for me to go"

so Karl reluctantly eagerly lets them stay

it's a lot of rules at first (a kid shouldn't be allowed to just wander around a bunch of mindless cyborg killers, let alone a factory) but eventually the child learns to mind Sturm and the others

doesn't mean Karl does not have a fullblown heart attack when he walks into his workspace to find the kid tracing their finger along the center of the battery for the Soldats

after a very long talk (and some deep breathing) Karl reluctantly eagerly lets them sit against the very far wall to watch him work on the machinery- not, under any circumstances, the actual bodies

as the child blossoms into a young adult, they start to help out with certain aspects of Karl's work

exclusively machinery because Karl could not physically handle having his kid watch him get elbow-deep into a corpse

and Karl is so freaking proud of it

when the Soldat is kicked to life, he's got his kid in his arms and cackling like the proud dad he is

yeah. paternal Heisenberg>>>

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 6,949 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, violence, gore, discussions of death of a character, sexuality, nudity, typical TWD A/N: STUFF. IS. HAPPENING. This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: After the losses suffered during the fight with the Saviors, the communities try to change directions after a couple of plans go awry.

Your name: submit What is this?

The dawn was red as you watched the sun break over the horizon from the guard platform at The Hilltop. With Daryl’s arms around you, you had managed to get some sleep, but you awoke early while it was still dark. You’d crept from the trailer and out into the cool air, forcing in deep lungfuls.

You were staring out over the peaceful morning. The cresting sun set dewdrops on the grass on fire. It was silent and still. It was surreal that the world was still turning despite the terrors of the day before, the losses, the grief.

Your detached musing was cut short by the sound of soft footsteps and you turned to see Daryl climbing the ladder up to the platform. He stepped off and gave you a long look. Of course he knew just where to find you. He thought you still looked dazed, the way you had when he’d found you alone, kneeling at Eric’s grave. You turned back to look again toward the rising sun and Daryl moved beside you, leaning on the wooden wall with his forearms, his blue eyes flitting over your face, looking at the warmth the sun was giving to your skin.

“Aaron is going to take Gracie,” you said suddenly. There was a rasp in your voice, some artifact of exhaustion, grief, tears.

Daryl nodded and turned his attention to a knot in the wood of the wall in front of him. He picked at it absently. “Thas good,” he rumbled.

You turned to look at him again and he saw the same desperation in your eyes. “Why did it have to be Eric?” Your eyes filled with glistening tears. “He was pure good. Like Aaron. He wasn’t a soldier. I should have made him stay in Alexandria. I should have—”

“He wanted to fight,” Daryl interrupted. “It was his choice. Just like it’s yours or mine. He wanted to fight for Aaron. And for you, and for Alexandria.”

The tears broke from your eyes and streamed down your cheeks and you hastily wiped them away, ignoring the sting as the salty water wet some of the cuts on your face, remnants from the car crash the day before.

“We headin’ back today?” Daryl asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. I think—I think I’ll drive Aaron and Gracie. He shouldn’t drive.”

“Should you?” Daryl asked gently.

You straightened up, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully for a moment. “I’ll be fine.”

Daryl trusted your judgement. “Okay.” He moved a touch closer to you and wrapped his arm around you, his fingers resting lightly on the small of your back. Both of you kept your eyes fixed on the sunrise, needing the reassurance of the rising sun just as much as you needed each other. “Aaron’ll—he’ll be alright. With time.”

You looked back over at Daryl and nodded, though you didn’t look any less sad. “I know.” You clasped his face in both hands and he watched as your eyes closed. You leaned in and pressed your lips to his and Daryl kissed you back softly, smoothing his fingers into your hair, brushing it away from your face. When you pulled back, you managed to give him a small smile. He drew that out of you even in the worst times. “You’ll be careful? On your bike?”

He nudged his nose up in a nod. “I’ll stay right with ya. After yesterday, I ain’t splitting off from ya again. Especially now that we’ve hit ‘em hard. Negan and his assholes will be like goddamn cornered wasps.”

You sighed and leaned into him. Daryl draped his arm across your back and rested his hand on your hip. You were looking back out toward the pinkness of the sky, glowing with the still low sun. “I want him gone,” you said, and this time your tone was hard and sharp. “I want him dead for what he’s taken from all of us.”

Daryl chewed his bottom lip and nodded. “I know. So do I.” The archer sighed. “S’almost done. We’re in the home stretch.”

“Unless they get out of The Sanctuary,” you said, turning to looked at his handsome face, his blue eyes. “Unless the plan doesn’t work.”

Daryl shook his head. He wanted to ease your fears, but he had the same worries. “Even then. We’ll get him.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You had to take a long route to get back to Alexandria, making sure no one was on your tail and avoiding the roads you and Rosita had wired up with explosives. Luckily, the trip was uneventful and you arrived home safely with no major issues. Once the gate was closed behind the car, you drove slowly to Aaron and Eric’s house, Daryl just behind you on his bike. You parked and shut off the engine, glancing in the rearview mirror at Aaron in the backseat. He was staring down at the little pink bundle in his arms—Gracie. You climbed out and pulled his door open. “Come on, Aaron. We’re home.”

He looked up in surprise, no concept of how much time had actually passed. You helped him out with Gracie still in his arms and gave him a perceptive look. “Go on inside. I’ll be right there,” you said.

Aaron simply gulped and nodded, heading through the garage, past Daryl, to the door that led into the house. Daryl glanced back at you after tossing the tarp over his bike. “How’s he doin’?” he asked.

You shrugged. “He didn’t say a word the whole drive,” you said, your brow furrowed in deep concern. “Listen, I think I’m gonna stay here with him and Gracie tonight. He might need some help.”

Daryl nudged his nose up in a nod, deeply appreciating how you could be both so badass and yet soft when the moment called for it. “Good idea. I’ll be down at the house checkin’ in with everybody if ya need me, alright?”

“Okay,” you said with a nod. You stared at him for a long moment, your forehead still creased with that little worry line you always got.

“C’mere,” Daryl said, reaching his arm around to pull you in toward him. “It’ll be alright. Aaron is a tough son of a bitch. And now he’s got that little girl to look after.”

You fell against him and breathed in his familiar smell. “I know. I just miss him. So, I can’t imagine how Aaron is feeling. It doesn’t even feel real yet.” Daryl planted a kiss in your hair and you glanced up at him and gave him a small smile before your face turned serious again. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

“Me neither. But it ain’t happenin’.” Daryl gently lifted your chin and kissed you, slow and sweet. “I’ll come by in the mornin’ alright? See how you’re doin’.”

You nodded. “Night,” you said, letting your fingers slip from between his. He took a few steps away and then glanced back at you.

“S’gonna be weird not havin’ ya next to me sleepin’ tonight,” he commented. You nodded. “I’ll miss ya,” he drawled.

You smiled at him again. “Same. See you in the morning.”

You watched him fade down the street until you couldn’t distinguish him in the growing twilight. You stepped into the house and when you pushed inside, Aaron was standing just over the threshold, holding Gracie, and looking completely lost. “Aaron?” you said gently, touching him on the sleeve.

“Huh?” He turned and looked at you, dazed.

“Come on. Let’s get you in and sitting down with her, okay?” You led him by the elbow into the living room, averting your eyes from Eric’s boots sitting just inside the door and his sweatshirt tossed over the back of the couch.

Aaron sank down onto the couch, looking completely exhausted, but staring down at Gracie like she was the only thing on the earth. “Okay. Here we go.” You draped a blanket around Aaron’s shoulders. “I’m gonna go get her bag out of the car. Then I need to see about some more baby things for her. After that,” you sighed, “you need to eat something.”

Aaron nodded, which was more than you were even expecting. You rushed out to the car sitting at the curb and pulled the bag from the backseat. It had a few changes of clothes and diapers in it, along with some formula, but she would need more. She needed a crib, and more clothes and formula, and toys… You set the bag down next to Aaron. “I’m gonna go to the clinic and see what they have for her. Will you be okay here by yourself?”

He gulped and looked up at you. “Yeah. I’m okay. We’re okay…” he trailed off quietly.

You gave him one last parting glance before nodding and heading out to the clinic. You were able to get some more diapers and formula, bottles and even a few toys. You were still missing a crib for her and definitely would need more clothes, but it would be a good start for Aaron. You stopped by the pantry on the way back to pick up something to make for dinner, hoping you could convince Aaron to eat something.

As soon as you got back to Aaron’s, you set out some water to boil on the stove and later threw in some pasta. You got a bottle of formula ready for Gracie and brought it over to him, where he was still sitting frozen on the couch. “Here,” you said, handing it to him. “I’m sure she’s hungry.”

“Thanks,” Aaron said, taking the bottle and almost smiling. You leaned your chin on your hand, elbow propped up on the back of the couch as you watched him feeding Gracie. “Eric and I always talked about having kids but obviously in this world—” he broke off, looking suddenly desperate again, and you reached out and rested your hand gently on his arm, unable to stop tears from welling up in your own eyes.

Aaron gave you a grateful look. “Thank you for being here,” he said. His voice was a raspy whisper. “I didn’t know if I could come back here alone.”

You nodded. “Of course. And you’re not alone.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Amazingly you had gotten Aaron to eat a small amount before he said he was going to sleep with Gracie in the spare bedroom. Going into his and Eric’s master bedroom would be too hard. You helped him set up an area with clean blankets for her on the floor and you gave him a tight hug goodnight. “I’ll be down on the couch if you need anything, okay?” He nodded and thanked you again and you headed downstairs and flopped down on the couch, pulling the blanket over you and tucking your knife in its sheath under one of the throw pillows. At first your mind wouldn’t quiet, and all you could think about was a never-ending string of what ifs. What if the Saviors showed up at the gate? What if Negan got out of The Sanctuary? What if they brought down the walls? What if you had missed some outposts? But surprisingly, exhaustion from the battles of the last few days, physical and emotional, got the best of you and eventually you sank into a deep sleep.

“You know what I want to hear from you?” Negan’s deep voice drifted over you and your whole body seemed to go numb, except that you could feel his breath on your neck. “I want to hear you beg me.” You could tell he was smiling.

You turned and met his eyes. “I’m not really the begging type. You know that.”

He chuckled to himself and then you felt his hands on your hips from behind, pulling you back against him. “Come on now, Y/N. Don’t be like that. You’re my wife, after all. Don’t you want to please your husband?”

You gulped as his fingers dug into your hips tighter.

His voice next came from right beside you ear. “Or did I make a mistake marrying you? If you’re unhappy with our little arrangement you only have to say so… But you know I wouldn’t be able to give you or your brother any special treatment. That wouldn’t be fair to—”

“No,” you said urgently, your chest heaving. “No. I’m not unhappy with our arrangement.”

You felt his lips and then his teeth on your earlobe. “That’s my girl. So… beg me. I want you to tell me exactly what you want me to do to you…”

“Y/N!”

You shot upright on the couch, absolutely drenched in a cold sweat and when you got your bearings you looked up and saw Aaron standing over you. Gracie was in his arms, crying at full volume. You wiped a shaky hand over your brow and threw the blanket off your lap. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry—I was—it was just a nightmare,” you said, saying it to yourself as much as you were to Aaron.

He was bouncing Gracie in his arms and looking at you with almost frantic worry. “You were yelling,” he said, fumbling in the nearby baby bag for a pacifier.

You squeezed your eyes shut but immediately opened them when a flashback of your dream immediately came forward. You could see Negan as if he was really right there in front of you. You could still feel his fingers digging into your hips and his breath on your neck. You blinked the sensations away and knelt down beside the baby bag, unzipping a side pocket where you had seen the pacifiers. You held one out to Aaron and Gracie immediately latched onto it and quieted. You leaned your back against the bottom of the couch and rubbed your hands over your face. “I’m sorry,” you said again. “This is the last thing you need. Me in your house freaking out over nothing in the middle of the night.”

“Stop,” Aaron said, still looking at you with concern. “There’s nothing to apologize for. Y/N, you have PTSD…”

You looked up at him in surprise. “I don’t think it’s—”

“It is,” he said gently, not stopping bouncing Gracie who seemed perfectly happy and content in his arms now.

You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth and chewed it anxiously for a moment. You’d never thought about the lasting effects of your past in that context, but you had to admit that he was probably right. The flashbacks were vivid and there were certain sounds, certain smells that elicited completely involuntary terror in you. You pulled yourself up off the floor and sank back down on the edge of the couch letting out a long, slow breath. “Huh… Well, to be fair, doesn’t everyone have PTSD nowadays?”

Aaron gave you a sad look. “Are you okay?” You nodded.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about this happening because—I haven’t had one in so long,” you said.

Aaron’s worry eased some and his furrowed brow relaxed. “Since Daryl?” he asked.

You caught his eyes a little sheepishly and nodded. “Yeah. Since Daryl pretty much.”

The next moment you could see the look in his eyes shrinking away, and you knew he was thinking about Eric. “I’m gonna go back to bed, okay?” he said gently. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

“I’m good.” You stood and peered down at Gracie, gently brushing a finger over her silky soft cheek. “Goodnight, you two,” you cooed.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next morning there was a quiet knock on the front door and you went to answer it, Gracie nestled in your arms. It was Daryl. His heart skipped a beat at your little smile and the sight of you with that sweet bundle in your arms.

“Hey. Mornin’,” he said, stepping into the front entryway. “Aaron?” he asked, one of his eyebrows lifting in quizzically.

“He’s asleep, actually. And he deserves it,” you said, turning and leading the way quietly into the kitchen. “I, uhh… had a—nightmare last night. Or a… flashback. Woke him and Gracie up at some ungodly hour.”

Daryl’s hand went reflexively to your waist. “Are ya alright?”

You nodded. “Fine. It was…nothing.” Daryl looked a little unconvinced. You looked down at Gracie’s wide blue eyes. “I’m okay.”

He nodded. “Listen, I ain’t tryin’ to pile more on ya but… Rick ain’t back yet. We were expectin’ him by now.”

You gulped and looked up at Daryl, trying to read exactly how worried you should be based on his expression. “You think something went wrong with the scavengers?”

Daryl shrugged. “I dunno. All I know is I can’t stop worryin’ about those Saviors in The Sanctuary managing to get out, clear of the damn herd, and catchin’ us with our pants down.”

“Yeah… Same. But what can we do?”

It was then that Daryl told you his plan to crash a truck into the building and break the place open, letting the walkers get inside. He’d already talked it over with Rosita and Michonne and they both said they needed to see the place for themselves anyway.

“I just figure the longer we wait, the more time Negan has to figure somethin’ else out.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “Alright. Fine. I’m in. When are we going?”

He anxiously chewed his bottom lip. “Nah. Ya should stay here. If Rosita, Michonne, and I go, ya should stay and keep an eye on things.”

“You want me to stay here while you go back there? Close to Negan? Are you crazy?” you asked him.

“Y/N, listen to me. If shit goes sideways, ya should be here. Rick ain’t here. Who else is there? Besides, Aaron needs ya.”

Your jaw clenched and Daryl watched the muscle twitch. “I don’t do sidelines well,” you said.

For some reason this made him smile, despite the grim topic. “Ya, I know. It ain’t the sidelines. It just ain’t the frontline.”

You sighed and went to set Gracie down on a blanket spread on the floor. You considered the handsome archer again for a long moment before nodding. “Fine. But promise me you won’t get yourself killed. Don’t do anything too reckless without me.”

“I promise.” He moved close to you now and smoothed his hands over your sides before resting them on your hips. You ran your hands up his strong arms and brushed some of his hair away from his face.

“When are you going?”

He gulped. “In like an hour,” he said. He watched you carefully for your reaction but you simply sighed.

“Alright.” You arched up onto your tiptoes and kissed him, your arms looping around his neck. Daryl kissed you back hungrily and even lifted you off your feet for a brief moment, causing you to smile into his lips. When he pulled back you smoothed your hand down his chest. “I’ll see you later,” you said pointedly.

He nudged his nose up in a nod. “Yeah. Ya will.”

He kept his promise. And the plan sounded like it had worked. The truck had cracked open the front of the building and the herd had started to pour in. But now there was still more excruciating waiting, and worse yet, Rick still wasn’t back.

Aaron watched you endlessly pacing across his living room with a sleeping Gracie in your arms the next morning.

“Y/N.” You looked over at him. “I’ll take her. You go home. Go be with Daryl.”

Your brows contracted, leaving that little worry line in the middle of your forehead. “Are you sure? You’ll be okay?”

Aaron nodded. “Yeah. And it’s probably time I let myself really feel it. I’ll be okay.”

You gulped and wished you could banish the empty feeling between your lungs at his words, at the devastation on his face, but you couldn’t. You nodded and handed Gracie over to Aaron. “You know where I’ll be if you need me,” you said gently, smoothing your hand over her soft hair as she settled happily into Aaron’s arms.

“Yeah. I know.” You gave his shoulder a light squeeze and managed a small smile for him.

“Okay. I’ll check in with you tomorrow, okay?”

You left Aaron’s and headed straight for Daryl’s house, knocking lightly on the front door. Rosita pulled it open and greeted you, stepping back to let you inside. “Daryl’s downstairs,” she said. The mood was notably subdued in the house, obviously because everyone was worried about Rick… You were too.

“Daryl?” You called down the stairs.

“M’down here. C’mon down.”

You actually had never been down in his space before. Since you had an empty house, the two of you always stayed there. You moved into the dim space with interest, glancing around and seeing Daryl’s old poncho slung over a chair and a few collected odds and ends scattered around.

He was laying on his bed, drinking in the sight of you. Even in the low light he could see the bruises and flecked wounds on your face from when the Saviors had caused your vehicle to crash. Your eyes took in the space, eventually landing on something familiar he had on his nightstand. “Hey,” you said with a smile. “That’s what happened to this.” You grabbed the familiar scarf and ran the soft material through your fingers. “What’s this doing here?” you asked him curiously.

“Ya left it. That night after ya pushed me into the damn pond,” he drawled. You sank down onto the edge of the bed beside him.

“And you just decided not to give it back?” You teased him with a smile.

He shrugged vaguely. “Smells like ya,” he admitted. You gave him a fond look and replaced it where you had found it.

“You can keep it,” you said. “God, that feels like forever ago. To think I was just walking around, never having kissed you. What the hell was I doing?” you said.

“What the hell are ya doin’ now? Ya gonna lay down here properly with me or not?” he asked.

You laughed and immediately sunk down on top of him. His arms wrapped around you. “Hi,” you said softly.

“Hey.” He gave you a more serious look. “How’s Aaron doin’?”

“He’s—he’s okay. I think. He told me to come home.” Daryl nodded and chewed on his bottom lip. A look of worry seized him again. You smoothed your hand over his chest, your brow drawing low over your eyes. “You’re worrying about Rick,” you said. He nodded.

“Those scavengers… I dunno…” he trailed off. “Got a bad feelin’.”

“Rick is a tough son of a bitch,” you said. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

Daryl nudged his nose up in a nod. “Yeah. I ‘spose.” He gently moved his hands underneath your shirt so he could feel the softness of your skin. It sent goosebumps rising up your arms. “Ya gonna stay with me tonight?” he asked hopefully.

You nodded and ran your fingers through his hair. Daryl’s eyes closed at your touch. “If you’ll have me,” you said softly. The archer could hear a smile in your voice and was glad for it. Things had been so dark since Eric’s death.

He opened his eyes and blinked up at you. “Oh, I’ll have ya, alright,” he drawled, a mischievous look on his face. The next thing you knew he’d swung you over onto the bed and you were underneath him, laughing in surprise and then sighing as he kissed your neck.

You looped your arms around his neck and gave in happily, glad to disappear with him into a blissful bubble, even just for a short time.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Several days later

Still no Rick. And the group was gathered together trying to decide what to do. Everyone was in agreement that something had to be done, but the details were up for debate.

“Something is definitely wrong,” Michonne said. “I think it’s time we head there for ourselves.”

You straightened up from your place leaning against the kitchen island. “We can’t just all go. It’d leave Alexandria even weaker. And what about The Saviors?” You glanced at Daryl, shaking your head. “I think it’s time we do a little check-in, don’t you?”

Michonne sighed, but nodded. “Fine. Then I’ll go after Rick. Alone.”

“Michonne, that’s not what I’m saying,” you said sympathetically.

“I know. But you’re also right. There’s too much to deal with and too few of us. Someone should check-in with the other communities and we definitely need to figure out how much longer it’s going to be before Negan and his asshole starve to death in there. So, I’ll go alone. It’ll be quiet, too. It’ll be good.”

“Are you sure?” Rosita asked her, clearly worried. “I can come with you,” she said.

“I’m sure. I’ll leave now. Stay here and keep this place safe. I’ll bring him back,” Michonne said.

“Be careful,” you said, giving her a nod.

“Who’s going to pay The Sanctuary a little visit?” Rosita asked.

“I want to see it,” you said urgently. “I mean… I haven’t seen it since the fight. I just—I need to see it.” It still didn’t feel real.

Daryl gave you an understanding nod. “Alright. You and I will go. We’ll take my bike. See if there are any messages from Dwight. Rosita, get extra watches on the walls and make a radio call to Hilltop and The Kingdom.”

She nodded. “You got it.”

So, you set off to The Sanctuary, both nervous and feeling tense with anticipation. You were hoping that seeing the place all hemmed in by walkers would give you some sense of satisfaction, lift some of the angry weight on your shoulders, but you knew that was probably wishful thinking. That weight wouldn’t be gone, the flashbacks wouldn’t be gone, the anger and anxiety wouldn’t be gone until he was gone.

But as soon as the building had barely come into view, you knew something was very wrong. Your arms tightened around Daryl’s waist and he hurriedly pulled his bike into a hidden spot alongside a building. You stumbled getting off as fast as you could and immediately had your hand on your rifle, rushing to get to a spot where you could look through the scope. Daryl was hurrying to get his bow off his bike, frantically watching what you were doing.

He heard you murmuring to yourself as he arrived next to you at the vantage point. “No, no, no… No! No, that can’t be—Daryl, tell me that—”

He lifted his binoculars and peered at the building. He didn’t need to look long. His jaw dropped partially open and then he lowered the binoculars from his eyes. He glanced at you. Your face was contorted a little with a slew of emotions; disbelief, anger, confusion, surprise, fear… all of them blended into one shitty milkshake you felt like had just been poured down your throat. Daryl’s blue eyes were narrowed in a glare and you watched his jaw clench.

You raised the scope of your rifle to your eye again and stared at the stacks of walkers that had formed a protective barrier around the double doors. “This was fucking Eugene,” you growled, “This was Eugene.” You dropped the scope from you eye and Daryl was worried for a moment that you might actually collapse. You leaned heavily against the brick wall and sank down to the ground. “He’s out. He’s fucking out…”

Daryl gulped and took another look at the building. Was this his fault? Had crashing the truck in somehow made this possible? “Fuck,” he growled. He let out a few angry breaths and considered punching his fist into the wall, and maybe he would have if you weren’t there, reeling.

“Fuck!” you repeated, shutting your eyes and leaning your head back against the wall. “What the fuck do we do now?”

Daryl glanced down at you and shook his head. “We go home. And then we come up with a new plan.” He hesitated and anxiously chewed his bottom lip. “‘M sorry,” he said.

You looked up at him in surprise. “This isn’t your fault,” you said softly. “This is—this is fucking war. It’s just how it is…”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“He’s out there and we don’t fucking know where!” you yelled. “Listen to me, Daryl. If we don’t want him to hit us here then we have to make sure he’s somewhere else. And right now we have no clue where the fuck he is!”

“Yeah, no shit. How the hell we gonna do that, huh? Go out there? Thas suicide! We don’t know how many of them got out. Obviously, they’re still pretty well fuckin’ armed!” he growled back.

