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juletheghoul · 3 years

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Oblivius Chapter 4

Am I insane for posting another chapter? Yes. Am I doing it anyway? Yes. Should you message me about how you feel about Spills & Francis? YES!

(Got a song you want added to the playlist? send it to me!)

I've gotten so much love over this series and I cannot tell you how happy it makes me that you guys love these two idiots as much as I do. <3

(Feo means ugly in Spanish but it can be used as a term of endearment between [male] friends)

Likes & reblogs are appreciated

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Pairing: Frankie x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: Angst, yearning, 18+ language, alcohol (Spills gets wasted)(Please let me know if I forget anything)

Masterlist Series Masterlist Part 3 Part 5 Playlist

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Age: 17

“No Francis I don’t wanna watch this - I’m gonna get scared.” It was late, you were both sitting in his cozy living-room, a big shit-eating grin on his face.

“Why, are you chicken? It’s just The Shining, it's not even scary.” He put it on and despite your protests, he settled and let the movie play, You gave him a pout.

“Okay if you really don’t want to I’ll change it you big baby.” He rolled his eyes to grab the remote but you stopped him.

“Promise you’ll walk me home?” You knew it was one of his favourites. He smiled wide.

“Of course! If it’s too much I'll change it.” He gave you most of the blanket that was draped over his legs and you sat very close to him. He was taller than you remembered him being, having gone through a growth spurt over the summer and he towered over you now. All knees and elbows.

When the room scene came on you burrowed your face into his neck and he wrapped an arm around you, you were so pretty. Your hair smelled so good and he buried his nose into the messy bun you wore. You practically clawed at him, trying to get closer - he made you feel safe.

“Is it still scary?” You spoke into his neck.

“Yes - don’t look yet, just a little longer.”

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**Present Day**

Pope was holding up a shot-glass full of something and there were shots lined up for the three of you when you walked in.

“Catfish, I never thought it would happen for you feo, but I’m glad it did. Claudia, he’s lucky to have you.” He raised his shot glass and a chorus of ‘To Frankie and Claudia’ rang out before everyone tipped the liquor back.

The burn in the back of your throat couldn’t just be from the tequila, you’d swallowed a lump. You’d forced back the tears stinging your eyes when he dipped her back to kiss her. With her laughing and grabbing his neck they were the picture of romance and the smile you had plastered to your face must have looked manic. Popes eyes caught yours then and his eyebrows raised, a question in his features that you couldn’t quite read but he looked away and left you with your thoughts.

You got very drunk. Fall-down drunk. Forget about everything drunk.

“Spills, I think you should stop - you’re going to feel like hell tomorrow.” He was softly taking the shot out of your hand and you tried to fight him but his grip was iron.

“St-op t-telling me wh-what to do Francisco.” You tried to take it back but it seemed like the floor was coming up to say hi. An iron grip around your middle stopped you from losing a couple of teeth.

“Jesus Spills, okay - that’s enough. I’m cutting you off.” He held onto you and you wanted nothing more than to turn around and kiss him but you also wanted to throw up. Decisions decisions.

“I-think-imgonnabesick…” you brought your hand up to your mouth and part of you expected him to let go but he didn’t.

“Take a deep breath, it’s okay, Pope can you get me some water?” He was holding onto you, rubbing soothing circles onto your back and you tried to focus on his hands on you as the whole room spun dangerously. A few minutes later he was holding a cold glass of water to your lips. “Drink the whole thing, I'm going to hold it because if you spill it I'll kill you.” You chugged it down and he put it on the table.

“When did you get so strong, Francis?” Your words were slurred and you felt his chest rumbling with laughter at your question. “You smell so good.” You said it lower- more to yourself, but he heard and the laughing stopped.

“Oh no! Are you okay Spills?” Claudia was there now, her hands pulling your hair away from your face and before you could succumb to the urge to tell her never to call you that Frankie spoke up.

“She’s okay, just need to get her home. You’re okay right, Spills?” His voice was lower, so soothing you could fall asleep to it.

“Hey Frankie, you and Claudia should stay, tell me where she lives and I’ll get her home.” It was Pope, Frankie must have trusted him immensely because before you knew it he was putting you into the front seat of Pope's rental and buckling you in. Claudia was tying your hair back and putting your purse into your lap.

“Be careful please - this is her address, just make sure she gets in and lays face down. There should be a bucket somewhere in her bathroom - water and some aspirin on her night table.” Frankie was talking as you closed your eyes. When you opened them you were parked in front of your place.

“Hey honey, come on let's get you inside. I’m just going to look for your keys, okay?” Pope was taking your purse out of your lap. You nodded vaguely.

He helped you in and guided you to your bed. You could feel him taking off your shoes and throwing the blanket over you.

-----

Someone is driving an ice-pick into my skull.

The light was intense and you swore out loud when you cracked an eye open. You stretched and felt a piece of paper beside you on the bed.

“I locked your door - keys are in your mailbox. Drink the water - take the ibuprofen. Let Catfish know you’re okay when you wake up- he was worried. - Pope”

You groaned.

[Francis]: Spills, are you okay?

[Francis]: Can you answer me please?

[Francis]: Don’t tell me you’re still asleep? What, are you a teenager? Getting drunk and sleeping until 4pm????

[Francis]: Sorry Spills, just worried - can you please let me know you’re okay before I show up?

You could see the three little dots signalling that he was in the middle of typing another message and you quickly called him to stop him.

“Jesus, it’s about fucking time.” He sounded worried and relieved and it pulled on your heart strings in a way you both loved and hated.

“Stop yelling Francisco, I am begging you.” You threw your arm over your eyes to block out the light as you lay there, in yesterday's clothes. You didn’t even want to know what you looked like right now.

“Feeling all that tequila aren’t you? I haven’t seen you that drunk for a long time.” You could hear the faint smile in his voice.

“Yes yes I know - so fucking embarrasing. Did I do.. Or say anything..?” You were trying to ask him without asking him.

“You almost threw up, but if you’re asking me if you started table-dancing you’re good.” He laughed and you sighed with palpable relief. All you needed was for him to tell you that you’d confessed your love or told Claudia to fuck off.

“Thank god. That would have been all I needed. Can you tell Pope I said thanks? Okay, I'm going to go shower for a million years now.” You wanted to hang up, your head was pounding and you needed a few hours of silence and about a gallon of water.

“Okay - see you in a few hours.” You didn’t want to deal with both of them together, not with how you felt right now.

“No Francis I don’t want to entertain, I already embarrassed myself enough yesterday.”

“It’s just me coming and I’ve seen you much worse. I haven’t been home in a long time so, take a shower and do what you have to do and I'll be there at seven.” He hung up and you could have thrown your phone across the room.

Fuck.

---

The knock at the door at exactly seven didn’t surprise you.

What did surprise you was how nervous you were that he would be coming over.

You were literally attached at the hip at one point, he’s seen you at your worst.

“You’re looking much better than you did last night, Spills.” He laughed as he walked past you and into your home.

“Oh god.” You groaned as he laughed, why had you been nervous? You watched him as he set down the bags of what looked to be way too much food on your kitchen counter. Grabbing napkins and forks - completely at ease within your space. “What did you bring?” moved to peak into the bags.

“Chinese - “ He looked to see your eyes wide and the big toothy smile you were giving him and laughed. “Did you think I’d forget you always get Chinese when you’re hungover?” He laughed as he took out what looked to be all your favourites.

“You’re a lifesaver Francis, truly.” You were practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you served yourself.

“I know, I’m practically a saint.” He walked over to your couch and plopped down, an egg-roll in his mouth as he turned on your TV and looked for something to watch. This was it - this was how it was supposed to be.

This was easy.

He had come over in comfy clothes and seeing him on your couch in sweats and a soft flannel was almost too much. His hair had gotten longer than he had worn it before he went away and it looked so soft; practically begged for your fingers.

“Are you still a baby about horror movies?” He asked without looking at you, you saw that he had put on some cheesy zombie movie. A big smile on his face.

“No, I’m okay, as long as you check every single corner of this place before you leave.”

“God I love horror movies, Claudia hates them so we never end up watching.” He sighed. Her name cut through the air like a knife. An ice cube casually dropped into your shirt.

“That’s too bad.” You quickly shoved food into your mouth, stopping yourself from saying anything you’d regret but he knew you too well. He looked at you then, eyes narrowing a fraction.

“Do you like her?” He asked, point blank and your eyes widened at him.

Fuck, don’t make me answer this right now.

“Yeah, she’s great.” To your credit, you tried. You really tried to sound genuine.

“Why don’t you like her Spills?” He sighed heavily, putting his plate down onto your coffee table to face you properly.

“What are you talking about? I said she was great!” You could feel the flush creeping up your neck and licking at your face at the lie. She was great, that wasn’t a lie - you just didn’t like her.

“Seriously? You’re going to act like I can’t tell you’re lying through your teeth? Just tell me! I’m going to marry this girl. I have to know why you don’t like her.” He had a little frown on his face and you could see that he was worried, but what would he have to be worried about? Worried you’d picked up on something he’d missed maybe?

“I just don’t know her, Francis, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with her, you know I'm just weird. She seems really nice and I’m sure I’ll like her once I get to know her better.” You smiled at him sadly, you didn’t want to talk about her anymore.

He smiled back at you and picked up his plate, happy with your explanation.

---

It always seemed to happen this way, ever since you’d been teenagers. He’d put on something scary and you would end up with your face buried into his chest.