You sighed heavily, getting near to it now. “There are three people Negan is guaranteed to show up for. Rick, you, and me. Out of those three, there’s only one person he wants alive.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed as he looked at you. “No. Hell no! Ya ain’t goin’ out there as bait!” he roared at you.

“This is the right call,” you said urgently. “You know it is! If we tell him that I want to talk about a truce we can lead him away from the communities and—”

“And give him the perfect opportunity to get his goddamn hands back on ya!”

“That’s not gonna happen. We just need to get him somewhere we can control and then—”

“No. I ain’t lettin’ ya do this! We’ll figure something else out!”

“How? We’ve already lost so many people. We’re low on ammo and guns and supplies…” But your jaw was set and your chin was inclined. “I don’t need your permission. If it was anyone else besides me who was going to bait him out, you know you’d say this was the right call. Hell, if it were you, you’d be out the door already!”

Daryl paced angrily in front of the bed, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his face. “Nah. It’s insane. Ya ain’t doin’ it.”

You heaved a sigh. “You can’t stop me, Daryl. I want this over! I just need this to be over!” Your eyes were a bit wide and desperate. “I’ll use their radio and call him up. I’ll tell him I want to bargain a truce. I know how to manipulate him. I’ve done it before, remember?”

He let out a scoff. “And then what? Ya think Negan is just gonna waltz in to a meeting unarmed? Ya think he ain’t gonna roll up with a crew?”

“We’ll have more time to plan than he will. We set a small crew of sharp-shooters ahead of time. We get everything set up and then I give him a tight deadline for the meeting. He won’t have time to put some crazy, elaborate scheme in motion. If I do it right, he won’t be able to resist. Hell, I might even be able to convince him to come alone! Either because he really thinks we’re gonna cave now that he’s out, or because he thinks he’s going to—to be able to have me again. It wouldn’t be completely unprecedented for me to do something completely self-sacrificial…” you trailed off, avoiding Daryl’s eyes. “He won’t kill me. You heard it from his own mouth. But you? He’ll gladly put a bullet in your head the first instant he sees you.”

“If he gets his hands on ya, it’ll be worse than ya bein’ dead,” Daryl growled. Daryl felt sick just thinking about you being in the same goddamn state as Negan, let alone this bullshit. “I can’t let ya do this. If it goes wrong—”

“There’s no other way. If you can come up with a plan that doesn’t end up with a whole lot more of our people dead and all the communities destroyed, please let me know. Because that’s what’s coming if we wait. They’ve got Eugene. I don’t even want to think about what they’re gonna make him do next.”

Daryl rubbed his hands over his face and gave you a long look. His expression was somewhat tortured. “If you’re goin’ out there to do that, then I’m gonna be right there. And don’t even try and argue. I’m gonna be the one to line his head up in the crosshairs and pull the goddamn trigger.”

You stared at him for a long moment, seemingly frozen, before you nodded. “Fine. If that’s what it’s going to take for you to let me do this… But I mean it. You have to stay hidden. If he or his men see you—”

“I know. But there’s no way I’m lettin’ ya go out there without me. If somethin’ goes wrong and I’m not there…” he trailed off.

You nodded. “Okay. Okay…” You hesitated only a moment. “Let’s figure it out.”

A short time later, you and Daryl were leaning over a map on your kitchen island. “Right here,” you said, pointing a spot that was almost halfway between The Hilltop and The Sanctuary. You knew the landscape was patchy woods and clearings. “It’s sort of neutral ground. Probably open enough to make him comfortable that we’re not hiding a huge force somewhere too close.”

Daryl nodded. “Alright…” He glanced up at your expression, which was steely. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

You met his blue eyes and nodded. “I am.”

He sighed heavily and shook his head. “So, that’s it? You, me, and Rosita. And you’re just gonna walk up to him unarmed,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter that I’m unarmed as long as I can get him somewhere for you or Rosita to take the shot. I need him to feel comfortable enough to actually stay for a minute. I can’t roll up with a goddamn rifle.”

“He ain’t comin’ unarmed,” Daryl said. “And I doubt he’ll come alone.”

“It’ll be fine,” you said.

Daryl’s stomach was already churning. “I hate this,” he muttered angrily, pushing up on his hands and moving away from the map.

You leaned back against the kitchen island. “I know.”

“Then why the hell are we doin’ it?!”

“Daryl, we’ve been over this… what’s the alternative?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know, alright! But there’s gotta be somethin’ else—"

“There isn’t,” you said, surprisingly softly. “So, just… just come upstairs and let me have my way with you before I start this insane thing tomorrow.”

Daryl stared at you with that classic Daryl Dixon glare. “If ya think sayin’ that is somehow gonna make me forget this is happenin’ you’re wrong.”

“I know,” you said, straightening up and crossing the space to him, reaching out and gripping his sides. “I’m not asking you to forget. I’m asking you to come upstairs so we can pretend that it’s not for a little while…”

Daryl’s face softened a little and he studied your face for a long moment before sighing. “Fine. Ya know I can’t say no to that.”

“Good,” you breathed, arching up onto your toes and kissing him hard, looping your arms around his neck.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Well, suck my dick and slap my ass…”

You rolled your eyes as Negan’s voice drifted back to you through the two-way radio. “Yeah, I’ll pass on both of those actually…”

His laughter came through next. “Gotta say, Y/N. You’re about the last person I expected to hear from. Old Rick the Prick? Sure. But not you. I have to say, I am intrigued.”

“This has gone on long enough. We’ve both lost enough people. I want to talk about some sort of arrangement so we can end this for good,” you said.

There was a long silence on the other end. “So, that’s why you’re callin’ me up. I bet Rick the Prick doesn’t even know you’re doin’ this, does he? Because he is hellbent on my extinction. Or haven’t you noticed?”

“You want to talk about Rick or do you want to talk about ending this?”

Another long silence before he answered. “Some people would say that the fact you’re even offering a compromise means I’m on the right track, means I’m winning…”

“Some people might say that. Others might say it’s because I’m just sick of all the death. And I know deep down you don’t want to see any more of your people dead. So, I guess the important thing is what do you say?”

You didn’t know that at that moment Negan was biting his lip, smiling, listening to the strong tone of your voice. “Y/N, you know I’ve gotta tell ya, you takin’ charge like this is really turnin’ me on. I can’t tell you how much I would just love to bend you over the nearest table and fuck your brains out…” Beside you Daryl shifted angrily and clenched his fists. A brief crackle of static came before Negan’s voice sounded from the radio again. “I would really love to see you again, honey. I know you ran away from me twice, but I just can’t help myself! You are like the drug I can’t quit and maybe some delusional part of me thinks I could tame that wild streak of yours…”

You avoided Daryl’s eyes. He looked like he was about to lose his shit and call the whole thing off, but in truth, this was going better than you expected. Some part of you was realizing that, holy fuck, you might truly be Negan’s weak spot. You felt like he was about to propose a meeting.

And you were right.

“I tell you what, you come talk to me face to face and I’ll entertain the idea of a truce,” he said. “But just you. No army, no honey-bun Daryl, no goddamn bullshit.”

You paused for a moment as if you were thinking his offer over. “You really think I’m just going to walk into some trap you have set for me? And I suppose you want me to come unarmed. Should I put myself in handcuffs for you too?” You tried to sound scornful.

“Well, only if you want to cut straight to playtime, doll,” he said with a chuckle. “As for the weapons, yes I do expect you to come unarmed. We’re just gonna talk, right?”

“So you’re gonna be unarmed too?”

Another laugh through the radio. “Hell no! I will be packing. You, along with those losers you’ve attached yourself to for reasons I still do not understand, have already tried to kill me a few times! Tried and failed, but tried nonetheless. But you know I could never, ever really hurt you… Even though you’ve been such a bad, bad wife…” Daryl flinched when Negan said ‘wife.’ “But you’ve got nothing to worry about, doll.”

Just then you felt a twist in your stomach, some surge of nerves now that this was all becoming so real. You shook it off. “And you’re coming alone?” you said. “How could I possibly trust you, Negan?”

“You name the time and place and I’ll be there. No bullshit,” he said. His deep voice was calm, confident. This was working way better than you anticipated.

You paused and looked at Daryl again, heaving in a few breaths before pressing the button down on the side of the radio to speak. “Fine. I’ll come alone, if you come alone. But listen to me, Negan, if there is so much as a blade of grass that looks out of place, I’m gone.”

Another laugh. “I’d expect nothing less, clever girl. Just name when and where.”

You gulped. “Tomorrow. One o’clock. Partway between Hilltop and the Sanctuary. There’s a field just past mile marker 31.”

“I will see you then. And I’ll try to be on my best behavior.” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“I mean it, Negan. I just want this over with,” you said. That wasn’t a lie. You did. It just wouldn't be on his terms.

“So do I, Y/N. I know you think I’m a heartless bastard but… I do care about people.”

You rolled your eyes again. “Just be there,” you growled into the radio.

“Oh, I will be. See you then, darlin’.”

[mamabearcatfanfics]

Out of the Dark

I coloured a sketch this morning, and then this evening after work I decided to write something to go with it. This kinda turned out angsty. Lockdown is obviously getting to me a little. But as always, a happy ending. I'll probably put this in my AO3 one-shots series in the morning.

💜

Inuyasha felt like he was going to die.

They’d been battling a mole youkai, the normally small mammal enlarged to ridiculous proportions by a jewel shard. Everything had been going well until it had somehow caused a landslide. He’d heard Sango and Miroku’s warning yells from high above from their vantage point on Kirara, and Shippou’s wail of fright from over near the trees just moments before the ground gave way, sending both him and Kagome plummeting downwards.

He’d tried to grab her as they went down, her high pitched scream ringing in his ears as their fingers clutched at each other frantically, but it had been no use. She’d been dragged away from him by the landslide, and as he’d concentrated all his efforts on reaching for her he’d lost grip on his fucking sword.

Now he couldn’t hear a thing, all he could smell was damp earth, and he didn’t know which way was up. The pressure coming from all around him felt like half a hillside had fallen on him. He needed to find Kagome and save her, but he was pretty much deaf and blind to what was going on. Useless.

He couldn’t breathe. Squinting his eyes open only exacerbated his fear because he could see nothing but darkness. Feel nothing but darkness. His numbing fingers scrabbled in the earth, but he had no idea if he was digging upwards or downwards. His heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest, and overwhelming panic sucked at his sanity.

He’d never told anyone, but ever since he was small he’d had an overwhelming fear of small tight spaces. A fear of being trapped in the dark with no way out.

Even though his mother was technically widowed after the death of his father, meaning she could never be forced to remarry, that didn’t stop male members of the court arriving at their home to remind her of how her position had fallen. They came to gloat, to make her beg and scrape for the meager allowance she was provided by her father, who had grudgingly allowed her and her ‘son’ to live in small lodgings on the very edge of his estate. If visitors saw him when they arrived, it never ended well. He was often held up as an example of her ‘disgrace’, mocked and sometimes beaten, with his mother pleading for mercy and trying to stay their hands to no avail.

Eventually she’d managed to create a cubby hole under their floorboards to keep him safe from visitors, knowing she couldn’t physically protect him herself, and it had terrified him. The small tight space. The stench of her panic and fear feeding his own. The knowledge that there was nothing he could do but wait until she let him out again. He would have rather been beaten.

He’d almost forgotten, pushing the memory of that fear to the back of his mind. He’d always made sure he was never in a position where he would be trapped again in the dark. Now that fear had him by the throat, threatening to take away his sense of self. He groaned, struggling to keep hold on his consciousness as his youki swelled in an instinctive push to protect him without the quelling presence of his father’s sword. He needed to hold on. Because letting go would mean death – not his, but someone else’s. And what if that someone was dear to him? He couldn’t bear it. He was already buried. Better to stay that way and die himself than risk anyone else.

But it seemed his instincts didn’t agree with him, overpowering him. He thought despairingly of Kagome as he blacked out, frantically chanting her name, trying to commit her face to memory.

“Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her.”

When he came to, the sunlight was bright around him, and he was taking in great heaving breaths, his heart stuttering in his chest as he knelt on the ground. Tessaiga was clutched tightly in one fist. Blood. He could smell blood. He threw back his head and howled in despair.

But then soft hands cradled his cheeks.

“Inuyasha, it’s okay! You’re okay! Everyone is fine, you didn’t hurt anyone!”

“Kagome”, he whispered brokenly, his eyes still blurry with tears. “Kagome.”

She was crying, shifting her hands from his cheeks to cling around his neck, hugging him tightly to her. Miroku, Sango and Shippou were standing off to one side, quietly waiting.

He sniffed again, realising the scent of blood came from some cuts and scrapes on Kagome caused by the landslide, and from his own hands, the nails cracked and broken.

“You dug me out Inuyasha. You saved me. You didn’t hurt me at all.”

All he could do was hold her tightly and repeat her name, his nose buried in her neck, smelling her sweet smell and feeling her pulse beating steadily in her throat, proof that she was alive and mostly unharmed. Proof that somehow, even when he’d lost himself, he hadn’t lost her too.

It was a quiet and subdued walk back to the village. Miroku and Sango had finished off the mole youkai and retrieved the shard, which was now safely added to the little bottle around Kagome's neck.

He and Kagome had rinsed off the cloying dirt from the landslide in a nearby stream, their clothes drying quickly as they walked in the warmth of the afternoon sun, but Inuyasha still shivered slightly as if he’d caught a chilll. He was having trouble shaking the combined after effects of feeling trapped and losing himself, his mind whirling. Kagome’s tight grip on his hand was helping, but he still didn’t feel like himself, still didn’t feel comfortable in his own skin.

When they arrived back at Kaede’s late that afternoon, he watched the others walk through the door way into the dark interior of the small hut, and stopped short, his hand pulling abruptly at Kagome’s.

“Inuyasha?”

“Gonna stay out here”, he said, turning his head away from Kagome’s gaze as he watched the sudden realisation in her expression as she made the connections. He felt embarrassed and ashamed, but he knew there was no way he’d be able to go inside at the moment, not until he had a better handle on his emotions. Kagome squeezed his fingers.

“Do you mind if I stay out here with you?” she asked gently.

He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say he didn’t care one way or the other, even though he desperately wanted to beg her to stay close by. She tugged on his hand, leading him over to the trees beside Kaede’s hut, spreading out her sleeping bag like a picnic blanket, patting it to invite him to sit down beside her.

As soon as he was seated with Tessaiga still firmly within his grasp across his lap, she leaned against him, taking his other hand in hers, examining the healing fingers.

“Do they hurt at all? Do you need me to bandage them?”

He shook his head, not really trusting himself to speak at the moment.

She hummed, stroking her hand over his fingers, resting her head against his shoulder.

“You know, I’m afraid of deep water."

He sighed, shoulders rising stiffly as he tried to keep himself still, wanting to run away from where this conversation was going, but also wanting to stay close to her.

“Kagome...”

"I fell in a friend’s pool when I was a little girl before I knew how to swim properly. I nearly drowned before Papa saved me. I’m a good swimmer now, but I still feel frightened by it sometimes, especially if I can’t see the bottom.”

He didn't say anything. He knew what she was doing, but he couldn't speak. Couldn't trust himself to talk at the moment.

“Those kinds of fears don’t mean you’re not brave”, she continued softly. “Sometimes things happen that you can’t control and your mind remembers that feeling of powerlessness, of fear, and it holds onto it. It can get better over time, with help.” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, turning her head to glance up at his face. “But it’s never anything to be ashamed of Inuyasha. You don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to. But if you ever do, I’m here.”

He nodded stiffly, then tried to stifle a yawn. He was exhausted.

“We’ve still got some time before dinner. Why don’t you take a nap with me?”

“It’s not dark yet.”

“So? C’mon. Lay down next to me. I promise I won’t bite”, she giggled, tugging on his hand and kicking off her shoes.

“If I do, will you be quiet?”

“Yup!”

He lay down on the ground as she stretched out on her sleeping bag, one hand still tightly clutching Tessaiga, the other reaching out to gently stroke her cheek. It wasn't only him that had a difficult day.

“I really didn’t hurt you?” he murmured, his voice catching a little. Her eyes were overbright in the late afternoon sunshine as she pressed her cheek into his hand.

“You really didn’t. You knew who I was. I was so scared and then you came for me Inuyasha. You pulled me out of the dark.”

“I’ll always come for you. You know that don’t you?”

She sighed gently, closing her eyes as he struggled to keep his own open, to keep watch, keep her in sight. Finally he gave up, letting his mind drift, knowing she was close by and safe, feeling her slowing breaths drift across his finger tips.

“I do.”

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

🕯Anon said: hi sweetheart 🕊 can you write about armin having a quiet night with the reader? something like wearing comfy pajamas, fairy lights, cute little candles, incense, soft songs and maybe some reading? and they just cuddling? 🥺 i think about that whenever i go to sleep and do all of the above, but i'm just by myself lmao anyways, thank you so much 🌸 (btw i'm the anon who asked you about the armin x painter!reader 🥺 hello 🥺 i just love how you write can we be friends please) 🕯

Quiet night with Armin

{ Armin x Reader | tw:none | sleep help, comfort, fluff | modern }

{ "Twilight, Valley of the Genesee" 1865 by Samuel Colman 1832 - 1920 }

Shimmering golden hues weaved across pastel blue walls in the form of strings, crossing the bookshelf before making a turn at the plants corner, illuminating the room with a soft warm glow.

Your head rested against the satin pillow, just right above Armin's shoulder, close enough that you can see the rise and fall of his chest with every breath. The ends of his hair ghosting over your cheek whenever he leaned to tell a particular clever line of the book he's been reading to you.

You can't exactly remember the name of it, but you can clearly recall his excited smile this morning when showing it to you.

"It's one of my favourites" he said, "the last time i got to reread it was in high-school, has it really been that long?" And that's all you can remember from the conversation before it got sidetracked by him asking if you had lunch yet.

There's definitely something to be said about rereading a book over and over again, a sense of familiarity, an attachment to the characters, plot and world setting. It's almost magic how quickly your comfort book, show or movie can turn a horrible day into a nice one, making it the silver lining.

Looking at the way Armin would pause for a second after some lines, or chuckle at random scenes, like it's an inside joke between him and his mind, you can tell he's definitely recalling some good memories.

Just like how he's adding to his list of comfort memories by sharing this experience with you, he wants you to be a part of this silly book he once picked up as a child and continued to revisit every few years.

You glance at the remaining pages, just as he flips another one to start anew. You've already finished a third of the book, only a quarter remaining.

It's not that you're getting impatient, but it's more that the soft blanket draped over you, the warmth of Armin's body pressed next to yours and the sound of his voice, are all luring you into a hazy cloudy state where your eyelids feel too heavy and turning your head to check the clock seems too exhausting.

How long has it been? since you curled up against him right after you went to put your empty hot chocolate mugs in the sink.

You don't have the heart to tell him that your brain stopped registering the words he's saying and instead listens to the tone of his soft-spoken voice and reacts accordingly. Stealing another glance at the remaining pages, you notice a few missing, okay good, just a few more. You can hold on right?

Right?

Forcing your eyes open, you suppress a yawn threatening to rise before curling even closer to his shoulder, face against his neck, hand over his chest.

Instead of focusing on his calming heartbeat, you try to focus your attention on different things, like the smell of snowdrops flowers filling the room from the scented incense sitting on the nightstand. 

Snowdrops, the milky bell-like flowers who befriended the cold harsh snow herself.

An ancient German tale that Armin told you, on one early spring morning. When the universe was just in bloom, as the earth shaped its form and the plants dressed themselves, when the god in the heavens above just created snow, she was told to go seek her colours from the flowers below.

She came with her request, but the flowers turned their heads, refusing to acknowledge her for she is the reason for the harsh weather, deeming their life spans short, overzealous and jealous, protecting their colours from the merciless lady snow. 

She was left all alone, friendliness, colourless with no love or sympathy from a soul.

Except for one, came knocking on her door, head bowed down and humbly offered to share. Snowdrops were the flowers that warmed the snow's heart, and so white was the colour in which snow was known.

Snow made a vow, to always protect her one and only friend, even from her own self. Under her watchful gaze, snowdrops were gifted with warmth that let them be the first flowers to bloom when winter bid her goodbyes as spring was arriving soon.

You've never seen snowdrops the same since, their delicate and shy nature standing out between all the proud flowers, you even suggested planting some to Armin.

"...but sweetheart" you remember him saying with a frown, " snowdrops are poisonous."

…

Yeah, and so getting their scented incense was the second best option available.

You hear the sound of another page being turned, fewer left to go, just hold on a bit longer.

Wondering the room with your eyes, your gaze fell on the straw sunhat hanging from the on the back of a chair. It's Armin's favourite, he'd always wear it when the sun was particularly bright that day.

you remember him saying it was a gift from his grandpa when he was a child.

His grandpa...didn't you visit his farm a few months ago?

...yeah you did, you can recall clearly, how you were:

Squinting your eyes to avoid the bright sun, you wiped the sweat collecting on your forehead before leaning your head back against the wooden wall. The occasional passing cool breeze distracting you from the dryness in your throat, even after moving to sit in the shade your skin still felt too hot.

The grassy fields in front stretched wide before ending in white pained fences, where the crops patches for vegetables started.

The sudden gentle waves of cool air against your skin made you glance to the side, where Armin was fanning you with his hat, while holding a tray with two ice filled lemonades in his other hand.

"Are you sure you don't want to go inside?" He said, sitting next to you before handing you the cold drink, "you've already done a lot, I'll do take care of the rest."

You've been helping Armin with the farm work since sunrise, feeding the animals together and watering the crops, saying you're exhausted from the scorching hot sun was an underestimation.

And yet, somehow Armin seems unaffected. Not a sign of being bothered as he sat there next to you with his rolled up sleeves and cuffed pants, the slight flushing to his face was the only thing he got from the sun.

"Yeah, I need to lay down a bit." You remember saying, after emptying your drink in one go.

"If that's the case then-" setting the tray aside, Armin patted his lap while looking at you, "Come here."

Too tired to protest, you layed your head on his thigh, feeling your back stretching and the cool air from his fanning was already making you feel better.

"You know, there's a story my grandpa used to tell me about the sun."

An Australian folklore, about a time when the earth was merged in absolute Darkness, when even the stars refused to light up the sky.

Eternal darkness was the fate of humanity, as people were spent their lives carrying torches to light up their way.

Gnowee was an alone mother in a forsaken world, left to fend for her little son. Each day while he slept safely, she'd venture into the the fields in search for plants or seeds. Knowing very well that's it's a matter of life and death if she couldn't come back with something edible.

Each day she'd come with whatever she could find, feeding it to her son even if it meant sleeping on an empty stomach.

But with food scarce and the abyss looming at every corner, things were harder each day.

One day after rocking her child to sleep, she quietly left with her torch to dig for yams she saw on her way last time. Retracting her footsteps, it was a long journey but she knew it'd be worth it.

And so she walked and walked till she reached the place, began digging the ground but dirt and mud was all that she could find. But she couldn't just go back to her son empty handed, and so she wandered far.

She wandered so far in fact that she reached the end, not the end of her journey but the end of the earth itself.

Somehow, in someway she managed to pass from under it, her will for her son to live another day far greater that anything, and so she emerged from the other side.

The void.

Where nothingness lived.

Looking at the vast empty space, she didn't know where she was, the line between the ground and walls was so blurred that she thought she's floating.

Panic and dread filled her mind as she raised her torch higher and higher, attempting to clear a path for her to see. For she had to go back to her son, all alone sleeping by himself.

Climbing the sky was her only solution, as she wondered the world, unknowingly lighting up a path with her as she went.

"And so the Sun Goddess wonders the sky above, in search for her son." Armin told you that day, before offering you his own lemonade to drink because he was still worried about you.

...

You can't recall how that day ended, you think you might have fell asleep on his lap right after.

The fairylights on the wall reminded you of the clear stars sky you've seen while on the farm, his grandfather was a really sweet guy too.

With your mind still coulded in drowsiness, your hearing was also delayed apparently, since you just noticed the book in Armin's hold was closed with him staring at you with a smile instead.

Moving so he could set the book on the nightstand, Armin turned towards you before pulling you closer to him, making sure the covers don't slip off of you. He cupped your face, stroking your cheek with love in his eyes.

"I'm sorry baby, did I take too long?" He said, glancing at the clock behind you answered his question. 

You shook your head, murmuring a slurred "it's alright." 

Posture visibly relaxing, he gave your cheek a small kiss before resting too on the pillow next to you, a yawn escaping him.

With half closed eyes, you saw him cuddling close to your chest, features softening as he bid you goodnight. Your hand moved to stroke his hair just like he always liked, lacing your fingers through the soft strands you closed your eyes too. 

Warmth took over you, the feeling of his soft breath near your neck, the comfortable weight of his arms around you, the slow ticking of the clock, it all rocked you to sleep as you happily gave in.

[imnotusedtobeingloved]

NOT ENOUGH

(PLEASE DON’T REBLOG!)

Warnings: Self-depriciation, loneliness.

Pairing: Zuko x f!Reader

Characters: adult!Zuko, Avatar (mentioned).

Requested: No.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, nor the gif. Credit to the owners.

Summary: Zuko is so caught up in his work that he begins to neglect his wife, which leads to a drastic descision.

You'd known him to be many things. A waiter in a tea shop. A teacher to the Avatar. A banned prince. But since Zuko became the Fire Lord of the Nation, everything had turned upside down.

A few years back when the both of you traveled with the Avatar, you'd seen the positive changes he went through and the passion that grew inside him. He truly wanted to be good. And he was. The differences he had made in himself and in those around him were astounding. And he kept detecting more and more sides of him, that he never knew he had. Around the same time he also discovered another passion. You. The one person apart from his uncle that kept him going then, and kept him going still. Although now that you'd reached adulthood and reigned over thousands of citizens, there was still something missing... time.

Two weeks had gone by in Ba Sing Se until political issues had been settled with the Earth Kingdom. A relieved sigh left your mouth, as you settled into the carriage that would bring you back home. Back to Zuko. It was rare that you left the Nation without him, but this time he'd needed to stay because of negotiations with the Southern Water Tribe. It had been important, but so was the Earth King, so he sent the person that was most capable. Unfortunately that also meant spending a lot of time apart. Of course there was still the possibility to converse through the lovely letters you'd send each other. But in all honesty, they couldn't compete with the quiet moments you shared in person. Needless to say that it hadn't taken long for the distance to tug at your heartstrings. You yearned to hear his voice in the mornings, still raspy from the sleep. The touch of his calloused hands on the small of your back, when he guided you through the halls and the warmth of his hugs. But most of all? You missed his kisses. Even the smallest of pecks still managed to make your heart flutter and you felt yourself grow more desperate with each day to feel it again. So when the carriage finally arrived at the palace, you were ecstatic.

Usually Zuko would wait for you in front of the two large double doors that lead inside, but now the place was empty apart from a few guards who greeted you on your way. Still, the giddy feeling in your chest didn't subside. He must be waiting in our chambers, you thought. Your pace grew faster and faster as you neared your bedroom until you burst through the door with a large grin on your face. What greeted you were the the closed curtains hiding the sunlight, the smell of jasmine tea and the untouched satin sheets. Just like the entrance before, they were empty. You registered footsteps coming up behind you, but they did't match up with those you were hoping for. The guards proceeded to bring your luggage. "Can you tell me where my husband is?" The man pointed over his shoulder towards the door. "The Fire Lord is still in the middle of  negotiations with the Water Tribe, my Lady," your shoulders dropped slightly, but not all of your good spirits were broken. As you nodded the guard left with a traditional bow, before you sighed and sat onto the sheets.

Once again the Nation overruled it all. The days were filled with countless appointments, paperwork and concepts, while the nights were met with insomnia and bad dreams. You'd tried your best to help, but love and affection couldn't keep the paranoid thoughts at bay. They came with the attempts to take your lives, and they were here to stay. The amount of guards in the halls had been doubled and the kyoshi warriors now resided in your home. At first you'd tried not to let it get to you. Focusing all your attention on Zuko's comfort and the social matters of the Nation had been your way of dealing with things. But slowly... it crept up on you. The doubts and the fears that clouded your mind had always been relieved by Zuko's presence. But lately the time spend together shrunk to a minimum.

You shook your head, banning the dark thoughts from your mind. Instead you decided to spend the time unpacking your luggage, until your spouse would be out of his meeting. While you sorted your clothes back where they belonged, slowly but surely the sun went down, leaving a reddish sky in its wake, until it disappeared. Just like Zuko, it had left you standing alone in the dark. You decided to dress down into your nightgown. The air was chilly, making goosebumps rise on your skin, so you quickly slid under the warm sheets. The plan was to stay awake until Zuko finally arrived, but sometime in the midnight hours, you must've succumbed to your sleep.

When you blinked your eyes open the next morning, something had changed. A yawn passed your lips, as you moved to stretch your arms, bumping against something that hadn't been there before. Or rather, someone. Your eyes, still barely open, travelled up a defined chest and finally landed on a beautiful face, marked with a red burn. "Good morning, (Y/N)," Zuko said, his lips curling into a lovely smile. "Did you sleep well?" You hummed, snuggling into him. "I did," he was warm. He always was. The man had fire woven into his skin and ashes in his veins. "Just sad i couldn't get to see you yesterday," you confessed, lowering your gaze. "I'm sorry," he said. "The negotiations took longer than we thought. I couldn't leave. But... I'm here now," You lifted your head to look at him once again. This was it. This was what you'd missed the past few weeks. And now that you had it, you couldn't get enough. Not enough of his warmth, not enough of words, not enough of the pure sight of him. "You are," you confirmed, a smile spreading out on your face. You felt him leaning closer, so you craned your neck, desperate for his lips and then- knock, knock,

You drifted apart, a bitter taste left in your mouth. "Yes?" Zuko answered, pulling the blanket up to cover you both. You didn't need to turn your head, the rattle of armour exposing the intruder as a guard. "You have visitors, My Lord," the woman stated. You could hear your lover grumble under his breath. "Showing up unannounced," then he sighed. "Who?" You didn't care who it was. You didn't want to know. All you wanted was to have Zuko to yourself. You knew this was not the way a Fire Lady should think. It was selfish. But right now the need to spend some time with him was so great, that his next answer knocked the air out of your lungs. "Entertain them for me?" He rubbed his forehead. "I'll be right out," A sense of defeat came over you. One of you would need to leave. Again. "Do you really have to?" you asked, your tone sounding awfully thin. His eyes expressed genuine regret, even more so with the dark circles under his eyes. But still he gently lifted you off of him. "I'm sorry, love. I have to go, it's important,"  Then what am i? you thought, lips twitching into a frown. Though one second later the sentiment was gone. You couldn't expect him to put your needs above of the whole Fire Nation, could you? It wouldn't be fair. You were the Fire Lasy. You had to be ready to give everything and more for your homeland. So you gave him a small nod. "Of course," you managed a slight grin, but you couldn't quite hide the sadness in your voice. Zuko planted a quick peck on your forehead, before he got dressed and put the traditional Fire Lord headpiece into his bun. "I promise i'll make it up to you. How about dinner? tonight? by the turtleduck pond?" he proposed and tilted his head, which eared him a true smile. Sometimes he was still so adorably awkward. Just like when you'd first met. "Yes, i'll be there," You agreed and gave a small wave as he left you with a smirk in the large bedroom, all on your own.

It was clear that you wouldn't get so much as a glimpse of your husband until the promised dinner was in order. So you tried to spend the time getting pampered by the staff of the palace. A bath that lasted for hours, a carefully selected dress and a traditional Fire Nation hairstyle. Luckily you got to have a lot of fun with the maids at the same time. The good connections to the common people had come in handy in and out of the palace. It was needless to say that you treated especially the girls under your wing with special care. They rewarded you by trying to cheer you up with pointless gossip they'd heard in the halls. And for some time, it certainly worked. Before you knew it, the time for your date had come. And by now you were as excited as your maids. "You look beautiful, My Lady," Lizzy said as she fixed the last strand of hair into place. "Thank you," you breathed as the rest of them nodded eagerly. They granted you a few minutes to yourself, before it was time to go to the gardens. You looked at yourself one last time. The girls had truly done a formidable job. The dress was out of this world. The perfekt shade of red, decorated with beads of gold and emboidered dragons. A perfect fit for a Fire Lady. With a deep breath, your marched through the halls, two of the guards following you discreetly until you saw the pond.

The evening was chilly, but not cold enough to bother you. The smell of roses wafted through the air and the turtleducks quacked quietly. It was peaceful. Beautiful. You discovered a small table for two at your favorite spot. A single candle was lit atop of it and two plates of your favorite dish were in place. The only thing missing was your husband. "The Fire Lord will be here shortly," you jumped, shameful that you hadn't noticed the messenger earlier. "Of course, thank you," you replied, sitting down. The delicious smell of the food dared you to take a bite, but despite your grumbling stomach you decided to wait. This was supposed to be a perfect night. After a while you propped an elbow on the desk and rested your chin in your hand. The turtleducks had completely settled down and the food begann to grow cold. You had lost count of how often your stomach had demanded to be filled. And eventually the sun denied you her light. The meal in front of you was cool and goosebumps graced your skin. You tried your best to ignore the pityfull looks of the guards, when you'd grown sick of waiting. Even the hunger had disappeared. Not long after the messenger reappeared. “I’m sorry, my Lady, the Fire Lord won’t make it to dinner tonight,”

Soon you found yourself in front of the mirror again. The one you'd laughed and twirled in front, with the maids. But now you saw something else. Someone who wasn't enough.

At times you wondered it things would really be different of Zuko wasn't the Fire Lord, or if that was only wishfull thinking. All this time you'd blamed your titles for the lack of quality time between you. But what if it was something more? Something you'd denied acknowledging. Could Zuko have fallen out of love with you? Weren't you important to him anymore? Right now you didn't know. Didn't even care. All you wanted was to get rid of your loneliness.

The next month passed by in a flash. Almost unnoticed. Zuko was so caught up in his duties, that you often wondered if he even entered the bedroom at night. You hadn't seen him in weeks. But you'd realised an important fact about yourself. You were worthy to be loved, worthy to be held and your feelings were valid. The Fire Lady would no longer be treated this way. Not even by the Fire Lord. And the descision was final. "I need to speak to the Fire Lord," you stated repeadiately, as the guards stood in your way. "I'm afraid he's handling negociations right now, i'm sorry, my Lady, we can't let you through," With furrowed brows you pursed your lips. "Who am i?" you hissed. "Excuse me?" the guard said, rasing his brows. "Who am i?" you asked with more force, placing your hands on your hips. "...the Fire Lady," he answered reluctantly. "Right. I am. So you will follow my command. Let. Me. Through," you growled, which seemed to convince them. Zuko's voice reached your ears as you burst through the doors. "Of course we'd have to- (Y/N) ?" Your gaze was glued to him, paying no mind to the generals and war heroes around him. "I need to talk to my husband. Alone. Immediately," You declared, leading the assembly to turn and look at the Fire Lord. To your relief, he nodded, getting all the men to leave. When the two of you were alone for the first time in what felt like ages, he rounded the table until he reached you.

"What's wrong, my love?" he asked softly. He looked tired. Exhausted. The rings under his eyes had grown larger and his appearance was more dishelved as usual. Hairstrands were tumbling out of his bun, his speech sounded empty and his clothes were wrinkled. The molten gold in his eyes almost made you reconsider. "I can't-," your voice broke before you could continue. Unshed tears clouded your vision and you bit your lip harshly before they had a chance to escape. You lowered you head. You couldn't look at him. "I can't do this anymore, Zuko," It was silent for a few minutes. You didn't dare to get a glimpse of his expression. "Look at me," You couldn't. "Look at me," he repeated. And when you finally did, the tears flowed freely. All you could see was a broken man, trying to put himself back into a whole piece anew every day. Broken vows, broken promises and broken hearts. The pain had gotten to strong to bear. To strong for one poor soul to hold alone. There once was a time were you had held it together, but those times were over. They wouldn't come back. And you owed it to yourself to let them go. "What are you saying?" His eyes seemed clouded by fear, his hands shaking at his sides. Before you didn't stand Fire Lord Zuko, adored and feared by many. Instead you recognized the teenage boy, he'd once been. Full of fear to make a loss and burdened with the curse to save the world. "I want to end our marrige, Zuko. It's over."

A/N: This was my first x reader on here ever, so i hope you liked it! Thank you so much for taking the time to read it!

find part two here!

[fanficsandthings]

Through the Years, Ch. 5

A George Weasley Fanfiction

A George Weasley x Slytherin reader story.

Each chapter shares events in one year of George and reader’s life together.

Word Count: 6.5k

Year 1, Year 2, Year 3, Year 4

Year 5:  Fears and Tears

Somehow this year gave Hogwarts the most competent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher the school had seen in a long time. A practical lesson on the first day of classes almost never happened, and you were more than excited to pack your books up and head out of the classroom.

“Where do you think we’re going?” you whispered to George as you walked behind Professor Lupin. 

“Hopefully somewhere I never have to open a textbook again,” he replied. 

The staffroom was the last place you expected to end up. You had been in this room plenty of times before, usually after getting caught doing a rather nasty prank. For a brief moment you were worried that you were somehow all in trouble, but the empty room told you otherwise. The wardrobe at the end of the room shook as Professor Lupin got close to it. 

“Now, class,” he said, catching everyone’s attention, “There is a boggart in this wardrobe. We will be using today’s lesson to learn how to defend oneself against it.” 

He launched into a spiel about boggarts and how to ward one off. The charm to repel it was rather simple; all you had to do was turn it into something ridiculous, but your worst fear was far from simple, and Lupin wanted everyone in the class to give it a try. The closer and closer the boggart got to you, the more you found yourself having a hard time breathing. 

Adrian Pucey cast the charm at the boggart, and the broken Nimbus 2001 broomstick in front of him transformed into a pile of dancing sticks. The sticks turned and danced their way in front of Fred, the whole class laughing as it went along. 

There was a loud cracking noise, and the boggart swirled in the air for a second, thinking about what it was going to turn into. The red headed boy’s laughter stopped immediately when the creature decided on a form. The rest of the class quickly quieted down as they took in the sight before them. 

Laying in front of Fred was a boy who looked exactly like him, covered in blood. You were sure that only a few people in the class could tell that Fred’s fear was his brother dying, and not his own death. You looked over at Lee, the twin’s best friend, who was switching his eyes between George and the body on the ground. You could feel the tears starting to creep into your eyes. 

George took a step towards his brother and put a shaky hand on Fred’s shoulder. “You okay, Freddie?” 

Fred finally tore his eyes away from the form in front of him to look at his real brother. Realization finally hit him that George was okay. He smiled at George and whispered softly, “Yeah.” 

The boggart suddenly cracked again and swirled before laying back on the ground as, again, a red headed boy covered in blood. This boy had a ghost of a laugh etched on his face, his features slightly sharper than the previous one. You could hear murmurs from the class behind you, wondering if the boggart had even changed. You knew, though, that it had switched its attention from Fred to George. Neither twin could stand the thought of living without the other. 

“Me too,” George said, but his breath caught in his throat, giving away his fear. 

Fred quickly raised his wand, sensing his brother’s feelings. “Riddikulus!” he shouted. 

The body in front of him swirled into another red head, but this time the whole class let out a loud roar of laughter. Percy Weasley stood in front of them, his shiny head boy pin four times the size it actually was and sporting the words “big headed boy.” Looking from the pin to Percy’s face, you could tell that his actual head was also enlarged. The boggart was having a hard time balancing its oversized head on its body. 

“Nice one, Fred,” George applauded, giving his brother a high five. They were both laughing harder than anyone else in the room. The image of the twin’s bodies lying motionless on ground was replaced with this beautiful image of them having the time of their lives. 

The Percy boggart finally lost its balance as it fell to the ground in front of you. It gave another loud crack and swirled in the air before it turned into a man staggering to get to his feet. You recognized him before he even looked up at you. 

His face was bloody and his clothes were torn and dirty. He looked at you with fear in his eyes. The familiar voice cracked and broke as he spoke, like he was trying not to cry.

“Run,” your father said as he got to his feet in front of you. “They’ve killed your mother. They’ll be after the two of us next.” 

You were frozen in your spot, your shoes seemingly glued to the floor as you looked at the image of your father. Tears were forming in your eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. You couldn’t bring yourself to raise your wand, not that it would have any effect, as the charm to fight it off had completely left your brain. 

You pulled your eyes away from the ragged man in front of you and found Professor Lupin standing next to the wardrobe. They suddenly shared a striking resemblance; your father now sharing similar wounds on his face, and both of their clothes were ripped and dirty.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” you said through a choked sob. You willed your feet to move backwards towards the door. “I can’t do this.” 

Turning to leave, you caught a glimpse of George out of the corner of your eye. His face looked more stunned than when he had seen his brother lying dead on the floor. He took a step forward, but Fred reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him. You saw George turn to argue with his brother but didn’t hear what he said as you stepped out the door and ran down the hallway. 

Your tears blurred your vision as you ran down the corridors, not bothering to think about exactly where you were going. You passed classrooms where you could hear teachers lecturing or students idly chatting. Every voice you heard just made you wish more and more that you were alone. 

You found yourself searching your foggy brain for the phrase the twins had told you that morning. The Fat Lady would recognize you, but she wouldn’t let you in if you couldn’t remember the password. Gryffindor Tower felt like the only place you could truly be alone at this moment, as your own housemates would only make fun of the tears on your face. 

Climbing the staircase, along with the tears and the running, made it difficult to breathe. Your chest hurt as you caught sight of the portrait. She started to speak, but you interrupted her before she could get more than a word out. 

“Fortuna Major,” you said with a ragged breath, not bothering to stop to talk. 

The Fat Lady swung open. You could hear her complaining about your manners, but you didn’t have the patience to actually listen to what she was saying. 

There were a few students in the common room. They looked up when you entered, and you could tell a few of the younger ones were confused as to why a student in Slytherin robes was in their common room. 

You ignored their questioning gazes and headed straight for the staircase that led to the boys’ dormitories. The fifth year boys’ dorm would be completely empty, as they were all in the class you just stormed out of. 

You swung open the door and quickly scanned over the room. The red and gold colors of this dorm room always seemed to bring a warmer feeling than your own. The green and black color of your own four-poster bed, while familiar and comfortable, always seemed a little colder. 

George’s bed was the furthest to the right. The curtains were thrown open, probably in his rush to get ready that morning. A muted-colored handmade quilt lay haphazardly across the mattress, his comforter left a mess on the floor. Fred’s four-poster was in a similar state of disarray. 

You let out the smallest of laughs at their disorganization as you walked over to George’s bed. Picking up the comforter and laying it on the end of his bed, you crawled onto the mattress, kicking off your shoes as you did so. You pulled the curtain closed on one side of the bed to block out the mess of the dorm. Picking up the quilt, you quietly examined the patterns Molly had put on it. 

Your tears seemed to have stopped for the time being, the calmness of the room settling your emotions. You wiped your face dry with the sleeve of your robe as you thought about how your housemates would react to the news of your running out of class crying. They were sure to make fun of you endlessly, and if any of them were smart enough to consider what the boggart had said, they would know something wasn’t right about your family. It was only a matter of time before they started asking you more questions. 

You wrapped the quilt around your shoulders, taking in the scent it gave off. You had yet to go to The Burrow, but it still smelled of home. It smelled of earth and wood and love. Most importantly, it smelled like George. 

You sighed contently into the blanket, staring out the large window next to the bed. The late morning sun was shining brightly over the school grounds. Hagrid’s hut could be seen in the distance, smoke rising out of its chimney. You finally felt at peace again. 

Footsteps could be heard on the stairs, and you hoped that whoever it was would continue past to a different dorm room. To your dismay, the door swung open and you could hear the four boys talking amongst themselves. 

“I just hope she’s okay,” one of the boys said. It sounded like Lee. 

“She’s a Slytherin. She’ll be fine,” a second boy said. Kenneth.

“She still has feelings, you know,” one of the twin’s said. They were harder to tell apart by their voices, but by the proximity of the voice to the bed you were currently in it had to be George. 

Please don’t open the curtain, you thought to yourself. Just get something from your trunk and move on. 

Unfortunately luck was not on your side, as George grabbed the curtain. “We should go check on her soon.” He pulled the curtain back to find someone he didn’t expect sitting on his bed. The look of surprise and horror on his face as he recognized that it was you made you laugh. “Bloody hell!”

The rest of the boys turned from whatever they were doing to look towards you. It wasn’t the first time you had been in their dorm, but it was the first time you came here without asking first. 

“This is a nice surprise,” Fred said with a laugh, looking between his brother and you. 

“Shut up, Fred,” George said over his shoulder. He turned back to you and lowered his voice so that only you could hear. “Are you alright?” 

It was overwhelming, the emotions overtaking you. You couldn't understand how this simple act of kindness could make your eyes well up once more, but coming from George it meant everything. 

You pulled the quilt tighter around your shoulders and managed to shake your head no. 

 George’s eyes shifted quickly around the features of your face, taking everything in in a matter of seconds. He could see the tears behind your eyes now. He looked back at his dormmates before turning quickly back to you. 

“Do you want to be left alone?” he asked and you nodded. He nodded back at you with a small smile. “We’ll be down in the common room then. Lunch starts in 30 minutes.” 

You turned your face away from him, trying hard to keep the tears from falling again. He turned back to the other boys, who were already heading towards the door. You don’t know why, but seeing George turn away from you made the want for him to stay so much greater. 

He was only a step away when you quickly scrambled to your knees to grab the same hand he hand burned almost two years ago. You fumbled a bit on the bed, just barely managing to grab on to the end of his fingers. He turned back to you, but you didn’t say anything. You were waiting for the other boys to leave the room so you didn’t draw their attention. 

The few seconds it took them to leave were agognizing. George’s eyes burned into you as you looked over his shoulder to make sure his friend’s left. You wanted to pull George into you, but you couldn’t do that with the grip you had on his hand. You wanted to cry into his shoulder, but what would he think of you after that?

“Stay,” you said just above a whisper. “Please.” 

“Okay.” He repositioned his hand so he was properly holding yours now. 

You took advantage of this and quickly pulled him into you. His knees hit the mattress and his arms wrapped around you. You brought your own arms around him and took in the scent of his robes. It smelled just like the quilt that you had wrapped around your shoulders. You let the tears run down your face without restriction now. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispered into your ear. He pulled away a little to look you in the eye again. “Just because it was your worst fear doesn't mean it’ll come true.” 

“Thanks,” you said, wiping your face. 

You let go of him completely now and moved to sit with your back against the headboard. George followed suit and sat next to you. He picked up your hand and started rubbing circles on it. You sat in silence for a couple minutes, your head on his shoulder. 

“I’m more afraid of what’ll happen now,” you said suddenly. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, moving his head to look at you. 

You picked your head up off his shoulder. “I mean, any smart person could figure out that the boggart was my parents getting killed by You-Know-Who. I’ve spent four years dancing around the fact that my father is a squib and my mother is a muggle. I’m basically a Muggle-born Slytherin. Do you know how rare those are, George?”

He only shook his head in answer. 

“Completely nonexistent,” you said, pulling your hand away from him in frustration. 

“I’m sure there’s gotta be at least one,” George said. You knew he was trying to help you, but it wasn’t working. 

“I’ve done my research, George.” Your tone was a little harsher than you meant, and you could see George recoil a bit from it. You calmed yourself before speaking again. “I’m sorry. Look, I know the only reason my blood is allowed in Slytherin is because technically I’m a half-blood, but that’s not how You-Know-Who and his followers would see me. If they knew the daughter of a squib was allowed in their sacred house, they would send a whole squad of Death-Eaters after my family.”