“Oh god - that is disgusting!” You shut your eyes as he laughed, his chest rumbling underneath you at a particularly gruesome scene. You felt his hand rubbing your arm, and it was such a comfort that you sighed lightly. The words bubbled up without your permission.

“I missed this.” You felt him rest his chin on the crown of your head.

“Me too Spills, I always missed this while I was away, missed you.” He spoke into your hair, you could feel his breath ghosting along your scalp and your heart raced, you wanted nothing more than to turn and kiss him. His hand stilled, and you felt his heart beating under your ear. You wanted to do it, your whole body seemed to tense with want and you turned slightly to look at him through your lashes. He was already staring at you, his mouth was so close.

His phone rang, snapping him out of his trance and you moved away from him reluctantly.

“Hey babe, what’s up?” He smiled apologetically. “Just take a deep breath, it’ll be okay. I’m on my way.” He hung up and gave you a look that said I’m sorry. “Gotta go, wedding emergency.” He sighed heavily as he got up, taking both your plates to the kitchen with him.

You wanted him to stay, you wanted to grab him and sit him back down on the couch and straddle him. Grab the soft material of the flannel while you kissed him but you didn’t. Instead you smiled and thanked him for coming and for the food.

He made his way through the apartment before he left, opening every door.

“Just checking every corner, so you can sleep.” He smiled.

I love you too.

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#pedro pascal #frankie x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #oblivius #frankie x female reader #frankie x you #frankie x f!reader

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comfortwriting · 3 years

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Best Friends Brother Part 3 - G.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompt Masterlist

This is part 3 of ‘Best Friends Brother’ please read part 1 and part 2, want to be tagged? let me know!

George Weasley x Fem Reader slow burn

Warnings: mention of food and eating, swearing,

The moment your lips touched, fireworks went off around you, George wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him - all of your worries withering away, all you could feel was happiness and pure bliss.

George pulled away from the kiss and slowly opened his eyes, you were in shocked and couldn’t believe who’s lips had collided with yours moments before.

Opening your eyes slowly, you stared into George’s brown ones, his gentle hands holding yours and squeezing them softly.

“T-Thank you for tonight” you blushed, letting go of one of his hands, tucking a stray hair behind your ear nervously “It’s been wonderful.”

George smiled softly and nodded “it has” he paused for a moment, his thumb tracing circles into your palm “same time next week?” he asked, sounding quite nervous.

You squeezed his hand back in excitement and nodded “I would love to” you beamed.

Your three month anniversary was hanging around the corner, you had planned a whole day out on Saturday once George finished Quidditch practice, your heart fluttering in excitement and skipping beats, causing you to squirm in your seat - giggling out and squealing, confusing those around you, especially Ron who thought you were going barmy.

Despite seeing each other every day, the two of you were keeping things secret, you weren't ready for anyone to know - George knew his little brother all too well and so did you, Ron would be far from happy.

“George didn’t say anything to you after he, you know?” Ron asked, acting quite shifty in his chair.

“No he didn’t” you replied, “he’s not interested in me Ron, he just hates creeps.”

“Where were you last night?” Ron asked over breakfast, staring at you questioningly.

Shit! Think of something! I totally wasn’t kissing your brother, no, not at all.

“I went for a walk” you lied “I just had so much energy and needed to get out, I found an injured little owlet and was up all night nursing it, he’s helping me get over Penny.”

Ron believed you and nodded slowly “are you sure you’re ready for another owl?” he asked, trying to sound as caring as he could.

You sighed “I think it’s about time, yeah” you replied “It’s been almost over a year so I figured why not.”

So instead, you wrote to each other a few times a week, you had to admit, you quite liked the schedule; Wednesdays and Sundays nights were for the love letters, Saturdays were for dates unless he couldn’t skip Quidditch and the rest of the week you barely spoke and only engaged in eye contact if you were in the company of others - if not, you would hold hands and kiss in empty broom closets or even in the astronomy tower, but it was rare as Fred was never far behind from his twin.

Dearest Y/N,

Although we see each other every day and go on dates most weekends (when Ron isn’t on your back, or when I’m in detention like now) writing to you feels just as good as the real thing - but still bloody ridiculous.

Fred keeps asking what I’ve spent my Galleons on, told him it was for an experiment to do with our products we’re testing - he’s suspicious but believes me after I made myself sick to get out of Quidditch, oh the things I do for you, Y/N.

I think Gideon is the perfect name for the Owlet, mum will be so heart warmed and honoured when she finds out - but don’t bring the galleons into it of course, not until the joke shop is up and running with great success!

Seeing you last night up in the Astronomy tower was nothing short of the highlight of my day, I wish we could do it more often, but not to worry - one day we won’t need to meet up in private at all.

Anyway, I better get back to some homework before the greaseball comes over and reads this - detention with him always drags.