“I didn’t know this was something you thought about so much,” George said. You could tell he wasn’t super comfortable with the conversation, but you were happy that he was staying to talk to you. 

“I think about it every day, George. I think about it every time I hear one of my housemates talk about their pure-blood parents.” You looked up at George. Your face was wet with tears again. “I have so many housemates who’s parents are known supporters of Him. I’m terrified every time I get asked about my family. Do you know how hard it is to lie about them?”

“I can only imagine,” George started, but you cut him off with a sour laugh. 

“No you can’t.” You could see the pain in his eyes at your bitterness, but he let you continue without interruption. You tried your best to lighten your tone. “You don’t have to hide who you are. You and Fred are unapologetically Weasleys. It’s what I love the most about you.” You paused for a second, thinking about if you wanted to tell him the next part. “You know in our second year when I put a snake in a girls bed?” 

“Yeah,” he said with a small laugh. 

“She broke my camera the next week,” you told him. You reached into your robe pocket and brought out the disposable camera that you carried with you. 

“You could’ve just asked your dad to send another one, though”

“That’s not the point,” you said, turning the camera over in your hands. “The one thing I allow myself to bring from the Muggle world, and she had to break it. If she was smarter she would’ve thought about why I had a Muggle invention and called me out. I was scared for the next month that she was going to say something to me about it.” 

“I’m so sorry,” George said, putting his hand over yours. You stared down at his hand. 

“It’s not your fault,” you told him. You raised the camera up, his hand dropping off yours. You quickly took a photo of him.

“What was that for?” he asked. He had learned over the past years that you would take pictures of anyone at any moment, but you almost always had a reason behind it. 

“I was told to take pictures of the sad moments too,” you said. “And your face right now is perfect.” 

“Thanks?” he said with an awkward laugh. 

You reached up and put a hand on his face. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, but you ignored him. You took in the features of his face, just like he had done to you earlier. 

“Every freckle on your face tells the world who you are,” you said, your thumb softly rubbing his cheek. “You’re mischievous, funny, rebellious and loyal, willing to listen to a friend cry after holding everything in for four years. You’re beautiful, George. You’re sunshine in a person. And you never have to hide that from any one.” 

“Can I kiss you?” George asked suddenly. 

You pulled your hand away. “No,” you stated, now avoiding eye contact. 

George suddenly got very flustered, his cheeks turning a dark red. He put his hands up in a defensive motion. “I’m so sorry. I think I misread the situation. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m so sorry.” 

“You didn’t misread anything, Georgie,” you told him. You finally wiped the tears from your face as you looked back at him. “I just think that if you kiss me now, you’ll regret it later.” 

“I would never regret something like that,” he said and reached for your hand. You let him grab it. 

“It’s sweet that you think that,” you said, tracing the freckles on the back of his hand. ”If you still want to kiss me when I’m not at my lowest, I might just let you next time.” 

You started to finally get up from his bed. “We should go before we miss lunch. If you don’t mind, I’m gonna sit with Adrian. I figure I should at least tell him the basics of what happened. I trust him and I’m sure he’s wondering if I’m okay. You can tell Fred and Lee, I don’t mind.” 

“Okay,” George said. You could see that he was still disappointed with the way the conversation ended, but he trusted you and your promise for next time. 

-------------------------------

The first half of the school year passed by slowly after that. Conversations with George were awkward for a few weeks, and you tried to only spend time with him if someone else was in the room with you. It wasn’t that you thought he might do something stupid, but you knew that you wouldn’t be able to keep yourself from doing something stupid. 

The dungeons turned even colder than usual as winter settled in around the castle, and you found yourself spending most of your time as far away from them as you could. Most of your time outside of class was spent in the Gryffindor common room. If Fred and George were busy, you knew you could hang out with their siblings, or Lee and Angelina. Percy was never happy that you were in another house’s common room, but he had stopped threatening to take house points away when he realized that you just didn’t care about them. 

It was the last day before winter break, a break that you had promised the Weasleys you would spend at their house, and you were enjoying one last Hogwarts meal. 

“Are you excited for Christmas?” Fred asked as he sat next to you at the dinner table. George sat down on the other side of you. 

“I’m excited to see Charlie again,” you said. “You said he’s coming home right?”

“We did,” Fred started.

“But that’s not the point,” George finished. “It’s your first Christmas at The Burrow. And your first Christmas with us.”

“Mum’s been asking about you nonstop in every letter she’s sent,” Fred informed you. 

“But I’ve met your mum. She knows me,” you said. 

“Only briefly,” George said. “She’s a little hectic when it comes to Christmas gifts.” 

“She doesn’t need to get me anything,” you said, feeling a little embarrassed now. 

“We told her that,” Fred told you, “and she threatened to send a howler if we didn’t tell her anything.” 

You had to let out a laugh at that. “You should’ve let her send the howler.”

“We thought about it,” they both said. They seemed to reminisce for a second at the thought of getting a howler. 

“We have a Gryffindor party to get to,” Fred said suddenly, “but we’ll meet you tomorrow morning.” 

Fred got up and started to walk out of the hall, but George stayed behind. He sat for a moment in silence before you finally spoke to him again. 

“Not going to the party?” you asked, focusing more of your attention on the food in front of you than on him. 

“I have a question--or a few--to ask you first,” he said. 

“Yes?”

“Has anyone said anything about what happened?” he asked. 

“I’m assuming you mean the boggart?” You turned to look at him finally. 

“Yeah.” 

“Yes, they have,” you said and turned back to your food. “Malfoy got word of it and had his father investigate me. So naturally, now every Slytherin knows. They haven’t done anything too bad or I would’ve told you earlier. Just a few name callings and empty threats here and there.” 

“I’ve noticed you’ve been spending less time with Adrian,” George stated.

“Yeah, but I don’t blame him,” you said. 

“How could you not blame him? He’s one of your closest friends.” 

You looked at him again, and he saw that your eyes were red now. “I’m not gonna blame him for not wanting to be hated like I am. Even just associating slightly with me has made our house mates harass him too. When I first told him, he was okay with it, and I believe he still is, but he has a pure-blood family and reputation too. He’ll come around eventually. Maybe. Hopefully.” 

“Yeah, hopefully,” George said as he put a hand on your arm. “Why don’t you come to the party with us? Get your mind off things.”

“I’m good,” you told him, your thoughts now stuck on the second of September and that cruel boggart. Maybe it would be good to have a night to yourself. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” 

“If you change your mind, you know the password,” George said as he got up, leaving you alone at the table once again. 

---------------------

Christmas at The Burrow was just how you imagined it; chaotic but pleasantly peaceful at the same time. It was something else to be surrounded by so many people in such a small space. It was hard to get time to yourself, but if you needed it you knew you had Ron’s room on the top floor that you could escape to since he stayed behind at Hogwarts with Harry and Hermione. 

The Chudley Cannons posters made the room a vibrant orange, and it hurt your eyes if you stared at it for too long. Minnie’s orange fur blended into the blanket on the bed. The ghoul in the attic above the room was a little loud, but it was nothing compared to the sounds the other people in the house made constantly. You were enjoying the view of the garden from the window when you heard a soft knock on the door. 

Walking over quickly, you opened the door to find George. He was wearing his pajamas and seemed to be trying to conceal something behind his back.

“What’re you hiding?” you asked him. 

“Nothing harmful,” he said. The look you gave him told him you didn’t believe him. “I promise.” 

He moved his hands so he was holding the object out to you now. It was the quilt he had on his bed at Hogwarts. 

“Merry Christmas,” he said. 

“It’s only Christmas Eve,” you reminded him, taking the quilt. You wrapped it around your shoulders, suddenly needing the warmth you knew it would bring you. “I thought I told you no presents?”

“It’s not from me,” he said. He took a step into the room. You let him pass. “I convinced mum not to give you anything besides that. And I already know I’m gonna be opening a brand new quilt tomorrow morning.” 

“Thank you,” you told him. “It’ll bring warmth to my dorm room.” 

“How is it under the lake?” George asked. 

“It’s beautiful,” you said, sitting on the end of the bed. “The giant squid spends a lot of time near the dorm room windows. I think it likes showing off to the students. Sometimes I wish I had a view of the grounds though. It’d be nice to know what the weather’s gonna be like before I leave the dungeons.” 

George was staring out the window. “It’s starting to snow right now.” 

“It is?” You got up to stand next to him by the window. 

The moonlight reflected brightly on the snow that already laid on the ground. The brand new flurries falling from the sky adding more softness to the land below you. The gnomes in the garden would surely be staying underground until the snow was gone. You rested your head on his shoulder, eyes closing contentedly. You took in the smell of him and the quilt, listening to the cold wind blow outside. 

George suddenly turned to you. “Grab your coat and boots. I’ll grab Charlie and Fred. Percy and Ginny too if I can get them to come.” 

“What’re you planning?!” you shouted after him, but he was already rushing down the stairs. You quickly threw the blanket on the bed and grabbed your coat before heading downstairs. 

The twins and snow were never a good mix. Adding their entire family to the group would probably make it all the more hectic. As you walked down the stairs, Charlie came out of his room, coat in hand. 

“What’s the rush?” he asked. 

“I have literally no idea,” you told him. “He got a sudden idea and, like always, we’re all being sucked into it.” 

Charlie elbowed you in the side lightly and bent down to whisper to you. “He’s just trying to cheer you up.” 

“I don’t need cheering up,” you said as you stepped off the stairs and headed for the door. 

“The twins told me about the boggart,” he said. That made you stop walking and turn to face him. “They told me how you’ve been the last few months.” 

“I’ve been fine,” you lied. 

“You basically lost a good friend because your whole house, the people who are supposed to be your family, are against who you are. I had my fair share of trouble with Slytherins. I know how most of them are.” Charlie stopped talking for a moment to look around the room. It looked like it was just the two of you in the small space. “I’m not good with human feelings, but George and Fred-- I can tell they care about you. George, he never shuts up about the jokes you plan with him. I think he likes your ideas more than Fred’s sometimes.” 

“That’s absolutely not true,” you said with a laugh. “Fred’s a genius when it comes to that stuff. I just roll with their ideas. I haven’t come up with anything in weeks.” 

“Maybe whatever George has planned out there”--he pointed to the door--“will help you get over your creative block. Now let’s go before they kill Percy. I think I hear his muffled screams.” 

Charlie was almost to the door before you stopped him, having not moved from your spot. “Charlie..” He turned to look at you again. “George is--I think I--”

“Don’t tell me,” Charlie interrupted you. “Tell him. After this grand adventure to our front garden, of course.” 

You nodded and smiled at him, finally walking towards the door. 

Opening the door, you were met with a view of something you should’ve expected, but didn’t think you’d ever see. Percy was screaming for help, but it seemed like no help would be given to him soon. Both Fred and George were throwing snowballs at him, fast enough that he didn’t have the time to recover and get his footing back. He slipped and fell just as Fred pelted a snowball right in his face, sending his glasses flying into the snow. The twins continued to throw snow at him. Ginny wasn’t any help either, as she was off to the side, not bothering to hide her laughter. 

You looked at Charlie and nodded at each other. You both scooped up some snow and, without warning, threw it as hard as you could at each of the twins. 

“Ow!” they both yelled and turned to look at you. 

“Look who finally made it,” Fred said, rubbing the back of his head. Charlie had really good aim. 

“We thought you flaked on us,” George continued. 

“I would never leave Percy out here alone with you three,” Charlie said as he eyed Ginny. She held up her hands like she had no part in it. “Don’t act like you’re innocent. You could’ve helped him.” 

“Yeah, but it’s funnier to watch him fall in the snow,” Ginny said. 

You walked over to Percy and held out your hand to help him up. Charlie grabbed his glasses and handed them back to him. 

“Thanks,” Percy said to both of you. He tried his best to dry his glasses on his coat. 

“No problem, Perc,” Charlie said. 

“Now it’s time for a little payback,” you said, a grin forming on your face. 

“No thanks,” Percy objected. “I’m going back inside where it’s warm and dry.” 

Charlie grabbed his arm. “It’s Christmas. Spend time with your family.” 

Percy sighed in annoyance as he looked between you and his brother. “Fine. What’s the plan?” 

“Oh there’s no plan,” you told him. “We just attack. Grab some snow and start throwing.” 

The snowball fight was just what you needed. It got your mind off your worries and reminded you that you still had people you could turn to when you needed them. It even got Percy out of his stuck-up shell. He did accidentally beam Charlie in the back of the head once, but Charlie got even by shoving snow down Percy’s shirt a few minutes later. You were winding up to throw a clump of snow at Ginny when suddenly you were lying face up on the ground, a heavy weight on your chest. 

“This isn’t rugby,” you said, trying to catch your breath. Your head laid back in the snow as you stared up at the sky. 

“I don’t know what that is,” the person on top of you said. The weight on your chest lightened as George sat up. 

“It’s a muggle sport,” you told him. “I think you’d like it.” 

“You should show it to me sometime.” George laid down in the snow next to you. “And that was payback for your fancy little trick you did last year in the Gryffindor vs Slytherin match.”

You let out a laugh. The look on George’s face when you tackled him off his broom would live in your mind forever. 

You could hear the other four Weasleys still fighting on the other side of the garden. You thought about getting up to help your team out, but you also thought about how nice it was to just lay on the ground next to George. 

“Does this count as fraternizing with the rival team?” you asked, turning your head to look at George. He was already looking at you. 

“I don’t think they’d mind,” he said. “They’re pretty evenly matched. Though I would say Charlie carries most of your team.” He was grinning at you now. 

You hit him in the arm lightly. “That was rude.”

“You’re the rude one for hitting me.” 

The snow was still falling, landing on his face like white freckles against his own constellation of brown ones. It stuck to his hair, causing a nice contrast against the bright orange. You were staring into his eyes and he was staring back at you. Both of your breaths could be seen in the air, like a dragon trying its hardest to get it’s fire out. A fire that you could feel in your chest, warming you from the inside, letting you ignore the cold of the winter air around you. 

“George--” you started, but you were cut off by a cold object just barely missing your head, landing hard on your shoulder. 

You looked up to see Fred 10 feet away, getting ready to throw another snowball, this time at his brother. His aim was worse this time, and the snowball hit George in the leg. 

“Stop laying around!” Fred shouted. “We have a war going on!”

You started to get up to chase after him, smiling like an idiot, because you were honestly having a great time. You had just gotten to your knees when George grabbed your hand. He was sitting up now, and he pulled you next to him. You fell into him, placing your free hand on his chest for support. 

“What were you going to say?” he asked just above a whisper. 

“I uhh-” You weren’t quite sure what to say now, so caught off guard by the way he pulled you into him. 

You looked at George, fully looked at him for the first time since that day in his dorm room. His brown eyes were soft, staring at you with all his attention. You could feel his heartbeat under your hand on his chest. It was steadier than you expected it to be at this moment. His hand was warm on yours as he squeezed it harder than he probably thought he was. His face was wet from the snow, his hair sticking to his forehead. You reached up to brush some of it to the side. Your hand found its way down his face. He furrowed his eyebrows at you while you traced the freckles on his cheek with your finger. 

You let out a shaky breath as you thought about the last time you touched his face. “Just like last time. Right, George?” 

He closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh. “Just like last time.” 

“Ask me again.” 

“What?” He opened his eyes again to look at you. You were smiling softly at him, your hand still resting on his cheek. 

“Ask me. I promise I’ve changed my answer this time.” 

George started to smile. The most genuine smile you had ever seen on him. When he spoke, it was barely audible, just loud enough for only you to hear. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” 

As soon as the word left your mouth, his lips were on yours. The suddenness caused you to struggle to keep your balance against him, so he grabbed you tightly by the waist and pulled you closer. You kept one hand on his face, feeling the need to hold him next to you. The warmth of George being this close to you was enough to keep the fire in your chest burning forever. You both pulled away smiling and rested your foreheads against one another. 

“I think I love you, George,” you said, looking into his eyes for any reaction. All you saw was the light of the moon reflecting up from the snow. 

“I think I love you, too. You’re beautiful.” George moved so now his hand was resting on your face. You leaned into, radiating in the comfort of it. 

A sudden pain hit the side of your face, sending snow onto you and George. You both looked up to see Ginny, another snowball in hand, standing right where Fred was earlier. 

“Gross,” she said as she threw the other snowball at the two of you. It hit George in the shoulder. 

“We should go inside,” you said.

You and George started to walk towards the front of the house, hand-in-hand. The other siblings, who had finished their fight, all looked at you. Fred and Charlie were grinning. 

“Shut up,” George said to them as you got closer. 

“I didn’t think it’d happen until after Christmas,” Fred said. 

Walking into the house, George let go of your hand to head off into the corner of the room with his twin. He came back a minute later with a smile on his face. 

“Get Minnie and come to my room,” he said in a whisper so that Percy and Ginny couldn’t hear from the kitchen. You gave him a look that told him you weren’t sure about where he was going with this. “Come on, please. Fred will sleep in Ron’s room. I wanna cuddle with my girlfriend and our cat.” 

George left the room with Fred following close behind him up the stairs. You looked back at Charlie who had just come in the front door. 

“Yeah, I think that went well,” you said with a smile. 

Charlie let out a short laugh and smiled over at you. “I told you it would help.” 

[rosesloveletters]

Don’t Play With Water.

pairing: William Thatcher x Reader

word count: 2,648

warnings: strong language

summary: Reader cleans William’s wounds after a particularly brutal joust.

notes: this piece originated from an idea I had while watching A Knight’s Tale with @ajokeformur-ray​ :) I am really excited to have it finished and it was such a poetic piece to write; I hope you all enjoy!

The evening sky stretched far and wide across your field of vision no matter which direction you faced. During the late summer months, dawn would come early and, as the first slivers of sunlight crept up past the stretching horizon, you would realize it must be morning. Though now, night had already begun to take shape and the bright light of day was replaced with the swirling wisps of sunset; pinks, oranges and bright yellows that reflected off of the clouds and cast their glow onto the landscape below.

Your favorite time of day was this.

The view did nothing less than make you breathless, as it always did. The scenery called to you; so enraptured with the beauty of the natural world were you that on mornings when you had found yourself alone, you used to sit up in bed and gaze out the open window as the rest of the world would begin to wake. Everything the light touched was within your realm of being; you wouldn’t have believed it before having seen it with your own eyes, but now you couldn’t deny what was true: the Earth was larger than you could have fathomed and equally as powerful. You could both do and be the impossible in this life, if only you had the courage to make it so.

As time passed, the sun continued to set and the darkness was expelled outward across the clear sky; soon the obsidian void would fill with the most dazzling expanse of stars. You had only seen those very same stars in one other place and when the Earth inevitably pulled off her cloak each day and welcomed morning with open arms, you knew there was still a place where those stars shone just as bright.

Beneath the setting sun, you crept quietly through the grounds as you headed towards where you knew you would find him. You entered the last tent on the west side of the camp, as per his request, and made your way through the draperies until your eyes fell to him. Unbeknownst to the man laid up in the small pallet on the cold ground, Luna had once again unveiled herself as night bled into day and her pearly rays would bathe him in their regal majesty.

How serene it was to watch the moon rise with not a care in the world to where else you could have been in that moment. You wouldn’t have had it any other way. You longed to end every day in that same fashion, like every morning you’d spent joining the waking world by watching dawn break and the rest of the world slowly come alive.

Tonight had not been one of those nights.

Tonight, you sought the stars elsewhere, and as you walked through the open air toward that bed, you knew that you would see them glowing just as brilliantly as they did up above.

“William,” you called to him and he looked up from his rest.

His expression lightened as he caught your gaze, his eyes falling to yours and locking intensely; you felt your heartbeat quicken inside your burning chest as you looked to him, already losing yourself inside William’s eyes. His deep brown eyes held the deepest secrets of the universe and the vast expanse of the milky way’s constellations. Starlit tendrils strung together formed his unbreakable soul and comet dust ran in his veins; you could see galaxies inside of those soft and gentle eyes. His gaze was innocent like a child’s, steady like a young man’s and wise like an elder’s. Stars danced inside of those swirling whirlpools and you could breathe a sigh of relief knowing that, even now, the night still lived inside of him.

“Y/N,” William exhaled a sigh of relief as you came into the open space and stood at the end of the make-shift bed. He was shirtless with a dark red blanket cast over him; he had pushed himself into a sitting position as you had come to stand over him. It was not his bare chest that caught your eye, but the smattering of bruises that coated his pale flesh and tainted it different shades of black and purple and blue, all varying in intensity. It was like looking at a human version of a watercolor painting, if his skin were the canvas and each bruise a different brush stroke. As you came into the light and could see each individual mark upon his body, you had to keep yourself from gasping aloud.

“My William, what have they done to you?” You sank onto the bed aside him and took his hand gently within yours, “wounded this badly and still you joust. The heart of a lion and the measured calculation of an archer. You’ll never quit, will you?”

“I think you already know the answer, my lady,” he twisted, attempting to sit up straighter, and groaned in pain as he gritted his teeth.

“William!” You cried out as your knight doubled over in pain and his shoulders shook with the intensity of how badly his entire body ached. His muscles were tight and he had little room for movement on the tiny bed. You cringed at his misfortune and overall pain; you couldn’t bear to see him this way.

“It’s alright. I’m alright,” William reassured you as he reached across your lap and retrieved a soiled rag off of the straw-covered ground.

He re-applied it to the large bruise on the right side of his chest and scowled, “it’s not still warm,” he glanced downward at the dirtied cloth and sighed outwardly.

“Allow me.”

You stood and went to the small table at his bedside. A large dish filled with water that was still steaming had been placed there, along with several clean rags. You took one of the cloths and submerged it in the dish till it was sopping and then you wrung it out into the bowl, “you haven’t got much use for riches if you’re laid up in bed like this after each tournament.”

“Oh, haven’t I?” William scoffed as he tangled his fingers into his dirty, blonde locks. He looked like an angel, or perhaps even a God, as blasphemous as it would have been to say. His golden tresses were spun out of the sun’s rays and his smile was more radiant and precious than any gold or silver you had ever laid eyes upon. Even injured, William appeared as one who was not of this realm. He had always been wild; his soul was one with a lion’s and even you feared you could never tame him.

“You haven’t,” you repeated with more finality this time, “If you cannot even get out of bed then what is the point in all of this?”

“With all due respect, this is the first time I haven’t been able to get out of bed in a long time.”

You finished wringing out the cloth and you went back to him; you perched on the edge of the pallet and held the cloth over his trembling chest. A few droplets fell onto his skin and he winced, drawing back from your touch as if he had been burned. The deep purple patches on his skin were even darker in the low light; you frowned, angered by the violet and magenta blemishes that tarnished his beautiful ivory skin.

“Don’t do that,” you scolded him, “hold still and it won’t hurt as much.”

You tried once again, arm reaching outward to press the cloth to his skin and when you did he fell backward with the same force as from a lance to the breastplate. You delicately dabbed at the open cuts on William’s arms and smiled to yourself as you could see beads of sweat forming on the knight’s brow, “you’ve always had the courage to take a blow, my sweet William, yet you cannot escape the pain which comes with it.”

“Are your words meant to make the pain lessen?”

William’s deep voice held a soothing quality to it and you had to actively keep in mind that you were the one meant to be healing him, not the opposite, “on the contrary,” you exhaled, “the only thing that will make your pain lessen is to rest.”

“And what if I don’t?” William’s stubbornness, however endearing it had become to you, was what got him into this position in the first place. He didn’t know his limits and he pushed himself until he was broken, bloodied and completely exhausted…and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

“If you don’t rest then your wounds won’t heal and you won’t be fit enough to joust. Is that what you want?”