The next one will be longer, I promise, love.

Lots of love,

Georgie.

Dear George,

You should be focusing, get your head down and do your homework if you can bear it, I swear George, the day I receive a letter from you that wasn’t written in detention will be the day I wink at Snape - it’s silly I’m even asking you knowing that it’s never going to happen.

Your letters always cheer me up, Georgie, I can hear your voice as I read, feels like you’re sitting next to me and it’s good enough for me at the time being, I’m so thankful that we aren’t hundreds of miles away from each other.

Hey! You can’t be skipping Quidditch for me, you plonker! Gryffindor team need you and you’re a bloody good Beater - unbeatable in fact but stop skipping! we can make up for a lost date another time, I’ll try not to miss you too much I swear.

Thank you for gifting me Gideon, he is the sweetest little owlet and I cannot wait to watch him grow and to teach him like I did Penny - if his mother will let me that is. I won’t say a word to anyone, no one will know that you did such a thing although I want nothing more than to tell everyone, your kind-heartedness should never go unnoticed.

The joke shop will sweep you up off your feet and I can’t wait to see Weasley wizard Wheezes everywhere I go.

Thank you so much for last night, please don’t forget to send me your Christmas list - please don’t get me anything - Gideon is enough.

Focus on your bloody homework!

Speak soon and lots of love,

Y/N.

Looking over and your Owl, now named Gideon who had grown so much he was no longer a tiny owlet, you stroked his head and giggled at him as he nibbled on your finger.

“Alright, alright, but don’t be out too long” you whispered, opening your bedroom window, Gideon flapping his wings, leaping out and soaring into the night sky.

You beamed at your treasure, flying away to get some food for the evening, climbing into your bed as quietly as you could, hoping you wouldn’t wake up Hermione or your other roommates. Sliding your hand under your pillow, you patted around for the love letters from George you were hiding from everyone.

Your fingers grazed the corners of the crinkled parchment, lifting up your pillow you retrieved his most recent letter, taking it with you as you dive under your covers, shielding you from your roommates and giving you some privacy.

“Lumos!” You whispered, a beam of light stretching out from the tip of your wand, your cheeks flushing again upon seeing George’s handwriting.

Dearest Y/N,

Thank you for the heads-up, saved me and Freddie a lot of trouble, I swear one day Mr Filch and that bloody cat won’t know what’s hit them - if it wasn’t for you, we would’ve lost all of our plans and The Marauders Map, so thank you again for saving us all that trouble.

These three months have flown by so fast, I can’t believe it, I know this seems rather daft - a tall prankster being all lovey-dovey like this, but you really make me happy and I can’t wait to spend more time with you.

If you ever want to test any puking pastilles or fainting fancies, let me know and I’ll be able to look after you, love.

Looking forward to seeing you on Saturday so we can actually speak face to face - if Ron asks, you already know what to say.

Wrap up warm, it’ll be quite cold in Hogsmeade.

Looking forward to seeing you,

lots of love,

Georgie.

“Where are you off to so early? We never see you anymore over the weekend!” Ron complained, a mouthful of bacon.

“Oh get some manners, Ronald!” Hermione hissed, knitting her eyebrows together and grimacing.

You stood on the spot and stared at Ron, trying to plaster the most obvious expression on your face to make him feel stupid. “I’m off to spend some quality time with Gideon, he’s only a few months old and I want to make sure he’s as stable as Penny was at her age - I won’t be able to trust him to send letters long distances otherwise.” you lied.

But in all honesty, you weren’t really lying completely, next weekend was the end of term and the start of the Christmas Holidays - you wanted to make sure Gideon could deliver George’s letters to the burrow, you wouldn’t be able to hide them around for him to stumble across and pick up any more, and the two of you already discussed the problems of trying to use a device which muggles called a telephone.

“I’ll write you letters every week” George whispered, standing next to you in the corridors swarming with busy students, Fred chasing after Angelina outside “look in the middle of your textbooks, I’ll slide them in the middle of the pages.”

Opening up your book, a piece of folded parchment slid down and fell into your lap, you quickly stuffed it into your pocket, looking around to see if Ron noticed - luckily for you who he was copying Hermione’s classwork.

Ron looked lost for words, swallowing his bacon and thinking about your owl and how much you truly loved them “Alright then, well, see you later.” he replied,

You raised your eyebrows and smiled, waving goodbye to him, Harry and Hermione, walking out of the Great Hall and getting ready to meet George in Hogsmeade.

“She spends too much time with that bloody owl if you ask me” Ron muttered, stabbing some peas with his fork.

Hermione sighed “I think it’s quite sweet actually, she’s quite similar to Hagrid.”

Harry grinned and started to laugh, Ron rolled his eyes.

“Except the fact that she’s not a giant and she only flocks to birds of prey, not dragons or creatures that could kill us!”