William’s unwavering gaze met your own; even now, lying in bed all bruised and bested, his eyes were lively and alight with unbounded passion you hadn’t seen the likes of in any other knight. A child’s spirit still remained inside of him and nothing could break it; his pride went unmatched because of how truly gifted he had become with the joust and though he sustained his fair share of injuries, he never let it touch his spirit.

‘If I’m not fit enough then I’ll have my men lash the lance to my arm just so that I can compete.”

“William Thatcher, I know enough of your character to expect nothing less of you, but would you really intend to have a lance lashed to your arm if only to spite me?”

“I’ll do what I have to.”

You pulled the cloth off of his arm and pressed it down against the largest bruise on his chest; he groaned and reached for your wrist, “damn, girl!” He roared with pain as you drew your hand away and sat up straight.

“You have to let me clean them!” you argued, “if your cuts are dirty they’ll become infected and you could die! Do you want that?”

“My lady, I-”

“I said, do you want that!?”

William’s expression was challenging, yet he bit back any remark he planned to say. You had once taught him the value of holding one’s tongue; once the words had been spoken, they could never be taken back or forgotten. He did not like to back down, but he always did when it came to you. You were the deciding factor in his life of what kind of a man he would choose to be. Many things tested him each day, but patience was a virtue he had learned and mercy was one he had always possessed. Mercy, you believed, did not make one weak. William was merciful and it showed his sensitivity, as well as his humanity. He had come from humble beginnings and how refreshing it was that he had not forgotten.

“I didn’t think so.” You got up and plunged the cloth into the water again, wrung it out and returned to apply more pressure onto the wounds which really needed it. A gentle pressure felt good, William had told you once, and you had never forgotten; tending to him was second nature to you.

Perhaps you could tame him after all; William was less likely to argue than he once was and now he merely wanted you close. He used to not want you to see him after a match because of this, but once you had taken it upon yourself to come and find him in his tent he had given up hiding and let you come to him at will. It had come to a point where William would find himself getting antsy every time he would return to the grounds after each finished match and wait for you to come find him.

He longed for your touch as much as you longed for his. You needed no further affirmation of his love than simply that. William’s poetry was not of the written word, but of his hands which held you in the dead of night when all were asleep except the two of you. It was of his voice which lulled you into serenity and of his body which protected you at any and all costs and of his heart which loved you in a way unknown to many and sought after by all.

“You know just the way,” William grimaced as your fingernails caught the edge of a small cut on his bicep, “just the way to touch me.”

“I know,” you smirked a little bit, “you taught me, after all.”

William moved out from under your hand and sat with his back straight. You paid no attention to his movement now, distracted were you by the task at hand. As he moved into position, you bent over and pressed the cloth against one of the dirtier cuts on his abdomen. William’s long fingers sank into your hair and he muffled his groans of pain by kissing your cheek.

“William, please,” you whispered with a hint of irritation in your voice, “you’re in my light.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled as his lips repeatedly attached themselves to the softest spot on your neck, right behind your ear. You barely suppressed a shudder of excitement as it ran from the nape of your neck to the base of your spine; William was forward with what he wanted, but you were here for something much more important.

“What are you sorry for?” You pointedly asked the question as you blotted him dry where the water had begun to drip down his chest.

William’s large hand cupped your cheek and for a moment he was able to quell your desire to tend to him enough so that he could sneak in a few kisses here and there, “I’m sorry for a lot of things,” he shrugged as he leaned in and kissed you. William’s kisses were always soft, warm and breathless; he kissed you with a passion and an urgency that made every kiss feel like it was the first of the very last.

Tonight, however, his kisses were sloppy, yet still as heartfelt as always. He showed his gratitude in that way and you let him, giving back what he had given to you in so many more ways than one. William had taught you the brilliance of life: that you could choose to be whoever you wanted and you had chosen this. You had chosen him and when faced with the same decision time and time again, you knew you always would.

The cloth dropped out of your hand as you grasped for purchase on his back and held him to you. The last thing you wanted was to hurt him; you handled him with care and a reverence you saved only for those most dear to you.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you broke the kiss and William’s forehead came to rest against yours as he looked into your eyes.

“Is that so?” he asked as he broke into a broad, boyish grin, “why is that?”

You laughed softly as you took William’s hand in yours and spread his fingers. You had always done this when you would sit with him alone; it was an almost childlike gesture, you realized, as you pressed the palm of your hand against his and admired the way his much larger hand relaxed and rested fully against yours, “Because you’re already forgiven.”

William’s sparkling smile grew and he chuckled along with you. The pain had drained out of him and he no longer felt the weight of each bruise on his body or the tenderness of each of his abused muscles. All he felt in his heart was your love and all he saw with his eyes was your lovely face.

It was true that a man could change his stars, if only because they always had shone so brightly within him.

[nicka-nell]

Hi hey! Can I have a Haikyuu matchup?

Female, she/her

I have black hair and eyes, lots of beauty marks (like scattered across my body, I have at least one on each body part), I can't remember but I think I'm a ISFJ or a ISFP, Sun: Aquarius, Moon: Sagittarius, Rising: Leo.

My likes are any kind of storms, rain, snow, thunder, etc, late night drives, music, and vanilla.

I don't know about dislikes but I don't like dropping/spilling food - since food is precious, people being in my space, people dirtying my stuff, when stuff doesn’t get done on time, people not doing what I ask, being hurt or embarrassed,

No-go for a partner? Manipulative, cheater, dishonest, someone who's not willing to put their weight into something, people like atsumu or oikawa. That's all I can think of. (I don't mind Atsumu or Oikawa, it's just that they scare me)

A Male matchup

A late night car ride to some random destination, just the two of us we can make it if we try just the two of us. Or anything really.

Also NSFW if you want! :)

Thank you!

Hi :)) here is your match-up for one of the Haikyuu boys. (I hope you like it ♥)

First, I had thought about Sugawara but when I read your message the second time and the third time; I had such strong vibes for this character:

Note: NSFW, 18+

Tendou Satori

At first glance, he may seem like a crazy guy, but behind this lively appearance hides a loving man who would even bring you the stars from the sky. 

He loves nothing more than sitting next to you on the couch in the evening, snuggled in a warm blanket, you with your favorite drink and he with a hot chocolate with marshmallows. He has the feeling that time stops when the rain streams against your window and he gets lost in the deep of your dark, beautiful eyes. Sometimes he forgets that he’s staring at you a little too long, but then apologizes directly when you tell him not to look at you like that.

When it rains in the morning and you both wake up, you can expect Tendou to snuggle up to you from behind, kiss your beauty marks on your neck and shoulders and prevent you from getting up.

Now and then Tendou is at work longer, then you can always assume that he is trying a new candy. He quickly noticed that you liked the chocolate with vanilla the most, so he always tries new vanilla creations on special occasions. And for Tendou, every day is special, because every day he wakes up with you, he realizes how lucky he actually is. And he’ll do anything to make you as happy as you make him happy.

He’s not a great eater, so just making a big serving for one person is enough for both of you. In the beginning you always cooked too much, and then you get annoyed about how much food was left. But Tendou promised you every time that he would eat the portion the next day and that you should only cook one portion for the day for yourself.

As you had to learn to cook less, Tendou had to learn that sometimes you need your own space. It took a while but by now he can tell by your voice whether or not you need your rest. If you need it, Tendou often sits in the kitchen at your dining table, reading a new release of Shounen Jump magazine or prepare one of your favorite sweets, which he then takes to your room, quietly placed on the table and gives you a gentle kiss on the crown of the head, before leaving the room with a happy smile.

Tendou and you were just on your way to Semi’s concert. The music is loud in your car as you both sing to Semi’s song and get in the mood. You have fun and do not let the storm that rages outside stop you. Just the short way past the forest, then into the city, and find a parking space at the bar where Semi’s band performs.

But you only hear your bubbling now, while Tendou’s voice is silent. Asking, you look at him as you follow his gaze and see the two yellow-clad men holding a red warning signal in the air. Tendou stops the car as one of the two men approaches him and signals him to slide the window down a bit.

 “Over there, some trees have fallen from the storm. The forest workers are already clearing the way, but this will take a while. You should turn, there’s a rest stop over there. If you have to go up here, you can wait there and have some boiling food. The road should be clear soon.”

Nodding, Tendou thanks the man as he turns to you and looks into your sulking face. “Isn’t there another way we can go? I don’t want to be late.” 

“There is one way, but it is much longer. It would be better to go to this rest stop and wait there for a while until the people here are finished. The rest stop was only five minutes away from here.” 

Sighing, you look out the window and mumble only a quiet “okay” and hope that the men will quickly finish the clearing work. 

While your mood is no longer at its peak, Tendou still hums along with all the songs until you stop in the dark parking lot at the rest stop. There is no car to be seen far and wide, even in the rest area there is only one employee to be seen, but he looks as if he has fallen asleep behind the counter.

Again you sigh as Tendou’s fingers land on your lap. “Hey, lollipop, don’t sulk. We’ll make it to the concert in time. The concert doesn’t start for two hours. I wanted to be there earlier because I wanted to talk to Semi, but I can do that after the concert, right?” He smiles happily and now you remember.

He had already mentioned it last week, but you had forgotten it out of sheer anticipation of the concert. Tendou sees your face slowly relaxing as he clamps off and climbs over the circuit, placing itself in a rather uncomfortable-looking position above you, making your eyes grow big.

“Satori, what are you doing?” 

“I don’t think you can get rid of a tree like that in two minutes, do you? Besides, you’re not in the mood like you were before? We should change that, don’t you think?” He grins and uses the lever on your seat to fold your backrest completely backwards.

“Satori!” You scream in terror, as now he pushed your seat back a bit and Tendou kneels in the footwell in front of you. “What on earth are you doing? What if someone sees us?”

“And who? That sleeping guy at the roadhouse? Or the birds in the woods? Relax, lollipop, I just want you to smile again.” He giggles as his long fingers touch your bare skin on your thigh and sneak under your skirt.

“Sa- tori…” You whisper quietly as warmth flows through your body and Tendou’s soft lips kiss your inner thigh. “You’re so warm, lollipop.” His breath kisses your skin while his fingers are already at your panties and play with the edges.

Instinctively, you lift your pelvis so he can pull your panties down as Tendou laughs on your skin. “So needy are you already what?”

“Don’t tease me, Satori!” You cry and want to put your hands on his, just as he pulls your panties down to your knees and his kisses move more and more to your warmest spot. Your complete body is feverish. You can feel your core tingling even before Tendou gets there.

“You’re ready?”

“Yes, yes Satori.” You answer him promptly and bury your hand in his hair, press his head slightly down to tell him to start.

You can sense his wet tongue glide over your walls, as he moves his tongue with pressure on your clit, sucks it lightly and elicits your sugar-sweet tones. “Hah Satori!” You groan as you slide further away from your seat, towards him, and push him deeper to you.

Again he chuckles, only making you moan with this little vibration in his voice, before one of his hands moves up from your knee, along your damp folds to your already dripping entrance as he pushes two of his long fingers into you. “I love the sound of my fingers moving in your wet pussy, mmh.” Tendou murmurs, who now sucks more strongly at your bud, bends his fingers in you and hits the spongy spot in you every time.

 “Fuck Satori I’m close!” You groan, your hands claw harder into his hair. You feel the knot in you getting tighter, and you know you are coming to your climax every second. Tendou feels how your walls slowly pinch his fingers, feeling your legs slowly start shaking.

“Yeah babe, I know. Be good and come for me, show me how good you taste.” You hear him below you and cannot help but moan loudly his name before you reach your orgasm and spread your juice on Tendou’s tongue and fingers.

Pleasantly he licks your entrance clean, his fingers, before he puts on your panties again and looks at your excited face.

“This was… so… good Sa- tori.” You stutter out of breath before you feel his warmth on your neck. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, lollipop. The rest is for the after-show party after the concert, all right?” His giggling is in your ear before he kisses your cheek and straightens your seat to sit on his own.

“I think the clearance work should be done by now. Don’t you think?” He smiles happily as he starts the car again.

“Yes, I think so.” 

You still sigh out of breath, and wouldn’t be sad if they do not finish these and you have to go back to the rest stop.

[harryspet]

little doe [2] peter parker

[Warnings] aged up peter parker x oc, multiverse oc, peter being domestic af, mj exists but she’s not with peter, doe goes into heat, dd lg dynamic, broken english, some sexy stuff, fingering

A/N: Thank you for the feedback on the last post! 

Like, reblog and let me know what you think!

word count: 2.6k

Peter was an early riser. Not because he enjoyed it but because he was so used to four a.m. calls from Fury. In the morning, he woke up disoriented mostly because he didn’t even recognize the room he was in. It took him a moment to realize all the events of yesterday. Doe, a superhuman from another version of earth, was now living in his apartment. 

“Peter,” although her voice was silvery and light, Peter almost jumped out of his skin. He had forgotten that he had fallen asleep in her bed, mostly against his will. 

“Doe,” Peter clutched his chest because his heart was beating so fast, “Jesus, you scared me.”

The young girl was now sitting up in the bed, her white hair now a bit tangled, and she seemed to worry about the way he was holding his chest, “Peter?” Even first thing in the morning, he thought she was beautiful. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” He assured her as he sat up in the bed. He had to remind himself that he had to adjust the way he spoke to her because she didn’t understand the nuances of the language. She reached out to touch his hand and Peter simply stared as she grabbed it, wrapping her hand in his, “Well … good morning.”

Peter looked at the clock on her nightstand to see it was only seven in the morning. With his other hand, since Doe was still holding his other, Peter rubbed his tired face, “Maybe we should sleep in. Sleep, Doe.”

He gestured for her to lay back down but she raised an eyebrow. He tried to pull his hand from hers but she only gripped his tighter. Looking at her, the girl was clearly wide awake now. Maybe they ran on less sleep on her version of earth. 

Fine, he was used to this. Peter sighed, “We’ll start the day early then,” Peter hoped by noon she’d be tired and they could take a nap. 

Peter moved to climb at the bed and she followed him, still keeping their hands interlaced. “Good morning! Good morning!” Doe exclaimed, practically bouncing. He showed her to the bathroom and, luckily, the functions of the bathroom translated well. 

To say the least, Doe was not shy at all. If it was up to her, she’d hold his hand through the shower, when she was brushing her teeth, and even when she was relieving herself. He had to pry his fingers from her, deciding that he had to lay down the rules or she’d never have any sort of independence, “Doe, I like when you hold my hand, I do,” He squeezed her hand and smiled, “But we don’t need to hold hands in the bathroom.” He shook his head. 

She frowned, of course, but he promised he’d keep the bathroom cracked open as he waited in her room. 

“Peter?” He shouldn’t have been surprised when she arrived in the doorway, completely naked. He stared, only for a moment, and then realized he hadn’t given her any clothes to change into. 

“Stay there,” He spoke sharply and she froze. He looked through the drawer of clothes and pulled out the first dress he could find and then the … underwear. He tried not to look down as he handed her the clothes. 

Peter turned around and released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

She tapped his shoulder when she was done and then she was standing there, her wet hair dripping onto her mint green dress. 

He was already drained and didn’t feel like attempting to help her dry her hair. Instead, he said, “Okay, Peter’s turn,” He had a feeling that he might be speaking in the third person from now on. 

She interlaced their fingers again and Peter led her out of the room and down the hallway. The rising sun lit up the apartment thanks to the far wall practically only being made of windows. He told her to sit on his bed and she obeyed without hesitance. She was still bouncing with excitement, ready to begin the day. 

“Stay, Doe. Okay?” Peter raised his hands into two thumbs up. She stared down at her own fingers before mimicking him. 

“Stay,” She repeated. 

He had to admit, though he was glad to get a moment alone, he didn’t like not being able to see her. Peter went on with his routine, changing into a regular t-shirt and grey sweatpants. A lazy Sunday was hopefully ahead. 

Doe had wandered around Peter’s room which didn’t seem to have nearly as many decorations as hers. She wondered why Peter wanted her to sleep in a different room than hers. Were their souls not intertwined? Maybe since Peter was from this version of earth, he couldn’t feel the same bond that she did. 

She found a couple of photo frames. Peter with a tall girl with dark and curly hair. Peter with an older lady who looked just like him and Peter with an older man with a goatee. He was smiling so hard in that one. Doe picked it up, tracing her fingers over Peter’s face noting how young he looked. 

She hadn’t even looked up as Peter returned from the bathroom. Peter walked over calmly, already knowing what she was looking at, “Peter?” She pointed at the man standing beside him in the photo, “You … you,” She searched for the right word, “F-fa… f-”

But he shook his head, a solemn look on his face, “No, he’s not my father. He was a great man though.”

Doe raised an eyebrow, “Sad?” 

Peter nodded, “Yes, but not because of Doe,” He tried to assure her. 

She pressed a hand to her chest to say “my” and then tried out the new word again, “F-Father, he leave.” He hadn’t even thought about the Family she was probably missing. She had grown to like him so easily that he hadn’t even considered it. 

“Your father? He left?” She nodded but he had the idea that “leaving” to her meant something different. Something darker. He wasn’t sure how to talk to her when there was such a barrier between them, “I’m sorry.”

Peter grabbed her hand this time and Doe smiled. Then she moved closer, leaning into him and, out of instinct, Peter wrapped his arms around her. 

Perhaps that barrier was just in his head. It seemed that this, their touch, was all each other needed in that moment. 

+

He had poured Doe a bowl of cereal as he made a cup of coffee and some toast for himself. And, like everything else, Doe didn’t like the way he did things. She wanted the toast and coffee and, when Peter insisted she eat her own meal, she climbed into his lap and started to eat his food. Really, it was most likely because she didn’t want to sit in her own chair. 

The dimension she was from must lack the concept of personal space. They weren’t together, she couldn’t just sit in his lap platonically. She shouldn’t be comfortable with him seeing her naked and he definitely shouldn’t have liked it.

Realizing he had to lay down the law once again, he lifted the girl and returned her back to her seat. Besides that, he did not want to see her with caffeine in her system, “Your chair, your food,” He told her before returning to his seat, “My chair, my food.”

She scowled at him, picking up her spoon, “Peter i-is . . . mean.”

Peter froze, in the middle of taking a sip of his coffee. She was learning faster than he expected, “I’m not mean,” Peter spoke, sounding offended, “You are a brat.”

“Not brat!” She didn’t understand what it meant but knew it was an insult, “Peter is brat.”

Her hands curled around the spoon tightly as she grew frustrated. Peter suddenly remembered that he hadn’t given her the suppressant pills. He stood up from his seat, “Doe, eat your cereal,” he spoke sharply, “Now.”

She took a few breaths as if to calm herself down before dipping her spoon into her cereal. Of course, she thought it was delicious. All this was only to prove some type of dominance over him and Peter decided he couldn’t tolerate it. 

Peter walked into the kitchen and opened the small kit that Pepper had given him. It had several weeks worth of pills as well as some sedatives in case she lost control. He collected two pills and a glass of water. 

When he returned to the table, she had finished her food but she was staring off sadly. He held out the pills to her and she simply stared, “Doe is not brat,” She told him, sounding resolute. 

“No, it was mean to call you a name, I’m sorry” Peter sighed, setting down the glass of water, “But Doe has to listen to Peter. Peter is in charge and he will take care of Doe.”

“Doe is sorry.”

He gestured to the pills again and she took them from his hand, swallowing them before grabbing the water. “Good girl,” Peter brushed his hand through her hair and she blushed, “How about we watch a movie?”

+

If they had a version of TV in Doe’s dimension, she certainly didn’t act like it. She was entranced by pretty much every movie he put on the TV and they had gone through several of the Star Wars and Terminator movies. Despite them being his favorites, she wasn’t nearly as impressed as when they got to the cartoons.

The giant blue genie on the thumbnail intrigued her and then he watched her fall in love with both Princess Jasmine and Abu. She was crying, holding his hand tightly, as Aladdin gave the genie his freedom, “Again!” She shouted her new favorite word as she forced Peter to play the movie again. “Please,” She added quietly and Peter only laughed. 

And that’s how they ended up watching Aladdin three times in a row. Luckily, as it played for the fourth time, Doe rested her head on Peter’s stomach and began to doze off. 

Peter gently moved her head to rest on a pillow before standing and covering her with a blanket. He had a missed call from MJ that he hadn’t wanted to take while he was alone with Doe. Peter walked to his office and slowly shut the door. 

“MJ, hey-”

“Ned told me everything. I knew you were hiding something, Parker,” She interrupted him and spoke in her usual cool, monotone voice, “You’re keeping a literal alien in your apartment? Did something in your brain ever say ‘hey, that might not be a good idea’”

“You want to meet her, don’t you?”

“Of course!” Peter smiled, walking over to the window, “You realize that her existence disproves a million known scientific theories. She’s probably valuable too. I bet a bunch of countries would be interested. You’d probably never have to work another day in your life-”

“You talking about selling her to a foreign government is not convincing me to let you meet her.”

“Fine, sorry,” MJ continued, “Here’s something that will. You know literally nothing about girls.”

“That’s not true!” Peter exclaimed defensively, “I’ve dated … I dated you for christ sake, MJ!”

“That is highly debatable,” MJ laughed, “Anyways, I can help! Feminine projects, did you think to buy those?”

Peter was silent for a moment, “Well …”

“Does she have bras that fit? Things to do her hair?”

Peter raised an eyebrow, “Do you even have those things yourself, MJ?”

“I’ll see you soon, Peter,” MJ said before hanging up and Peter only pressed his lips into a thin line. Peter knew she’d keep her word and, knowing her, she probably had her own key to his place. 

When Peter walked back into the living room, he heard Doe calling for him. Well, that nap lasted quicker than he thought. As he made his way to the couch, he realized something was very wrong. Her face and skin had turned a shade of red and she looked like she was hyperventilating, “Peter,” She gasped, tears in her eyes. 

He rushed to her side, flinging the blankets away as he tried to find where she was hurt. He saw lines of blue, like electricity, running beneath her skin. He gulped. He couldn’t find any physical wounds but she was writhing as if something in her core was wrong. She clutched her stomach as she continued to moan his name. 

“Doe, Doe,” He was panicking, it was their first real day together and it was already going so wrong. She didn’t answer, only moaned his name. Peter cursed, pulling out his phone to call Pepper. 

Peter placed a hand on her forehead, she was burning, “Please pick up, please-”

“Peter, is everything okay?”

“No, something happening to Doe. She’s burning up and she’s holding her stomach. I think something's very wrong.”

“I’m not sure what it could be … I’ll have a doctor sent over. If he can’t figure it out then we’ll have to run some tests. A sedative will help while you wait,” Peter was already running to the kitchen, grabbing one of the needles. He might vomit in the process, but he would do anything to ease her pain. 

He expected her to be afraid but her mind seemed to be elsewhere. As the needle entered her arm, she winced and began to cry even more. He put the syringe on the coffee table before sitting on the couch and lifting the girl into his lap. 

“I’ve got you,” He spoke softly though his heart was racing fast, “I’ve got you.”

She shifted reaching a shaky hand to touch his cheek, “Peter,” she spoke again, “hot.”

“I know, you must have a fever, Doe,” He couldn’t understand how she had gotten sick so quickly, “Just rest, the sedative should kick in any moment.”

She didn’t close her eyes, she shifted, positioning herself so she was straddling his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling her face into his neck, and Peter wrapped his arms around her. They were so close that he was starting to feel that heat too. This was more than a fever, Peter thought, but as he held her he could feel some of the heat melting away. 

“Peter,” He felt her breath against his neck and a shiver went down his spine. That’s when she started to move her hips against him, “Hot … please Peter …” She was begging now. 

His hand fell down to her thigh and he felt her bare skin as his hand rose up her dress. He could feel her nodding and she grinded harder against him, “Doe,” he was begging now, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop if she kept going, “Doe … I can’t.”