“Well, at least you know where she’s going” Fred called out, walking past his brother “George never tells me where he’s off to and what he’s up to on a Saturday, he’s skiving Quidditch practice again and I get in bothered for it - I can’t check either because he’s got that sodding map with him!”

George wasn’t wrong, this time of year, Hogsmeade was freezing - your fingers changed colour and you could feel the ache and tingle against the freezing air that nibbled on your exposed skin.

You embraced yourself in one of the jumpers he had given you, one you were wearing under your fluffy winter coat which matched the colour of the snow. Looking around the small Village, you noticed George waiting outside The Three Broomsticks, looking slightly nervous as he scratched the back of his head.

You walked up to him, as you got closer you couldn’t help but blush at his red nose that had been attacked from the harsh winter air “Hello, George” you smiled softly, pulling him into a hug after clearing the coast of possible students.

George held you in his arms for a moment, taking in your scent and the feeling of your face against his chest, your hair under his chin as it rested on your head. “shall we get a drink, love?” he asked softly.

Following him inside and getting sat down in a quieter area of the pub, George ordered you and him a butterbeer and held your hand over the table, casually checking the map every now and then, checking on his brothers.

“It’s so good to see your face” he smiled, his starry eyes getting lost in yours.

You blushed and smiled widely, your drinks being placed down on your table, “It’s so good to see you too, can’t believe it’s been three months already!”

George took a sip of his butterbeer, the butterscotch warming up his tummy, you mirrored him, leaving behind a white foamy moustache. George smirked and leaned over the table, carefully avoiding spilling his drink as he wiped away the foam sitting on your top lip with his thumb, his index finger lifting up your chin.

The two of you exchanged a quick, risky kiss, remembering you needed to tone things down despite how hard the temptation was to snog him. George leaned back in his chair, sucking the foam off his thumb.

“I’ve been training Gideon” you beamed, the butterbeer warming you up “he’s finally got the hang of flying long distances and coming back in one piece.”

Meeting George in the small and squashed broom closet, he examined your tired features, looking slightly concerned, his hand resting against your face.

“Are you alright love?” he asked, “you look exhausted.”

You nodded and replied “I’m fine” suppressing a yawn “been up all night with Gideon, he’s growing so fast and he won’t allow me to baby him forever - he’ll be big enough to deliver letters soon.”

George felt a part of him fall in love with you all over again, the picture of you and Gideon in his mind made his insides got all warm and fuzzy - more so than his drink.

“So now he’ll be delivering you letters over Christmas!”

George went quiet and scratched behind his head like he did when he stood outside the pub, he paused for a moment and pursed his lips, licking them. “About that..” he trailed off, staring at his now half-full glass of butterbeer.

Your insides started to sink suddenly but your hopes were lifting, trying to figure out what he was going to say.

Is he staying at Hogwarts for Christmas with me whilst everyone else goes home? Am I unable to send him letters over Christmas if he goes back home?

“What is it?” you asked, both curiously and nervously.

George broke out into a smile, quickly glancing at the map again, then looking back into his favourite pair of eyes.

“Well, I was wondering...” he paused again “if you would like to stay at the burrow over Christmas, with me, everyone else of course but-”

“Yes!” you squealed, getting excited “oh George I would love to!”

George broke out into a grin, so relieved you were willing to come and spend some more time with him, a chance for the two of you to try and get some private time together, in the comfort of his own home.

“I had to ask mum ‘on behalf of Ron’ so if she says anything, just go through with it” George said quietly “Ron wouldn’t remember asking me to do such a thing anyway - his head is that clouded with Hermione.”

You swallowed down the rest of your drink, remembering to wipe away your foamy moustache this time “This is going to be wonderful, George” you smiled, squeezing his hand over to the table “Two whole weeks that we can just.. just be ourselves together!”

George smiled but remembered to remind you “We still need to keep everything on the down-low, it will be a full house and if we disappear it will be obvious we’re together - we’ll just need to wait for everyone to go to bed or go for a walk when they’re too busy to notice.”

You nodded your head, remembering that you would now be under not just Ron’s watch, but every Weasley who wouldn’t approve of your budding relationship.

George kissed your hand and looked down at the map once more, his smile dropping.

“Shit!” he panicked, getting up out of his seat.

“What is it?” you panicked, following him to the back doors in the pub.

He stared down at the map, his eyes following the group of feet storming into Hogsmeade “Fred, Ron, Harry - everyone’s heading this way - to this bloody pub!”

You swallowed hard, the butterbeer churning in your stomach, George’s drink rising up into his throat.

“When we can get away I’ll head to the owlery!” you put your coat back on, pulling the zip up quickly “you go hurry to Honey Dukes or Zonko’s when you get the chance, you’ll find your letter folded in your Quidditch jersey!”