Then she bit at his neck and then kissed the spots she bruised. She reached back to grab his hand, moving it so it was positioned between her legs, “Please,” she begged, and he felt the heat of her sex. She held his hand there, grinding against his hand now, “Take care.”

Heat. 

The need to be … relieved was causing her sickness. He followed his instincts, now beginning to move his fingers in a circle against her most sensitive part. She lifted her head, tilting it all the way back. “Thank you,” She mumbled over and over and he watched as the color came back to her skin. 

She shook as she finally reached a climax and as she moaned his name, Peter’s eyes darkened. 

She breathed heavily and her skin was cold against his as she fell back against him, “Peter .,, t-thank you,” She whispered. She rested against him and he knew she was sleeping now. 

It seemed he was more powerful than the sedative.

+

Thank you for reading! My idea for Doe is that, in her universe, there’s an A/B/O type of dynamic in society. 

Please reblog or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to a taglist! My request are OPEN so if you have a specific peter drabble you want me to write then I can! Also, if you have any ideas/wishes for this series then feel free to send me an ask too. 

part 3 is up!

[gyokujyn]

Snow Falls Like Love

Written for @celestialcastiel for the @destielsecretsanta2020

1.6k under the cut of Castiel and Dean stumbling through snow gazing as Castiel considers what it means to fall.

Listen to a short accompanying playlist here: Snow Falls Like Love

Read Snow Falls Like Love on Ao3 Here

Water freezes at 32-degrees Fahrenheit, but snow doesn’t form until 28-degrees.

Thin plates develop from vapor around a mote of dust or pollen, which then fork into dendrites if the air becomes more humid.  As it gets colder, needles, columns or even solid prisms start to take shape until around 15-degrees when the crystals begin to burst back into dendrites and plates.  Huge, fat, fluffy flakes of icy lace titter and dance on gusts of wind through the atmosphere.  Every fall from the heavens to the Earth follows a slightly different path.  Every fall from the heavens to the Earth yields a slightly different pattern.  There is nothing magical about it, just physics ordering a chaotic universe; molecules following the unwritten rules of crystallization along an errant draft of air.  But, even so, Castiel finds himself transfixed.

His Father, in His great wisdom, imbued all of His Creation with the kind of subtle beauty Castiel could lose himself in.  All creatures great and small, every mountain, every nebula, and every act of nature is holy; each time he witnesses his Father’s work, it inspires in Castiel a reverent sort of wonder.

He watches a different flake fall again and again, and each time his awe is renewed.  Some seem to hurtle towards the ground, while others linger along updrafts, sauntering only vaguely downwards in their slow, but inevitable descent.  His chest swells with every upward lilt and aches with every sinking lull.  He puffs out a sigh, sending a flake which had ventured too close to him careening off, half melted with the heat of his breath and hopelessly off course.

Snow falls like him, he thinks.  He recalls each tumble, each broken Seal, every pitch and every one of his brethren to burn out on the end of his blade.  He recalls Naomi and he recalls his defiance and he wonders for a moment if the needle in her hand was the rising or the falling act.  He recalls Dean’s prayers, each one arranged in his memory like a tributary of frozen water along his path, and the choices that brought him from the heavens to the Earth.

He recalls Dean.  He recalls sulphur and brimstone and meat and the searing of Dean’s flayed skin under his hand.  He recalls his orders, the only orders that mattered: to protect Dean Winchester.  He recalls freckles and the way they are scattered over Dean’s skin like these snowflakes across the sky.  He recalls the line of Dean’s profile against a backdrop of white.  He recalls Dean and, as if summoned, the screeching of the bunker’s rooftop door heralds his sudden arrival.

“Here you are, man.  I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel prompts, glancing over his shoulder with wry regard.  Dean lingers in the doorway, one hand still on the handle, as if he were considering going back inside.  He’s wearing the same henley from this morning, but with his green, canvas jacket atop, the one that brings out his eyes.  Castiel smiles and something about the line of Dean’s shoulders melts as he steps out onto the rooftop and shoves the door back shut.

“Yeah, hey,” he huffs out, wrapping his arms around himself and stuffing his fingers underneath his lined canvas overcoat as he steps closer.  He brought a grey woolen blanket with him, draped over his arm, and is hugging it awkwardly to his chest.  “It’s freezing out here.  We’ve gotta find you a better coat if you’re gonna make it a habit to play gay chicken with a snowstorm.  And, do you even own a pair of gloves?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Castiel answers absently looking to his hands, suddenly sore with cold.  He frowns as he flexes the stiff digits.  A moment ago, he was mid-flight, wings outstretched; a moment ago, he felt a lifetime away.  He looks back up at the falling snow, coming faster now.  “I was just watching the snow fall.”

They both look up at that and although the sun is beginning to set somewhere behind the clouds, the sky is still bright with the white of the snowflakes.  It seems to glow from within, like a lighted snow globe.  Dean fidgets at his side for a moment before letting the blanket unfold messily and propping it over Castiel’s shoulders with a painfully effected nonchalant draping of his arm.  Cas reaches across his own chest to take the makeshift cloak from where Dean had wrapped it around him, his fingers brushing along Dean’s own hand and resting there keenly.  Dean does not withdraw his arm and neither does Castiel withdraw his hand and for a moment, Cas stands pressed against Dean’s side, heat blooming at each point of contact and diffusing into Castiel until it settles heavy in his limbs.  He smiles.

He recalls the snowflakes, now falling wet and thick on his face.  He wonders now if snow falls instead like love; slow at first, but then heavier, radiant in its beauty and growing only deeper with time.  Because although Castiel is falling, his fading grace waning within him, receding like a riptide that sometimes threatens to pull him under, it is not as though this is something beyond his repair.  It is not as though this is something beyond his choice.  He isn’t helplessly plunging towards the Earth.  He is succumbing of his own accord.

“Angels don’t experience cold,” he says quietly.

Dean looks at him out of the corner of his eye, the bolt of his jaw flexing as he considers the words, his hand shifting beneath Castiel’s icy fingers nervously.  Dean looks to the snow.  It’s one more moment before Dean finds the words and he answers as quietly as Cas had spoken, “You’re saying you’ve fallen.”

“I didn’t fall, Dean,” he starts, perhaps a bit too indignant, a bit too combative.  He shakes his head.  He considers the snow flakes.  He sighs.  “I didn’t...” he tries again, grasping for the right words, “I didn’t stumble blindly.”  He looks to Dean and sees those bright, green eyes watching his lips and the freckles like snowflakes and the longest, golden brown lashes he’s ever seen and he remembers.  He recalls it like each and every step he’s taken since.  He recalls what happened.  He levels an even gaze at Dean, licking his lips and waiting for their eyes to meet again.

“I made a choice.  I chose you,” he states and it’s said with a finality that makes Dean swallow and look away.  Castiel licks his frostbitten lips as his nerves overtake him.  He stutters out, “I chose you and Sam and every beautiful thing the Earth had to offer and I leapt.”

That gains him another carefully guarded look from Dean and Castiel wraps his frozen fingers around the heat of Dean’s hand and squeezes gently before he loses his nerve completely.

“I didn’t fall from grace," he continues, "I leapt to freedom.  And, I may not know what I am or what I am becoming, but I’d do it again.  Without hesitation.”

Dean ducks his head, the pink flush from the cold along his cheeks deepening to a burning red, so hot that Cas swears he can feel it radiating across the inches they’re apart.  Personal space, Castiel recalls, but they were always in each other’s orbit, always moving closer.  Castiel tilts his head down to try to catch Dean’s eye, but he’s looking a little dazed, so Cas ventures, “I would always choose you.”

Dean looks up, skittish but hopeful, gaze unsure of where to land on Castiel’s face, dancing between his eyes and his mouth and sometimes somewhere lower.  Dean licks his lips.

“I have always chosen you,” Castiel breathes and flakes of snow dance between them on the air from his lungs.

The snow is falling so fast now, it has left a thick layer already on top of the blanket over Cas’s shoulders and the realization sparks something in Dean.  He straightens up, blinking at the snow swirling around them and feeling the icy bite of the wind now that he isn’t being sheltered by the blanket and Cas’s body.

“I think we’ve officially hit blizzard, Cas.  What say we head inside and I make you a cup of hot cocoa?  I’ve got a whole can of Swiss Miss… plus a bottle of whiskey if you prefer your Miss Irish.”

“Swiss Miss?” Castiel asks in acceptance as he leads them towards the door.

“Oh, she’s a sweet girl, hot, and the marshmallows?" Dean asks, hands upturned in front of his chest in a pantomime of holding breasts before intoning with a lift of his eyebrows, "Jumbo.”

“And, she comes in a can?” Cas frowns in confusion as the door screeches its protest at being yanked open.

“Well, she’s not Prince Albert, but...” Dean laughs as Castiel gestures for him to precede him and the ease with which they fall into this should be frustrating, but their path has never been straight.

“I’m pretty sure I don’t understand that reference, Dean.”

“Oh, whoa, baby, I just wanna show you,” Dean croons as they step inside.

“What a clear view it is?  I got that reference!” comes the last of Castiel’s voice as the door is pulled shut tightly behind them.

The rooftop stands quiet now, the snow falling thick and heavy until even their footsteps are lost to the depths of it, how they got there perhaps less clear than where they are.  Snow falls like love, Castiel had decided, and it did that night.  Wondrous and beautiful and as deep as the road is long.

[mundanewayv]

time after time. / hendery w.

A young astro-physists accepts a challenge from his crush. 

“I challenge you to build one.”

“A time machine?”

“Yeah. And if I’m in there, you get to take me on a date.”

“Don’t go back on your words then!”

fluff-angst - 3k

Some boys wanted to play football their entire lives while some wanted to run for office, but Hendery had bigger plans. He wanted to fly to the solar system. He wanted to have dinner in a place vaguely known to man with no gravity holding him back rather than tight tuxedos and fancy ballrooms. He didn’t want to settle for going on holidays with limited paid work leaves and annual holidays when he could orbit and sightsee the planets and all the celestial phenomena of the universe and float among the stars in his quiet sanctuary a hundred kilometers from Earth.

Undoubtedly one of the smartest kids on campus, Hendery and his group of fellow astro-physicists were isolated from the hustle and bustle of university. Sitting in their tutorial lab, they’re often huddled around some sort of blueprint while the outside world continues on with their own lives. Always brainstorming over different theories and calculating numbers that can be barely articulated by others outside of the faculty.

“Yangyang, I think there’s something wrong with the calculation for the negative temperature coefficient. It’s impossible for the reactivity of the nuclear reactor to increase as temperature increases, can you check the derivative again?” Xiaojun points out and traces the equation with his chalk as he squints at the calculation on the blackboard, struggling to find the error with the math.

“And for god’s sake, work on that penmanship please. I can’t even tell apart ‘3’ and ‘8’ when you write them this way.” Xiaojun complains once more as he directs his attention to Yangyang who was sitting on the lab counter sipping on his fifth can of cola for the morning and third box of pizza.

Hendery and Kun chuckled by the side as they sat on the side working on their own sets of calculations whilst listening to Xiaojun’s rant.

“Kun, I’m having problems solving these differential equations and I’ve been working on them for days and I’m having an absolute mental block, do you think it’s time to call for help?”

“Hendery, that’s quite unlike you because you usually solve them with no problem and it doesn’t help that this assignment is due in two days and Professor is still frolicking in the Bahamas while we’re stuck here.” Kun picks the stack of papers on Hendery’s table as he examines the messy cancellations and occasional tear stains and stray pen marks, numbers and alphabets also floating in circles in his head.

“Yeah, we definitely need help for this one.” Kun rubs his temples as he concludes that the damn equations on the paper were unsolvable even after showing them to Ten.

“Maybe you can ask Y/N? She’s pretty good isn’t she? Right, Sicheng?” Lucas suggests, tossing the football in his hands in Sicheng’s direction. 

“Who’s that?” all of them turned to look at Lucas.

“Y’know, the top student in the Applied Math Faculty. She went to the same advanced class as me and Sicheng in high school, maybe she can help solve your problem, Hendery.”

“I can bring her over if you want?” Sicheng taps on his phone looking for your number.

You walked into a room filled with these boys in which Sicheng had briefly introduced you to as he dragged you into their lab on short notice. Recognising only Lucas amongst the other foreign faces, you threw him a small wave. They handed you the questions and you took a quick look at it, dissecting it to bits before grabbing the chalk to solve it on the blackboard. With every line and number in the question, you felt the chalk slowly disintegrating in your hands as seven pairs of eyes burning holes in your back as you solved the question whose solution felt like it would take an infinite amount of years to write. But solved you did. White chalk covered your hands as you took a deep sigh of relief after completing the question. The boys stared in awe as they read the solution in fascination.

“It’s the Euler’s method, boys! I know it’s unconventional to use something from the ice age but it works best here!”

“How about this Y/N? Can you try this too?” Xiaojun led you to the other blackboard where he and Yangyang were working on.

You stared at the numerous equations on the board and though you were in a math major, all this math was making you dizzy too.

“I think you should check the numbers, it’s probably inverted or something since it is so long.” you chuckled.

“Always the best, Y/N.” Lucas comes over to give you a shoulder massage.

“Hi, my name is Hendery! Your math is outstanding by the way. I’m so impressed.” Hendery sticks out his hand to you.

“Well, hi there, Hendery!” you wiped the chalk on your skirt to clean your hands,

“Nice to meet you too and thank you. I’m flattered.” you waved his compliment off shyly.

From that moment on, you were well adopted into the team and before you knew it, you were spending hours and hours studying with the boys. Sometimes, the eight of you would skip frat parties to finish your research and assignments and head out to the local diner for some ice cream afterwards or sometimes drive out to the beach and all of you would just sit by the sea, watching the star-filled darkness while tracing the constellations in the sky, eventually falling asleep till right before sun rise.

To most of the boys, you were a close friend in their crew but to Hendery, you were something more. The more you impressed him with your intelligence, your humility and spontaneity, the harder he fell for you. He loved watching you as you excitedly trace the different stars in the sky and how you always wished you could visit the solar system one day, and hold one of the stars between your two hands. Hendery has never felt so compelled to know someone deeper until he met you as if the both of you, who are so similar yet a little different, were meant to meet as written in the stars.

“Y/N,” Hendery calls out as silence overcomes the crew as the other six boys retreat to their slumber.

“Yeah?”

“Do you see that ‘W’ in the sky? Do you know that that constellation has a story?”

“Tell me about it, Hendery.” you propped your body on your sides, turning to Hendery who was still looking up in the sky.

“It’s the story of King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopeia. Despite how bloated the Queen’s ego was, the King loved her so much that he begged to be exiled with her. Crazy, isn’t it?” he chuckles quietly.

“Well, Hendery. Love works in a funny way. He probably thought of all the time he would have to be separated from the woman he loved so much and the tiny little disputes they had wouldn’t even measure up to the infinite amount of love he had for her deep down.” you replied to him.

“I meant to tell you something, Y/N. Well, since the guys are sleeping like logs, I might as well say it right now. I like you. Like, a lot.”

“I get that a lot, Hendery. But I need a little more assurance than that.” though you could feel a blush creeping over your cheeks, your heart ached a little. It was the little voice that kept reminding you that ‘I love you’ were just empty words without action and assurance. Every confession was just a small reminder of that hollow space in your heart that carved itself whenever your father said those three words to your mother but decided to walk out of both your lives at the end of the day.

“What kind of assurance do you need Y/N?” Hendery sits up with his legs crossed and facing you as the moonlight basks on your skins.

“I challenge you to build a time machine.”

“A time machine?”

“Yeah. And if I’m in there in the next 20 years, you get to take me on a date.”

“Don’t go back on your words then!”

The idea of a time machine was just like a page out of a science-fiction book. No one has ever proven the theory behind the science of time travel and nor has anyone ever built one. Hendery reaches for probably the tenth book on the mysteries of the universe, which he had spent the entire afternoon reading and studying in the library.

“A wormhole?” Hendery stares at the article heading questionably, before reading on.

“A wormhole: a time-travelling portal created by energy fluctuations in positive and negative directions, each creating a curved space that opposes each other. When a connection is established, a wormhole is formed.”

“However, for a human to walk through the wormhole to travel in time, a supermassive black hole and negative energy is required to make a transversable wormhole.”

“One will then travel in the speed of light, known as time dilation. With the Laws of Special Relativity, a year away from Earth could be forty years into the future with this wormhole.”

Hendery takes a deep sigh, wondering if it's truly possible to build that time machine. He sat in his chair, swirling around as he chewed on his pencil.

“Well, if particles can pass through walls in Quantum Physics, man can surely walk through time.”

He worked day and night, analysing and experimenting different ways of creating that opposing energy to form a time warp. You came by occasionally to drop him some pizza or sandwiches, sometimes even blankets to cover him when he falls asleep in the lab while working. Sometimes, you would just sit by his side silently, both heads laying on the lab table. He always looked so happy in his sleep, his muscles eased and lips twitching into a smile once in a while. What were his dreams? Were you in them or were you just someone that will pass him by? Deep down you wished you didn’t propose the challenge to him and just let him take you out on that date, but the fear of not being there in his life or him in your life was probably enough to break you to pieces.

Finally, on one autumn afternoon, Hendery instructed the boys to stay out of the lab for a day so he could invite you over to watch him walk through the time machine.

“So Y/N, the time machine is done and all that’s left is to see if you’re in there and I can take you on a date afterwards right?”

“Yup.” you nodded, taking his hand in yours, holding them tightly.

“Promise to wait for me.” He asked as the both of you stood steps away from the machine.

“I promise.” you assured him, taking this opportunity to hold him in your arms.

“I’ll see you later, alligator! Plan on a restaurant, I’ll take you anywhere you want after this.” he waves, walking into the time machine and with a flash of light he disappears into the wormhole. Silence engulfed the room when you realised you were the only one left in the lab.

Hendery travels through the wormhole, watching moments of his life flash in front of his eyes: graduating university and going on a vacation with the boys and you in the Bahamas, buying his first car, entering graduate school and getting his first job at the Space Research Centre where he worked hard till he retired. He even sees his final days as he chased the Northern Lights in the cold night of Iceland. But, you weren’t there. He may have achieved all he ever wanted but you weren’t there, and everything else just became pointless to him. He wanted to run back to you and just tell a white lie for once, as long as he could keep you by his side, even if it wasn’t forever.

You returned back to the lab, it hasn’t changed much since you left, almost twenty years ago. You took a seat on the chair you sat when you waited for Hendery to return. He told you he would be back soon, but day by day, you returned to the lab but you were still alone and Hendery was still in the machine. The boys waited with you as they awaited the return of their friend. Nobody knew how long it would take for Hendery to return except for himself. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months and months turned to years. Now you are forty-five, your youth long gone and age slowly diminishing the glow your face once had, had two kids of your own and a businessman husband that was always too busy for the family. You wondered, would anything have been different if you knew the answer? You looked around the lab, reminiscing the days the crew and you spent, the best time of all your lives. 

“Y/N!” you turned around to the deep voice that called out to you.

Sadness slowly disappears as you were hugged by the six boys that filled your university life. All six of them looked as dashing as ever and glad to say that their cheerful positivity never left them at all. They turned to look at the time machine.

“He’s still in there isn’t he?” Lucas asked. It was always sad because Hendery was just like a crucial puzzle piece that was never found. The boys missed him as much as you did. All of you sat down and chatted and ordered pizza just like the old days. Ending the night, all of you slowly packed your stuff and got ready to leave the lab and return back to your own lives, hoping that the next time all of you reunite, the glitch in the time machine would have disappeared and Hendery would be back with all of you.

Just as all of you slowly walked to the entrance of the lab, a ray of light shines throughout the room, a thunderous noise sends vibrations throughout the room, turning around to see the antique time machine coming back to life. You swore you could hear the thumps of all your hearts racing clearly. A figure slowly forms among the bright light; slim, cladded in a checkered vest and coffee-colored pants and, hair pushed back with too much gel, just like Hendery’s. You couldn’t believe your eyes as you take slow steps forward, not wanting to get any of your hopes up. But there right in front of you, stood the man you wished had come back to you twenty years ago, Hendery Wong. Tears flowed uncontrollably as you couldn’t stomach the shock of finally seeing him after all this while. He still looked the same as he did when he hugged you for the last time. Time hasn’t caught up with him at all but it wasn’t the same for you and the rest.

“Y/N? Is that you?” Hendery’s fingertips slowly traced the tears that were rolling off your cheeks.

“Guys? Are you guys really here?” Hendery rushed into the arms of his brothers, embracing them as if he hasn’t seen them in a lifetime.

“You guys waited! How long have I been gone?” he asks, wondering why everything seemed to have moved forward except him.

“Hendery, you’ve been stuck in there for twenty years.” you told him, slowly sobering up from your crying, holding his hand and his fingers examining the band on your ring finger.

“Oh? You got married?” he asked, hurt apparent in his voice.

“I did…” your voice trailed off at the end.

“I waited for you to come back as promised, Hendery. But you never came back and we never went for that dinner you promised me to.” you could feel the tears slowly forming again.

That was when Hendery realised that what he saw in the wormhole was right; you were never going to be in there with him even till the last breath he took.

“Hey, don’t cry, alright? I’ll take you to that dinner okay? I promise. But for now…” he looks up reluctantly to face all of you.

“I’d like to go back. I have something important to do. And maybe we’ll see each other again.” Hendery speaks softly this time.

“See you again, brother.” Kun comes up and pulls him into a hug, his tears staining the cotton of Hendery’s vest.

“I love you, Hendery.” you said those three words, after twenty years of yearning. You wished that you could go back in time and right the wrongs and work against the tricks of time.

And with one last wave, Hendery enters the time machine once more.

Hendery finds himself in the lab again, did the time machine fail?

“Hendery, you’re back!” you raced back into the lab, with snacks and chocolate milk.

“Wait, where did you go?” he asked in confusion when he saw your younger self instead of your matured self.

“I went to get snacks while waiting for you, silly. So how was it? Are you going to take me on that date?” you teased him.

“Let’s talk about it over dinner, it was a wild ride! You wouldn’t believe it!” he slings your arm in his as the both of you leave the lab in all smiles. Hendery taking this chance to fight against fate and time in this one, in hopes he can change the future he saw in that wormhole.

[fluffy-papaya]

Shadow Puppet Chapter 2

Summary: Doc swings by for a visit TW: control, manipulation, parasitical themes CH1 Stay safe, happy reading!

All in all, Bdubs was enjoying his time in the Hermit’s new world. Sure, there had been a few messy deaths in a row before he landed in a pool, and yeah, there was a stinging bit of loneliness that he had never gotten over when his presence was announced, but Bdubs was fine. Bdubs was happy. ...it used to be a lot easier to lie to himself. Bdubs rested his head against the cold bones of the giant iron golem, staring up at the evening sky. The blue was starting to creep back in, dark hues spreading at the edges of the horizon where the moon was rising, but the sun remained fierce on the other side, an artist’s mess of reds and yellows and pinks. White clouds dashed the skyscape like an afterimage of a swinging sword, and a pleasant breeze ruffled his hair and the edges of his bandana. He would have to sleep soon, skip the night for all the Hermits, but he wanted one moment of relaxation. One moment of peace in his crazy stupid life. If you get a moment of peace, I get a lifetime of fun. “I really don’t think that’s fair.” Bdubs said, still staring at the setting sun. Booegy’s voice was in his head today, rather than hovering over his shoulder and chilling his shadow. These days were always worse than others, slimy, oily thoughts spilling into his mind, where he would really prefer them not to be. Fair is stupid. Life isn’t fair. Death isn’t fair. I won’t be fair when I kill your stupid friends. “I really gotta ask!” Bdubs ripped up the grass with one hand, letting the blades fall back down to the earth and in the breeze. “Do you think that the nastier you are, I’m more likely to let you have control?” Boogey scoffed, using Bdubs’ mouth for the action. You’re not worth lying to.

“Oh, don’t pretend you’re all high and mighty, being honest with me.” Bdubs huffed. “Just cause you’re honest doesn’t make you nice!”

Boogey fell silent again after a rude noise, letting Bdubs finally stand up and stretch out- his peaceful moment ruined by the shadow in his head. It had been nice while it lasted, but now all he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep the night away, and quietly save the hermits from himself. Himself? Boogeydubs? He still didn’t know where that line fell, where those two identities and people split, where he ended and the murderous, fear-inspiring ideals begin, but there’s a creek. A small step between him and the shadow that neither of them would cross for fear of getting their feet wet.

His bed was comfy, his blankets warm, his pillow soft. Bedtime was the time that treated Bdubs best, and he slumbered away, Xisuma’s code of the world spinning the skies along, stars leaving streaks in the sky and the sun rising, rising, rising.

For Bdubs, it felt like hours. For the other hermits, he knew it’s a matter of minutes.

And apparently in those short few minutes, he earned a visitor.

He sat up with a yawn and stretched, happily staring out the window at the sun already over the horizon.

“Good morning, you absolute beauty, you!” He cooed at the giant flaming ball of gas, and a cough from across the room sent him flying out of bed, tangled in his sheets.

“Well hello to you as well. No offense, dude, but do you often flirt with the sun?”

“Doc!” He squeaked- and there came the embarrassment and the crushing, never-ending loneliness, the shadow within him eating up the fear the cyborg provided him with. “Um- hi! Hello! What a surprise to see you!” Because that much is true. Doc had said less words to him since he fell into the world than Bdubs has fingers, right up until that very moment.

The interaction already felt awkward and stale.

Doc coughed again, clearing his throat before he looked over Bdubs, laughing a bit as he sticked his hand out (the metal one) to help the builder up from the floor.

Bdubs gladly took his hand, fingers wrapped around each other’s wrists as Doc lifted him from his wooden floor with ease, the blankets falling off his side and into a heap on the ground. He tried to let go, but Doc refused, pulling him into a sudden and firm hug that had that caring yet disinterested attitude to it that only Doc could give off. Bdubs was utterly terrified, and allowed himself to be held, awkwardly still holding Doc’s hand with his own twisted at a strange angle to accommodate the hug.

“Hi.” Doc muttered. “I- how are you, Bdubs?”

“Uh.” Bdubs said, because he was well spoken.

Luckily for him, Doc wasn’t a talker either, and simply just held him a bit tighter before he pat Bdubs on the back and let go.

Bdubs shivered under the gaze Doc gave him.

“Tour!” He blurted. “Tour. Too-er. That’s always fun. You want a tour, Doc? I can promise ya, it’ll be worth it.”

“Thank you, but not today.” Doc rumbled. “I came to ask… well, for a favor. One you will not like.”

A favor. A favor- just a favor, not time spent with an old friend. Oh, the sneaky doctor had probably been trying to butter him up with the awkward one-sided conversation and hug!

“A favor.” Bdubs repeated one more time out loud, eyes narrowed. “Riiight… remind me, Doc, what kinda project are you working on right now?”

Doc gave him a glance.

“I’m not planning on experimenting on you, if that is what you’re worried about.”

“Yeah. Well, a guy can get paranoid.” Bdubs crossed his arms, but sighed. “Fine. Tell me the favor and I’ll tell you yes or no.

“I need to experiment on Boogey.”

Wow, he really wanted to punch Doc, if he wasn’t sure he would break his fist.

“Get out of my house.” He ordered instead with a fierce scowl- he didn’t hear the curious whisper in his head, mm-mm, his thoughts were his thoughts and he would not be participating in any kind of experiment. “Doc- Doc, buddy- you cant just- that’s- you’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

Doc merely raised a brow.

“Do you want me out of your house or do you want to insult me?”

“I’m leaning pretty heavily on the both answer!”

The cyborg clicked his tongue impatiently, reaching forward to grab for Bdubs again- but they both flinched when his hand went through the builder’s arm like it wasn’t even there, the only sign of contact a black splotch that looked vaguely like Doc’s hand.

“Get out.” Bdubs said again, his voice barely a whisper. “Please, Doc. I don’t want to- he will take any chance, y’hear me? Any chance he gets.”

“Zisuma would stop anything before it happened.” Doc said, and Bdubs laughed.

“‘Zuma doesn’t even know he exists. Thanks to you. If I have to ask you to leave again, Doc, you’re gonna get a whole new experiment than the one you wanted.”

And yet-

And yet Doc and Bdubs both watched the black spread up his arm, giving it an oily sheen as the void traveled up and under his shirt, reappearing on his neck and chin, and Bdubs squeezed his eyes shut as the black went over his mouth, and erased it from existence.

The spread stopped there, and the void split to show off a maw of green teeth.

“Experiment, huh?” Boogey said, using the one arm he had control of to stroke his chin. “I like experiments. I seem to remember, Doc, you also liked experiments, back in the jungle. I think my favorite was where you gave me an entire cow.”

Doc sighed, reaching out to flick Bdubs’s forehead- his brown eyes snapped back open to glare at Doc with the fury of a thousand Scars, and Boogey’s mouth went thin, dropping his arm to knock Doc’s away.

“I’m having a nice conversation with you, Doc.” He hissed. “Leave the idiot behind- tell me more about this experiment!”

It was a strange feeling, not having a mouth. Boogey had pulled the trick before with all his senses, but not having a mouth was the physically weirdest. It wasn’t the fact that it was covered by black shadows of the void, it was the fact that his mouth simply did not exist anymore. If Doc had found out a way to pull back Boogey’s mouth from Bdubs’ skin, he would have found smooth, whole, tanned skin in place of his lips.

“Dude.” Doc murmured, and there was at least a tad of apology in his tone. “Blink twice if you want to be awake for this.”

Want? Oh, Doc, you stupid, beautiful bastard, Bdubs sure as hell didn’t want to be awake for whatever Doc was planning. It was needed. Necessary. Required. But never in a million and two years would he want to be awake when Boogey had control of his body.

If Etho had been alive, the scars on the side of his face could’ve shown why.

He blinked twice, and Doc nodded before he pulled a hefty flashlight out of his lab coat to point at Boogey.

“If you try and spread on him, I will flash you.”

Boogey purred.

“Oh, Doc, I didn’t know you felt that way-“

“You know what I meant.” The creeper said gruffly, and pushed Boogey towards the door. “Get walking. We’re going to Area 77.”

“My name is Doc, I’m a narcissist and name an entire military base after myself.” Boogey laughed, but slipped out the door and into the morning, only shuddering a little in the early morning light. Doc followed the both of them out soon enough, and closed the door, gesturing towards the hill where Keralis’ starter house stood.

“Move.”

“No talk? No explaining what experiment I’ll be participating in?”

“We have a lantern that gives off shadows instead of light, and if there’s a guy who knows how shadows work, it’s you. Now move.”

Boogey sighed but started up the path- no elytra, Bdubs or Doc wouldn’t trust the shadow with an elytra, and Bdubs knew the demon would be making him feel the exercise when he slipped out of his body again.

If he ever got it back.

The thought haunted him all the way through the experiment of the shadowed lantern, and all the way up to when Doc shined the flashlight right on him to melt away the shadows.

[fell-in-love-didnt-you]

Carry Me Away With You: SnowBaz Fanfic

Simon Snow doesn't expect much from life. His father has drilled into him from the beginning two things: work alone and never trust vampires. Simon breaks both rules in a matter of days. After he collapses at the doorstop of an unknown house, he's pulled into a world he has no idea how to escape from. The question is: does he want to?

...

AH! This is my Carry On Big Bang 2020 fic. I'm so excited to have finally posted it. It also comes with AMAZING artwork by the extremely talented @thehoneyedhufflepuff on tumblr (who's also a fantastic writer on Ao3 with the @ The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff - I'd definitely recommend the Fire-verse fics). Please, please, PLEASE show them some love both on here and tumblr. The artwork is magnificent and exactly as I envisioned Simon and Baz in this time period. (scene from fic) (title scene-isn't is beautiful?!)

Here’s the link to the tumblr post!

Thank you @carry-on-big-bang for giving me the opportunity to work with such an amazing artist and fellow fic writer and for putting on such a wonderful collaboration project. I have truly enjoyed every interaction I had with @thehoneyedhufflepuff and encourage everyone reading this to go give them a follow and read their amazing work on Ao3. 

As always, here’s the link to the Ao3 version in case you prefer to read that way: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150491/chapters/63625177

On to the fic! 

Lover.

 The word felt foreign on Simon’s tongue, like a heavy alcohol or a long-rusted coin that played on the tip of the tongue. There was nothing else, though. ‘Fling’ felt like a small blanket: it covered the important parts (the lovemaking, the flirtatious smiles, the sharing of a bed), but it also left out the parts that made Simon’s legs turn to jelly (the deep conversations, the sweet cheek kisses, the touches that lingered for hours afterwards).

 Partner, however, did not fit either. Partner implied official courting, and this…was not that. Official courting entailed walks in the park with a supervisor, love letters sent in perfumed envelopes, and an eventual proposal of marriage.

 It did not entail laying bed together with only centimeters of space between, breaths mingled in the shared space. It certainly did not entail what had occurred a mere half-hour before now. ‘Partners’ did not entail premarital relations, and those relations certainly did not occur between a supernatural creature of nightmares and a boy raised to kill such creatures.

 Simon placed his hand tentatively on the side of Baz’s face. His eyes were closed, but Simon knew better; sharing a bed for the past month had taught him when Baz was truly gone to the world. The pounding pulse point and flickering of eyes gave the vampire away. He was resting, but not out.

 “Darling,” Baz drawled, and it made Simon flush (not that he wasn’t already red from head-to-toe; Baz had that effect on him). Baz’s eyes cracked open, and he flashed a smile that forced Simon to see what made vampires so alluring to the regular eye. “Darling, do you have any idea what time it is?”

 A laugh bubbled out of Simon’s chest, and he looked past Baz’s head to stare at the grandfather clock that stood ominously in the corner of the room. It was one of Simon’s favorite objects: dark blue, a sun and moon facing opposite each other, stars sliding past as did the hours of the day. Baz had bought it for him a mere three months ago, placing it in their shared chambers so Simon knew the time.

 Baz was weird like in the sense that there were no clocks beside this in the manor. Time is cyclical, he had explained to Simon once. He hated it because it reminded him that of what he was: stuck moving forward in his mind while his body remained in the past. Simon progressed forward, though, and he had been adamant about having at least one way of telling time. He’d even withheld himself from Baz until the vampire had conceded, a glare on his face the entire time.

 Simon often stared at that clock as they made love.

 The clock read slightly past two in the morning, and Simon told Baz as such. Baz hummed in response and placed his hand on Simon’s neck, thumbing a mole that rested above his pulse point. Often, that mole would have a ring of purpled bruises around it after nights like this, and the very thought had Simon suppressing a smile. Baz, however, did not conceal his affection, and he placed a long, slow kiss to Simon’s lips.

 Simon had long ago (give or take three months) begun to categorize the kisses they shared. The most common were the ones shared in private that would have the public outraged: brushes of lips against cheeks and foreheads even though they were not married. What a scandal, Simon thought distantly. Those kisses occurred in passing when one of them would be running to the study or just about to leave the house for some reason or another. Simon adored these brushes of affection that had no real bite; it meant whatever this thing that was happening was more than sex.

 Simon ached for the bruising crush of lips that occurred when they fell into bed. He yearned for the swelling of lips and clashing of teeth and maybe the accidental cut of a fang-on-lip. Even the tiniest bit of venom would set his body aflame, and Simon likened it to the fever, only where Death had touched him before, Baz now did.

 The ones Simon treasured above all others were these kisses: no heat, no bite, but also not something entirely platonic. A feather-light kiss on the cheek could be taken romantically if it were between a man and a woman, but Simon knew that, if ever caught, Baz would claim brotherly affection for Simon, explain that that’s how his Parisian family acted, that physical affection was common between two friends. These kisses, on the other hand, would have them thrown in jail. Simon would be forced to flee over the crime of homosexuality, and Baz would pay his way out of a scandal.

 There was no denying that these kisses that occurred in this bed were of the utmost romantic quality and kind and would put many husbands and wives to shame.

 Baz drew back and smiled, his eyes still pleasantly closed. He sighed through his nose, and Simon allowed himself to steal a glance. This was so new, and he was afraid that one wrong look would shatter the beautiful bubble he’d surrounded himself in. Baz had probably done this with many people before. He was…older. That’s all Simon knew. There was no discernable year or century to pin him down in, but Simon realized months ago that Baz had seen the sun rise on this Earth possibly over one-hundred-thousand times.

 Baz had probably been in love before. The thought made Simon blue. Baz was his first everything; Simon was Baz’s first nothing.

 It is probably love, Simon thought as Baz slowly peeled his eyes opened. There was no explanation other than a spell of sorts (not like a witch’s spell, but like a spell of sickness) that Baz’s vampiric charm had placed Simon under. His father used to warn him that vampires were excellent charmers and that the only way to save oneself from their grasp was to remain alert at all times.

 Simon’s father would be rolling in his premature grave right about now.

 The sheets shifted between Simon’s legs as he pressed closer to the lukewarm body across from him. Baz never ran hot; his skin was usually cold to the touch. Nights like these, however, coerced the little blood in Baz’s body to rise to the surface, turn him a color like the living, and make him vampirically burn up (though vampirically burning up meant room temperature for humans).

 Baz pressed his lips into the mop of curls atop Simon’s head and breathed in deeply. His arms came to wrap around Simon’s back, and his hands splayed across Simon’s shoulder blades. He said something, though it was muffled by Simon’s hair.

 “Hm?” Simon asked, turning his face upward to look directly at Baz. He pushed the raven hair out of Baz’s eyes. “What did you say?”

 Baz subconsciously turned his cheek into Simon’s touch, and Simon bit at his lip to keep in a smile. “I said,” Baz murmured, turning back to Simon, “that we are spending Christmas in the Surrey House this year. I forgot to tell you this morning.”

 Simon giggled at that, and Baz lightly slapped his side. Of course Baz had forgotten to say that this morning; other…happenings had occurred. Simon had also giggled because calling it the Surrey House put the building to shame. In Dorking, the manor (as it should be called) sat on acres of sprawling land that included part of a natural river, a small section of local woods, and a large field. Baz’s family’s business was still a mystery to Simon, but he at least knew how Baz made his money. Wine was apparently very expensive in large quantities, and the cellar of the manor could hold the worth of an entire village.

 The manor itself was no laughing matter. Crafted with the finest cobblestone, it had stayed in Baz’s family for centuries, and even with what little Simon actually knew of Baz’s family, the amount of rooms in all the property Baz inherited gave away enough to know that many children had been born. Because Baz was the eldest (cue laughter) and had lived the longest (cue even more laughter), all the property had been passed to him.

 And now Simon reveled in it. The large London townhouse they occupied for the majority of the year was Simon’s favorite. The memories here were richer than any fine chocolate or wine that Baz could procure.

 “Why can’t we spend Christmas here?” Simon asked quietly, his fingers idly playing with the long strands of Baz’s hair. “We’ve never just stayed-“ Simon stopped himself prematurely. He wanted to say ‘home’ but couldn’t let that word slip from his mouth. He’d stayed with Baz in this house for almost three years, and he’d never left to live elsewhere, but the word ‘home’ insinuated something Simon would not admit to himself. He started again: “We’ve never had Christmas here.”

 Goosepimples raised on his arms as Baz’s hands drew nonsensical lines across his back. Baz lowered his head down, and his lips were pressed against Simon’s forehead as he explained, “We’ve never done a lot of things, darling.” The pet name caused Simon to blush and stutter, and he could feel Baz’s smile against forehead. “We always spent Christmases in our other properties when I was little.”

 Simon thought about that for a moment. He did not have very memorable Christmases growing up. His greatest gift as a child had been a stocking with three ripe oranges in it. Simon had known the money his father had sacrificed to buy such fruit. With Baz, however…he’d never had such wonderful gifts in his entire life, and they hadn’t even been given to him for celebrations.

 Simon recalled one morning where he’d complained of his weathering shoes, and not even four hours later, Baz had presented him with the nicest pair of leather boots he’d ever seen. Sure, they were not to be worn in public (Simon had received an entire outfit from Baz’s…sister? ...for going out in), but they were gorgeous and, no doubt, expensive.

 Then there was the jewelry - the gorgeous amethyst ring that sat on the bedside table had been a birthday present last year. In truth, Simon had not expected anything from Baz in any capacity when they’d decided he could stay in the house for an indefinite amount of time. He’d not expected that, in the middle of the hottest summer in a long time, Baz would nonchalantly pass him the most expensive thing Simon had ever set eyes on and insist he keep it. He’d not expected Baz to tell him it was an heirloom dating back at least one-hundred years, and he’d not expected to later cradle it to his chest and cry.

 As if to add to their conversation about Christmas, Simon looked over towards the window and saw snow falling outside. The snow had been coming down steadily over the last few months, but it had only begun to stick recently. He smiled to himself as he watched the windowsill become more and more covered. Snow had brought him here in the first place; it was only natural he be thankful for it now.

  …

  He was almost dead; that Simon Snow was sure of.

 He could not feel his toes, and the crystalline breath puffing out from his mouth was becoming smaller by the minute. He was dizzy, hungry, and more tired than he’d even been in his short life. A cut on his forehead trickled blood into the snow beneath his feet, and he barely had time to register why or where he was bleeding before he fell onto the pavement beneath him.

 Thank Christ he was in an alleyway. Had he been in the street, feet would have stepped over and onto him, and he might crack a rib. Although, Simon thought to himself, this was a fate worse than death. Perhaps he should let the Lord have Their way with him. If this was to be his death, then why not welcome it?

 Simon could not go home. His father would never accept a defeat like this. Simon could practically hear the frustration that would be present if he tried to make his way back to their little house on the outskirts of town. How was it that Simon had been out hunting vampires for three months and not caught a single one? How was it that Simon had left a strong, capable, young man with fervor in his eyes and returned a skeleton of his former self?

 The truth was simple: Simon was very nearly dead. He knew he’d caught the scarlet fever, and Simon also knew it would kill him like it had killed thousands of other.

 Simon dragged himself to his feet and rounded out of the alleyway, turning onto a dimly lit street lined with houses. This is not such a bad place to die, he thought to himself. Maybe no one would pilfer his body for the money that did not exist or the jewelry that was absent. Perhaps he’d retain some dignity in his death.

 Simon stumbled barely two meters in front of himself before he fell down against the door of a nice house. He could feel the warmth through the door. It was almost sad to die on such a lovely doorstep. Telling by the clickity-clack of footsteps from behind the door, he’d probably disturbed the lady of the house. Somehow, Simon could not find it in himself to care as he slid into what must be death.

 But it was not death. Indeed, Simon had lapsed into a comatose state, but he awoke to the sounds of a plate clattering onto a table. The room was warm, and when Simon tried to move his hands, he found himself between a lovely down comforter and an even lovelier mattress. A fire burned brightly in the corner of the room, and he watched as a silhouette of a man moved in front of the flame.

 “Am I dead?” Simon asked, his voice hardly above a whisper.

 The man laughed, and he sat down beside the bed. His face came into view, and Simon saw the most beautiful person God had ever created. Then the beautiful man brought a cool washcloth down on Simon’s forehead, and Simon then realized how much he was burning up.

 “Lord above, no,” the man answered. His touch was gentle across Simon’s aching head, and he placed the towel down a moment later to instead bring a glass of water to Simon’s lips. Simon arched into it, and a pained noise escaped his lips as the water slid down his throat. When was the last time he’d had water? Did brown snow count?

 After the glass was drained, Simon began to take in his surroundings. The room looked to be one of a rich man: the walls were lined in beautiful wallpaper, plush rugs were laid down across the wood floor, and the size of the room was larger than the house Simon had grown up in. The man wore a waistcoat with a gold pocket watch, and his hair was swept back neatly from his face, though a piece was falling into his eyes. Could Simon even call him a man? Upon further inspection, he could not be older than his mid-twenties, and even that was a stretch. There were no wrinkles or stress lines, and his eyes held a kind light.

 “Are we,” Simon started, his voice cracking on the second word. A second glass of cold water was placed to his lips, and Simon began again. “Are we sure I am not dead?”

 The man smiled. “Who are you?” he asked, brushing back matted curls from Simon’s head. Simon internally hoped he did not look too worse for wear. “How did you come to be on the streets?” the man continued.

 Simon did not know how to answer that. His name would be a good place to start, though he wouldn’t give his full name. “I am Simon.”

  …

  The packing for the Surrey manor proved to be more difficult for Simon than he’d originally anticipated. They’d be gone for the second half of December and a little into January, and the capacity of Simon’s suitcase was being tested to the highest degree because of his coats (courtesy of Baz’s…sister?). Baz had not said to pack lightly, but Simon didn’t like the idea of bogging down the carriage with an extra suitcase. Plus, Baz had already sent ahead a few trunks of clothes and other things to the manor earlier in the week.

 Speaking of the devil, Simon nearly leapt out of his skin as cool arms surrounded his middle. Of course, there was no need to be frightened. Simon had long since been used to both the temperature of Baz’s skin and Baz’s ability to be deathly silent.

 Baz’s chapped lips brushed against the nape of Simon’s neck, and he pressed a chaste kiss there. “Packing?” he asked, as though he did not see the myriad of clothing strewn about the room. The wardrobe was open haphazardly, revealing Simon’s messy side. He never put away his clothes with care like Baz did. They were clothes. Why did they deserve such high care?

 Simon placed his arms over Baz’s and leaned into the embrace, closing his eyes and resting his head atop Baz’s shoulder. The fact that Baz was a behemoth had once bothered Simon, but now it made lounging together easier. Simon could always fit his head neatly onto Baz’s shoulder, and Baz’s hands fit perfectly in the dip of Simon’s lower back.

 “Unsuccessfully,” Simon replied, sighing through his nose. “If we were not going for so long, I would not require so much clothing.” Baz chuckled behind him, and Simon smiled to the ceiling. He ran his hands idly over Baz’s exposed forearms. Today, Baz had stayed inside the house and, therefore, had not changed into any outerwear or even bothered to keep his long sleeves down to his wrists. Truly, it was a state of undress Simon had never expected of the wine merchant to be capable of. Simon had expected the ‘young’ business tycoon to always be dressed in a matching frock and waistcoat and buttoned up to the nines, but formalities had long since disappeared between them.

 “Is there also business to attend to in Surrey?” Simon wondered aloud, pulling himself away from Baz and turning in his embrace. When they were this close, Simon had to tip his head up to look Baz in the eye. Baz nodded, and Simon sighed. Work plagued the both of them.

 “Not on Christmas,” Baz reassured, bringing up a hand to tip Simon’s chin up. “Not in the whole week before or after Christmas. I cleared all of it for us.”

 Us. The word made Simon swallow thickly. He nodded, walking away from the warmth of Baz’s hold (that he got from Simon’s body heat) and rummaging through the wardrobe. Simon heard Baz sigh, and after a few moments of silence, he assumed Baz had left. However, a whisper only a hair’s width away surprised him.

 “Pack what I brought you from France,” Baz whispered, pressing another chaste kiss to that mole on Simon’s neck. Then he was gone.

 A furious blush ravaged Simon’s cheeks, and he needed a few moments to steady himself. France. Baz’s purchase in France. That trip alone turned Simon’s internal temperature up a few notches. It seemed like ages ago, but it had really only been two months since France. The French had strange ideas of erotica, and Baz had seemed to be in line with all of them. Pack what I bought you from France. Christ, Simon hadn’t looked at it since France for a reason. It embarrassed him, and the fact that he liked that embarrassment made him even redder.