George nodded, looking up from the map and quickly kissing you on the lips, the look in his eyes expressing the most sympathy you had ever seen.

Keeping things a secret would only get harder, harder than you and George were expecting.

Tag list: @amourtentiaa @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @alwaysnforeverfangirl @horrorxweasley @sebby-staan @xmalfoyweasleyx

#george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley fanfiction #George Weasley one shot #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #ron weasley #ron weasly x reader #ron weasly imagine #ron weasley oneshot #ron weasley fanfic #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter fanfic

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remedialpotions · 3 years

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Off The Train

Thanks to @mertronus for tagging me in the HPRomione Discord Popcorn game thingy! The prompt she gave me was: "I can finally see you."

I'm tagging @acnelli with the prompt: "You can't just keep pretending things are fine!"

***

”I can’t wait until you get off that train,” says Ron, his voice low and lazy with fatigue, “and I can finally see you.”

Hermione shifts in her bed so she’s lying on her side, mirror held out before her. This way, she can pretend - if she squints a bit, and ignores the crimson hangings of her four-poster bed - that he’s lying next to her, and not hundreds of miles away in London.

“What do you mean, ‘finally’?” Hermione, too, keeps her voice quiet. It won’t do, in her final days as Head Girl, to be waking her dormmates. “You’re looking at me right now.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same. I can see you, but I can’t touch you, or...” The corner of Ron’s mouth twitches up into a crooked smile. “Or do anything else for that matter.”

“Right. Well,” she says, trying to infuse positivity into her voice, despite the weeks since the Easter holidays dragging into what felt like months and years, despite missing him so much that it’s like a heavy fog surrounding her. “It’s only a couple more days, right?”

“Can’t it be now?” Ron looks like he’s reclined in bed too now, his fiery hair stark against the deep navy of his sheets. “Just get to Hogsmeade, then you can Apparate-“

“You know full well that I cannot,” she replies briskly, even though it’s tempting, really tempting. “It’s-“

“-behavior unbecoming of a Head Girl,” Ron finishes her sentence. “I know. I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I miss you too.”

“I love you,” he adds after a moment’s silence, before his eyes widen with inspiration. “Oh, I’ve got it. What if I Apparate to Hogsmeade, and then walk to the castle - I bet Hagrid would let me through the gates-“

“It’s only two days, Ron.”

He sighs. “Fine.”

“And I love you too.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I know.”

•••

Pigwidgeon is the last owl to fly into the Great Hall, his little wings beating wildly to keep him aloft. With a scrap of parchment clutched in his tiny talons, he struggles over to the Gryffindor table before somersaulting down into Hermione’s lap.

Hermione’s heart sinks, and not just at the sight of the exhausted little bird currently burrowing into the crook of her elbow. Their two-way mirrors mean they don’t usually have to resort to writing letters. Not unless...

Hermione, the parchment reads when she unfolds it. Got called on an emergency mission. I’m not allowed to tell you where or why or even how long but I’m hoping it won’t take too long. I’m still going to be there at King’s Cross, because I’m dying to see you and I can’t wait until all this is over and we can just be together. Anyway, I love you and try not to worry too much. I promise to do my best not to die.

Ron

“Oh, good,” comes Ginny’s voice from beside her, and Hermione turns to see her peering intently at the parchment. “He’s promised not to die, that’s a relief-“

“He’ll be there,” interrupts Hermione, tucking the note in the pocket of her robes before Ginny can further infringe upon her privacy. “If he thinks it’ll only take a day, then I believe him.”

Ginny blinks. “I never said he wouldn’t be.” Plucking Pigwidgeon from Hermione’s lap, she offers him water from her goblet. “I’m sure he knows what he’s talking about.”

“It’s probably just a quick day trip,” Hermione rationalizes, eyes focused hard on Pigwidgeon as he drinks so she doesn’t have to see the sympathy she knows is etched on Ginny’s face, “and he just wanted me to know in case - well-”

“In case he dies?”

Ginny’s attempt at a joke falls flat.

“Well, just in case, you know, something were to - to happen,” Hermione stammers, “and anyway, it’s just good for me to know - I like to know what he’s up to - not in a controlling way or anything, just-”

“Of course,” Ginny interjects bracingly. “I’m sure he just wanted you to know, that’s all. I’m sure he’ll be there.”

Hermione picks up her mug of tea and holds it close to her face so the steam washes over her. She knows what they’re both thinking but are unwilling to say: that in the year Ron and Harry have been Aurors, neither has had a mission run shorter than a week.

•••

And so Hermione sits with Ginny and Luna on the train, watching the Scottish Highlands slowly transform into the low, tidy hills of the English countryside outside her window and hoping against hope that Ron will be there on Platform 9 and ¾. But she hasn’t heard from him since that first letter, and his mirror has gone dark. This doesn’t worry her - not for his safety, anyway - but it does make it difficult to share in Ginny’s gleeful anticipation as the train pulls into King’s Cross.

She busies herself with tending to Crookshanks, who is furious about his prolonged confinement in his basket, as Harry and Ginny embrace on the platform. It’s not that she’s upset, not really. Ron is doing what he needs to do, and she would never want him shirking his responsibilities just so he can kiss her on a train platform for the first time since April. She just wishes things could be different.

After Harry and Ginny depart for Grimmauld Place, she flags down a taxi and rides alone to her parents’ home. The family car is parked in front, which is unusual for a weekday, but when she goes inside, she finds her parents have been eagerly awaiting her arrival and can hardly let her set down her trunk before whisking her away to an upscale restaurant in South Kensington.

“So, tell us about school,” says Mum with an eager smile once they’re seated at their candlelit table. “How were your exams? I want to hear everything.”

“I will later,” Hermione replies, raising her brows and tipping her head pointedly in the direction of the waiter currently pouring red wine into their glasses.

“Oh, right, right, of course. Well, anyway, dear,” she begins as the waiter sets down menus and strides away, “your father and I have a little surprise for you.”

It’s foolish, she knows, but her mind leaps instantly to Ron. Maybe all of this business with his mission has been a ruse, and he’s here in London after all, and she’ll be able to come up with an excuse to spend the night at Grimmauld Place…

Until she notices that her parents are still talking, and there’s no tall, lanky, red-haired wizard to be seen in this high-end French restaurant, but there are three Eurostar boarding passes laid out across the tablecloth.

“Sorry,” says Hermione, shaking her head to clear away the daydream, “what’s going on?”

“We’re going to Paris!” announces Mum with delight. “We thought it would be so lovely to spend time together since you’ve been away for so long, and you’re about to start your new job - and I know you’ve always wanted to go there. We’ve got ten whole days, and everything’s booked, so all you’ve got to do is pack.”

“That - that’s - that’s brilliant,” Hermione musters, forcing her lips into some semblance of a smile. Her parents beam so brightly back that it’s almost difficult to look at them. “Erm, so when are we leaving?”

She crosses her fingers under the table, praying they’ll say August, or her birthday in September, or Christmas, anything but-

“This weekend!”

Of course.

•••

Paris is beautiful. It exceeds every single one of Hermione’s expectations. She and her parents consume copious amounts of bread, cheese and wine, they visit museums and cafes and old bookstores, they ascend to the top of the Eiffel Tower and take in the view. She thinks of Ron constantly as she walks the cobbled streets, as she crosses the Pont des Artes and sees the countless locks affixed to its railing. Before she left, she sent Harry an owl to tell him that she was leaving, so Ron would know where she was if he returned home before she did. As they can’t communicate when she’s staying in a Muggle hotel, she truly has no idea where he is, but she tells herself that he’s still on his mission. It feels better that way, imagining that even if she stayed in London, there would still be obstacles keeping them apart.

On their last day, she nearly empties out a patisserie buying eclairs and macarons for Ron, and then they board the Eurostar back to England. Nervous anticipation grips her stomach as the train barrels through the tunnel (idly, she wonders if Ron’s dad is aware of this train that travels underwater, and makes a mental note to tell him), because she has no idea what awaits her back in London. What if Ron’s still away? Or worse - what if something’s happened to him, and she’s been off enjoying a holiday while he’s been suffering?

The train can’t move quickly enough. Hermione can focus on nothing - not the paperback romance novel her mother has loaned her to read, not the Muggle newspaper that her father is engrossed in, not even the argument of the couple seated across the aisle from them. It’s only a two-hour trip, so why does it feel like it’s taking days?

She checks her mirror, but it’s still dark.

“You go ahead, sweetheart,” says Dad when the train finally rolls to a stop in St. Pancras station. “We’ll get the cases.”

Hermione looks up at the luggage rack over their heads, then at her parents. “Are you sure? I’ll bring mine-”

“We can manage. Go on ahead, get some fresh air.”

She doesn’t bother reminding them that train station air is hardly fresh, and instead heads down the aisle with just her purse and the box of pastries in tow. Truly, she’s not sure why her parents have sent her off the train without them; with the station as busy as it is, they’ll surely lose track of each other.

But then she sees him. Standing a head above the crowd, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his bright blue eyes scan the throngs of travelers. At first, she doesn’t believe her eyes. Surely, she’s just become so desperate to see him that she’s actually begun hallucinating.

But as she draws closer, he doesn’t ripple into nothingness, he doesn’t fade away. He’s really, truly there, his red hair curling behind his ears, one knee jiggling with pent-up energy the way it always does when he’s particularly impatient. As he turns his head, still surveying the crowd, their eyes lock and the rest of the station recedes into the background. Finally, they’re within sight of each other after months of hushed mirror conversations and stolen moments borrowing Professor McGonagall’s Floo. Hermione picks up speed, nearly skipping across the concrete in her haste, and flings herself into his waiting arms.