 Simon opened a small (locked) drawer on his side of the wardrobe meant for expensive jewelry and priceless cufflinks and pins, and he pulled out what Baz had bought him in France.

  …

  The paperwork piled nearly a meter high from the floor. Baz entrusted the various receipts, warehouse reports, and paperwork tracking of the wine to Simon. Officially, Simon was brought into Baz’s household to deal with the paperwork that accumulated at the end of each month. Unofficially, Simon had been brought into the house to die.

 Simon admitted to himself that this was a much better outcome. When he’d fallen against the door five months ago, who could have known he’d end up with a well-paying job? So well-paying, in fact, that Simon was able to send lumpsums of money back to his father under the pretense that it was payment for hired slayings. His father was none the wiser as to the actual situation of Simon’s employment.

 As Simon crossed some ‘t’s and dotted some ‘i’s, his thoughts ran to Baz. They had been doing that more often as of late, and while Simon had once been able to pin it down on acquainting himself with his employer (friend), he could no longer fall under that umbrella. The thoughts (once just about the upkeep of Baz’s hair and the price of his clothing) now turned to running his hands through that hair and peeling away that expensive clothing until it lay on the floor beneath them.

 Simon cleared his throat and refocused on the task ahead. He’d lost track of a sentence concerning a shipment of sherry to a port in Boston. As Simon read about a spilled barrel, a hand on his shoulder jolted him from his thoughts.

 Baz’s chuckle reassured Simon, and he looked up from the candlelit paperwork ahead of him. The stack on the floor had to be completed and filed within the week. An entire day of Simon sitting at the desk had already elapsed, and he could guess why Baz had entered this small study that had been given to him.

 “Have I missed supper?” Simon asked, looking back at the death certificate of the sherry. Baz’s hand lingered a moment longer before falling away, and Simon missed the cool touch through his thin shirt.

 Baz came to lean over him and stare at the document in front of Simon. “No,” he replied, his breath ghosting over the shell of Simon’s ear. Simon’s eyes flicked to the side, and he was met with a Baz deep in thought. “I’ll have to speak to my Boston warehouse manager. Sherry is too expensive to be wasted.” Baz turned to look at Simon, and the close proximity of their lips had Simon’s face heating up. Hopefully the candlelight covered the flush of Simon’s neck and face.

 Simon turned away and pulled a separate document out, and responded, “You were compensated with the price of a barrel and a half for the ruined barrel.” He pointed to the line in question where the price was brought up, and Baz hummed noncommittedly in his ear.

 Very suddenly Baz was standing behind Simon, and Simon floundered to turn in his chair and face him. Baz was still deep in thought, though Simon couldn’t imagine why. Sherry was not Baz’s largest exports if the receipts were to be believed, and even if it was, why would it give him such a headache? A single barrel in six months was nothing compared to what some other merchants lost in a single day.

 “Something on your mind?” Simon asked. Baz’s eyes slowly ghosted over to Simon, and Simon had the distinct feeling of being seen but in a distant sort. Like Baz had recognized a version of Simon that existed before and was instead remembering that Simon.

 After a moment of silence, Baz regained composure and smiled. His canines flickered in the light, and Simon fought the urge to cover his neck. Of course, there was no reason for alarm. Growing up with his father, however, left some stones Simon was willing to leave unturned, at least where it concerned Baz.

 Who was not a creature of evil.

 “We should eat,” Baz suggested, looking towards the door of the study. “It should be about time.” As if on cue, the bell signaling supper rang, and Baz smiled again. “Join me?” he asked, as though Simon could deny.

 Simon had picked up on the habits of his employer (friend) in the first few weeks of living together, but they seemed to become stranger as time went on. Baz hardly ate, and when he did, it was only a few bites. Most of his diet (in front of Simon, at least) consisted of wines and cheeses. No substantial food ever made its way into Baz in front of Simon. That was not to say that Baz could not eat sometimes later when Simon was not around, but it made no sense to Simon that Baz would invite him to eat in the dining room only to actually eat later.

 Unless…

 Simon shook the thought from his head, and it was soon replaced with images of a rather biblical sense.

  …

  The Surrey manor was alive and bustling when they arrived. The snow had nearly postponed the trip, but it had let up in time for the carriage to safely carry Baz and Simon to the manor. The Surrey manor had more servants than their normal lodgings did, and when Simon had first asked why years ago, Baz had not answered.

 Simon partially knew why now. The part he knew was that Baz kept his more expensive wines in the cellars beneath the manor. That answer used to satisfy Simon, but now it caused him to wonder more and more. They had promised honesty once after Baz’s nature had been revealed. The promise had been broken only once, and it had been by Simon, so he didn’t have a right to question Baz’s extra patrolling of this particular property.

 The trunks were carried to the room by two men Simon had met briefly last year at the manor, and then Baz was swept away into work. Tonight, a key investor was scheduled to dine with Baz, and while Baz hadn’t directly said it, Simon was to remain scarce throughout the night. At least he’d brought a few packets of paperwork that needed doing.

 The room he’d previously occupied here was locked, and a servant instead directed Simon to a room he knew Baz had occupied the last time they were here. The bed, while not as comfortable as the one back in London, welcomed Simon comfortably, and he laid down to rest for a few moments. As it often happened when Simon was left alone with his thoughts, they turned to Baz. The investor coming over tonight both invested in and bought the most wine from Baz. That was the only reason Simon had to be scarce tonight. Usually, Baz showboated him until Simon’s feet grew tired, but with the higherups, a previous street boy who did the paperwork usually set them on edge. How could they trust their money with a boy of no more than twenty-one who only knew basic economics and had not studied traditionally a day in his life?

 A soft knock at the door had Simon sitting up, and a servant walked in carrying a tray of supper. Simon then noticed the lighting had changed significantly and realized he had fallen asleep while thinking about wine investors. He thanked the servant and ate in silence, staring around the room. An ornate, golden clock stood in the corner, and Simon laughed quietly. A floor length mirror occupied another corner, and a dark wood wardrobe already filled with their clothing sat against the wall. Overall, it was a plain room in comparison to their normal lodgings, but Simon felt the hints of Baz in the room. The comforter was a deep, wine red, and the bedframe was made of cherry wood. Ornate carvings decorated the tops of the posters of the bed.

 The Surrey manor deserved to be a real home, Simon thought. He and Baz used it for maybe a month out of an entire year, and it sat empty for the rest of the time. About every two weeks, Baz would send a few servants to tidy the place, but other than that, these two weeks were the longest anyone lived here. Simon had to wonder if this had once been Baz’s childhood home. It was simply too large and too grand for it to be a getaway or a vacation home. The location was optimal, the plot of land was supreme, and the aura exuded warmth. This had to have been something to Baz. Otherwise, he’d have sold the property long before Simon came into the picture.

 A servant came to collect his plates, and Simon was once again left in silence. The bustle of London - people shouting, carts rolling by, factories churning - usually lulled Simon and comforted his always anxious mind. Now, there was only the occasional laugh from downstairs and the chirping of a bird here and there. The silence chilled him to the bone.

 Simon set to work on the stack of papers before him, deciding that the scratching of pen on paper would soothe his weary soul. The monotonous chore that was paperwork left Simon feeling purposeful. If Baz trusted him enough with finances, then he would do a damn good job at it. Of course, this was a far cry from what his father would have wanted.

 Simon’s mind often turned to his father these days. If Simon remembered the date correctly, his father’s birthday had just passed. They’d never celebrated when Simon lived with him; there was too much training and prepping to be done. At the end of the night, maybe his father would allow Simon to have a sip of port, but that had happened perhaps three times over the years. Celebrations just were not important when there were vampires to hunt and kill. His father had instilled the idea that vampires were virgin defilers into Simon’s mind, and while true for the situation between Baz and himself, Simon had come to realize that most vampires simply wanted to be left alone.

 His vampire just so happened to want the opposite of that. A hand at the back of his neck caused Simon to nearly spill his inkpot, and perhaps doing paperwork on the bed was stupid. Baz laughed as Simon carefully closed the inkpot, placed the wet paperwork on the bedside table, did away with the pen, and finally looked up.

 Baz’s tense face seemed alight when he looked down at Simon, and Simon smiled as he rose up on his knees. The mattress only added to their already obvious height difference. Simon came to rest at Baz’s shoulders, his knees sinking into the duvet. He did not mind, however, as it was the perfect height for him to place his hands atop Baz’s shoulders and rub. The muscles there seemed knotted with stress, and Simon sighed.

 “Are you ever not wound up like a clock?” Simon asked, dragging Baz onto the mattress. As tonight’s outfit included a three-piece suit, the act of stripping Baz took longer than Simon would have liked. Finally, pale skin exposed itself, and Simon kept his shudder at the sight of Baz’s back to himself. They had spoken of it once before: the scars had been from a brutal whipping exactly once in his childhood, but his vampire skin had not healed properly because of what he was whipped with. Now, scars littered the expanse of his broad shoulders, and Simon pressed chaste kisses to each. It was routine now.

 “You know how I hate clocks,” Baz replied. Simon laughed and pressed one last kiss to Baz’s back, lingering for only a few extra seconds. Luckily, someone had placed oil in the bedside table, and Simon slowly warmed it between his hands as he sat on Baz’s thighs. At the first press of Simon’s hands into Baz’s lower back, Baz let out a groan loud enough to shake the house.

 “How was supper?” Simon asked, working a knot in the lower of Baz’s back until it loosened. This was his absolute favorite (non-sexual) thing to do to Baz. It was another way of being useful, and Simon prided himself on the fact that only he could provide this relief to Baz.

 “Long,” Baz replied, groaning again at the pressure of Simon’s palms. “He wanted to withdraw his investment because of that fucking barrel of sherry.” Simon dug the heel of his palm into the middle of Baz’s back, and the crack that sounded through the room caused Baz to let out an orgasmic sound. “Fuck, I love it when you do that.”

 Simon’s face flushed, and he coughed as he continued rubbing circles into Baz’s back. The silence did not stretch on uncomfortably, but there was something in the air neither of them were able to address. “So, he wanted to leave because one of my fucking stupid warehouse managers dropped a barrel. I told him about the price for breaking a contract, and he still seemed to want to leave. Thank God for whiskey, because I think that’s what got him to stay.”

 As Simon lazily rubbed the excess oil into Baz’s skin, he found himself listening to Baz’s sherry problems and not even being bothered by how boring they were. He logically knew that if someone else was telling him about the trials and tribulations of shipping sherry, he’d fall asleep, and the realization made his stomach lurch. He knew what this was, and Baz knew, too. When would one of them say it, though?

  …

  They had fought before. Once, Simon had forgotten to do a few pieces of paperwork that nearly cost Baz a key investor, and they had dished it out for a good half-hour before both going out for some time to decompress. Simon apologized, and Baz did, too. Simon had been tired during that round of paperwork; Baz had been stressed all day before finding out about Simon’s mistake.

 But this was different. This wasn’t about paperwork or investors or wine. This was about Simon and Baz. This was about feelings, and Simon sucked at feelings. He’d inherited it from his father. Being raised to be a vampire slayer could do that.

 This was also, coincidentally, about vampires.

 “You lied to me!” Simon shouted, hastily packing his belongings into a trunk. Granted, there were not many things to be gathered. It was more for show than anything else. “I’ve lived with you for nearly two years, and you’ve lied to me the entire time!”

 Baz stood in front of the fireplace, jaw clenched and hands balled into fists. He was strangely composed for such an explosive conversation. Simon wanted to throw something at him, punch him, make him respond, make him yell. It wasn’t fair that he was the only person angry. This wasn’t going to be a one-sided argument.

 “Do you have anything to say to me?” Simon demanded, finally stopping his movements and just…standing there. His shoulders slumped. There were tears in his eyes.

 Baz turned slowly on his heels. Finally, Simon saw his face. It gave away nothing; Baz was always stoic during moments of high tensions. When Simon had nearly died those first few weeks, Baz’s face had remained a blank sheet. When his…sister? ...had died in childbirth and the letter had been delivered, Baz had said nothing and simply locked himself away. Now, though, there was no room to separate the two of them. There was no veil of death that cleaved them apart. There was only three meters of wooden floor and carpet.

 Baz closed his eyes, and Simon watched as a few tears slipped down his cheeks. “You lied to me, too, Simon,” Baz finally murmured. The orange light of the fire made him look like a statue on fire. His eyes seemed to be ablaze, though that could be literal given the circumstances of his humanity. “I’ve lived with someone raised to be my murderer for nearly two years. How do you think I feel?”

 Honestly, Simon had not thought of it that way. However, the part of his brain that his father had trained screamed at Simon that Baz killed innocents to live and that he was probably more than a few lifetimes older than Simon. It unfortunately cast everything into a clearer light: why Baz did not eat in front of Simon, why he left for days at a time on ‘trips’, why he had so much property and no living family.

 “Have you killed people, Baz?” Simon asked. He desperately wanted to leave the house and never turn back. He should have listened to his gut. It had screamed at him for over a year that Baz was not human. Simon should have taken his father’s lessons to heart. He could be dead now. It was only a miracle that Baz had spared him.

 “How dare you!” Baz snarled stomping away from the fireplace. Finally, Simon thought. Finally, this anger could be mutual. He stopped just a foot short of Simon, hand pointing directly at Simon’s face. “You don’t know shit, Simon Snow! How dare you say that! How dare you!” Up close, Simon saw more tears gather in Baz’s eyes. “Are you asking yourself why I haven’t killed you yet?”

 “Fuck you!” Simon retorted, pushing Baz’s hand out of his face. “You’re a fucking liar, Baz Pitch!” Simon didn’t know why he was crying so suddenly. Well, he did know why. He’d just thought that Baz would be honest with him concerning everything, and this felt like a betrayal of the deepest kind. “You…you lied to me!”

 Simon covered his face with his hands, feeling the dampness soak the sleeves of his shirt. Damnit, he thought. Why couldn’t he keep it together for ten minutes?

 His hands were pulled away from his face, and before Simon could curse Baz for it, cold lips were pressed against his own. He vaguely understood that this was a kiss. Simon had never kissed anyone before. Training to kill vampires ruined any chance of his social life. Baz’s hands, still holding his wrists, slowly travelled down to Simon’s waist, holding him steady as he pulled back.

 Simon was still crying, though no choked noises were escaping his lips anymore. “I don’t understand,” he whispered, because he really didn’t. Simon was not a product of fine breeding. He did not have status or wealth. He was human. He was male. But Baz’s lips on his own had felt realer than anything else in his life prior had ever felt. Simon rested his hands on Baz’s biceps, feeling the warmth leave his fingertips. “I don’t understand,” he repeated, looking up at Baz through clumped lashes and tears.

 In response, Baz smiled down at him softly. There was no malice, and while Simon did see canines, he was not afraid. “Do you really believe I would have kept you here if I did not care for you?” Baz asked, running a soothing hand through Simon’s hair. “Even just a little bit?”

 Simon burrowed into the space where Baz’s shoulder met his neck and hiccupped, feeling fresh tears spill down his cheek. Baz’s hand stalled in Simon’s hair, and he hastily began to apologize, which made Simon cry heavier.

 Hours later, with the candles extinguished and the anger from the day gone, Simon realized Baz had never truly answered any of his questions.

[brooklyn-times]

Rising Sun

BUCKY X READER

Summary: An early morning rendezvous.

Warnings: fluff.

A/N:  It has all my favorite things and I just can’t help it. also, buck’s birthday. happy reading!

Masterlist

Consistent banging on the door wakes Bucky up at an ungodly hour.

And he is 99.768% sure he knows who it is.

The alarm clock next to him reads 4:23 and he is nothing short of horrified. And the fact that he knows you hate waking up in the morning anytime before nine leaves him alert.

Was something wrong with you?

Did you have one more of your nightmare?

Were you under att-

"Open the fucking door, Bucko," a voice shouts from the other side. "My arms are hurting."

In record time, he is off the bed and opens the door, frantically looking at you, searching for wounds or anything which would cause you pain.

He freezes when he looks at four large pizza boxes, two balanced on each hand.

"What?" He asks, stupified. He is stuck somewhere between shock, horror, and surprise.

"Come on, hurry up. Or we'll miss the sunrise," you say, pushing past him into his room. Uninvited.

You know you don't need an invite.

"Sunrise?" Bucky feels stupid, repeating what you say, but he is still suffering from the repercussions of the false alarm.

"Uh-huh," you nod and sit on his bed cross-legged, pizza on either side. "There is this cliff in the countryside. They say it's got one of the best sunrises view near New York."

"Didn't think I deserved a warning before dropping by, huh?" Bucky asks, glaring at you.

"I found out yesterday night at one. Couldn’t really warn ya." You are fidgeting, legs shaking and looking around his room like you haven't spent three-fourth of your nights here.

"Why were you awake at one? And how did you wake up so soon again?" Bucky asks, incredulous. He thinks his mind is going haywire.

"Buckyyy. Stop with the questions. Get ready. The sunrise is at 5:45. Its a forty minutes drive from here and it's already 4:28!"

"Calm the hell down," Bucky rolls his eyes and sighs. "Gimme five minutes."

"I'm counting!" You warn as Bucky rushed to the washroom.

Excretory jobs, a brush of teeth and a face wash later, Bucky and you head out the room, both of you with two pizza boxes each. You both creep down the hallways quietly, not wanting others to wake up.

You both reach the garage when Bucky stops you. "Wait. We both don't have a car. How are we even getting there?"

The wicked smile you give him sends a shiver down his spine. You turn around and point at your pant pockets with your head.

"Take the keys out."

Bucky balances the pizza boxes and grabs the key from your pocket.

When his fingers brush against the exposed skin between your shirt and pant, he thinks he might have as well died.

He gulps.

"Whoa, Tony's range rover? Are you sure we are even allowed to use it?" He knows for a fact that Tony is very possessive about his cars. He had once sent half the iron legion behind Sam for driving his Audi. 

"The last him I asked somebody for permission for anything was when I was eleven. And anyway, my pout and puppy eyes is something Tony cannot absolutely resist. No matter how angry he is."

Nobody can resist it, Bucky thinks. Of all people, I sure as hell know what it’s like to be on the receiving side. It’s sorcery.  

Praying that he receives protection by company, Bucky gets into the driver’s seat, waiting for you to strap in the seat belt. 

He starts the engine.

With the pizza in the backseat and empty streets to navigate through in the New York City, Bucky feels the serenity he only usually feels with you. The wind blows through your hair from the open window and you huff in annoyance, trying to get them out of your eyes and mouth.

You never fail to look adorable.

Both of you enjoy the silence, happy enough to simply remain in the presence of each other without the need for useless words to fill the air. That is one of the best things Bucky likes about you. Although you talk more than an average human, you also remain quiet when necessary.

You both reach the cliffside in thirty-five minutes.

“I knew it! There are still thirty-five minutes left!” Bucky groans, leaning back into his seat. What he won't admit is that he'd rather spend those thirty-five minutes with you than sleep.

“Shut up, old man,” you grit out. “It's at least better than being thirty-five minutes late.

Bucky hums. “Admit the fact that I'm right.”

“Over my goddamn dead body.”

Bucky grins and shoves your legs off his lap and gets out of the car. 

Still considerably dark, he sits on the car hood, not feeling too good about sitting on the ground with insects as the company. He knew for a fact that the only thing you have packed is food and there is no mat or blanket. You thought only about food about 75% of the time and the remaining time you just preferred to live a chaotic life.

Seconds later, you join him on the car hood. Lying back, you stare at the barely visible stars. It was at least must better a view compared to the city.

“You can sleep if you want, I’ll wake you up in time for the sunrise,” you offer, trying to be helpful.

Bucky snorts. “You and I both know that you'll end up sleeping.”

You kick him but don’t argue.

Bucky lies down next to you, his too-long legs almost reaching the ground. The sounds of owls hooting and birds chirping is everywhere and yet, none of them are seen. The cliff overlooks almost the entire city, few towers dwarfing the others. For some reason, the entire view makes you feel very poetic. 

“I wanted to be a writer,” you say all of a sudden.

Bucky turns to look at you with his eyebrows so high up that you are almost offended.

“Hmm. I was around eleven when I was taken? By then I had written two power rangers stories, around ten thousand words each, in which there are only girl rangers. And one pet droid. My English teacher had loved it,” you laugh, your eyes brighter than the sun, remembering the times you always refer to as before. And the tiny bit of longing lacing the laugh breaks Bucky’s heart.

“Now? What do you want now?”

I’ll make sure you’ll get anything you want, he promises to himself and you. Anything.

“Live to be at least forty,” you grin and close your eyes when a heavy wind blows right into your face.

For a second Bucky feels terrified at the thought of you dying. Fists clench and he breathes heavily, trying to get rid of that thought and image that his nightmares are made of.

You were there, right next to him. Perfectly safe and happy.

“You'll live. At least for another sixty years. Promise.”

When you don’t reply, he turns and smiles to himself, realizing that you were already asleep.

What an idiot.

Twenty minutes later, you wake up to somebody shaking you.

You groan and turn away, only to have an unplanned trip down to the ground, courtesy gravity.

You hear Bucky laugh from behind and you roll over to your back.

And hold back a gasp.

The sky has a pinkish tinge now as opposed to the dark blue when you had fallen asleep, and miles away, the pink has faded into shades of red and orange. 

And Bucky, Bucky looks like something out of paradise.

Orange rays fall directly on his face and his baby blue eyes seem to sparkle as he laughs, silky chocolate brown strands escaping from behind his ears with no hair tie to keep them together in place.

You can stare at him for eons.

“What ya staring at?”

When you try to reply, there is a knot stuck in your throat and coherent sentences refuse to come to your mind.

“Umm.”

“You didn’t hit your head too hard did you?” His expression turns into that of worry and he immediately rushes to your side.

This man probably has the most expressive eyes.

‘Yeah no, I'm fine. Sleep daze and headbang is not a good combination,” you manage to say, blinking quickly.

He still pulls you up and checks the back of your head for knots just in case.

Be still, beating heart.

“Five more minutes,” Bucky says, finally satisfied that you aren’t dying, as he runs his hand through your hair, removing the dry grass and twigs stuck to it.

“Tet's get the pizza out then.” You stretch your sleeping muscles, feeling the slight ache in your neck. 

Note to self: Do not fall asleep on car hoods. They are a hazard.

Together, you and Bucky climb up to the roof of the car- you refused to sit on that hood again-  with pizzas and make yourselves comfortable. 

You snap at Bucky every time his hands shift towards the pizza, wanting to start eating already. He whines each time and you refuse to listen to him, trying to ignore the feeling of kicking a hungry puppy every time he whines.

He is such a goddamn baby.

Suddenly you gasp and interrupt his whining by pointing at the sky. “Bucky look!”

Bucky turns and the prettiest smile takes over his entire face.

From between the high rise buildings of New York, the Sun peeks out and orange light escapes, coloring the entire city and the sky in orange. The buildings which usually look so tall and magnificent merely appeared like lego toys splayed across the surface of the earth. As the seconds pass, the Sun further comes into view, until a minute or two later, you have the complete, uninterrupted view.

It is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. 

You sigh softly, trying not the make any noise which would disturb the moment. You look at Bucky and are overjoyed when he appears to be as pleased and awestruck as you.

Finally, you open the pizza box quietly while Bucky’s attention is captured by the sunrise. You place the candles which were hidden away at the corner on top of the pizza and light it.

“Bucky?”

He turns and you nod your head towards the pizza with candles alight on top of it.

Grinning, you take in the startled expression.

Guess it is a day of surprises for James Buchanan Barnes.

Leaning forward over the pizza, you smile as his eyes widen. Your lips brush against his stubble covered cheeks and a wave of shock alights every single nerve in your body and you close your eyes in happiness and wonder, and you whisper,

“Happy Birthday Bucky.”

tags: @all1e23​