She fits against him perfectly. The fabric of his faded t-shirt is soft against her cheek as she breathes him in, and for the first time in recent memory, words fail her completely.

The box of pastries thuds to the ground.

“Hi,” he mutters, lips brushing her skin and sending chills up her spine.

“How - how did you-”

“Harry told me where you’d gone.” He presses a kiss to her cheek, and then, at long last, their lips connect. “It’s not that hard to look up train schedules.”

As reluctant as she is to pull away from him, she leans back just enough to look up at him. Behind the freckles scattered across his face, his cheeks have gone pink. “You’re amazing,” she tells him, rising on tiptoe for another kiss, unconcerned with the passersby and the blast of nearby train whistles.

Ron lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug when they break apart. “Had to meet you on a train platform somehow.”

#hpromione discord #romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #romione fanfic #ahhh I missed writing about these two dorks #also message me if you want to join the discord!

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auroron · 3 years

Text

Midnight, the Stars and You

I did it whaaaaaat?! This took me a while, specially since I've been on an artist block for weeks. And shit's been crazy I literally moved from South America to the US and my mom got married and suddenly I don't have to go to school online and I have 22 assignments I have due for next week but anyways I hope you enjoy this drabble I love you all

Two weeks had passed since the war and things felt like they were somehow going back to normal. As if there was a normal, to begin with. Especially with the Weasley’s grief and Hermione’s parents being dispersed somewhere in a country she knew little about.

So she took it upon herself to find her parents, and she was ready to do it alone. She knew what she wanted, and she knew that even though it could take everything she had to find them, she was capable of doing so.

But it was hard. Especially because she knew she had to do it alone. She couldn't ask for Ron’s help, not when he had his mind somewhere else most of the time. Somewhere sad and dark, a place she had once known too well.

So she somehow understood. His and his family’s pain. Losing Fred had been a strike to everyone, especially George and Ron.

But even though things were complicated, she had still, maybe selfishly, enjoyed these two past weeks for the most part. All because of Ron.

They had talked for the first time since the end of the war the night after Fred’s funeral. She wasn't expecting anything, she had seen how he looked, how miserable he felt. And even having held his cold hands and whipping off his tears, she was expecting distance.

But he hadn't been distant at all. Boys used to confuse her so much, especially Ron. But now everything she knew when looking at him, was the truth. Who he was on the inside, beyond layers of repressed emotions she and probably most of the people had believed were the true Ron.

That night they kissed again. It was sweet and tender, and his lips had felt so soft, and his skin was shining from moonlight, and he had been perfect. Even thinking about it made her stomach fill with butterflies and her heart with some feelings she was yet to discover.

That night, she was so sure he was it for her. The moment she realized maybe he wasn't just a friend three years prior was the moment she knew she was done for. It was her perdition, and also her salvation. Because he had been, since forever, her forever.

That night, she knew she had to protect him. She knew he was at the edge of being truly broken, that his mind wasn't in the right place. His heart was though, he had made sure to tell her that.

“I like you, Hermione” he had broken the silence that filled the room since she had joined him, right after everyone "went to sleep" even if they knew no one was going to be capable of that.

“I really, really like you” he looked right into her eyes, seeking for some sort of approval that his feelings were returned.

She was so lost that no words escaped her lips. That made him step back, looking down like she knew he did when he wasn't sure of things.

“I’m sorry Hermione, didn’t mean to-”

He was stopped. She held his had, interwining them, connecting them, making him look at her the way she loved to be seen.

No words flung around. And no words were needed. She kissed him, softly but surely, then passionately until their breaths were taken away.

“I like you too” she lied.

She knew deep down she didn’t just like him. It was deeper, stronger. But she also knew deep down that right now, what she had said was enough.

She wasn’t sure of many things in life. Boys certainly weren't one of them. But she knew for certain that Ron needed calm. And she was going to leave him just because it was the right thing to do.

Shaking the thoughts out of her head, she immediately packed all the necessary things for her travel and was sure to go. Now at the Burrow's front door, she said goodbye to Arthur, whom she had trusted to tell about her search, and who had supported her and sworn to not tell a living soul.

But then something stopped her. Someone.

"What's this?" said a loid but sleepy voice that came from the stairs, and soon she saw a now awoken Ron in his Chudley Cannons orange shirt.

“What's what?” Hermione responded, her eyes avoiding his.

“You’re leaving? Without me?” he sounded a bit sad.

“Ron I have to find my parents, I need to know they are okay, that they aren’t, you know.”

“They aren't, Hermione.”

“But they could be! I don't want to lose them.”

“I know you don't, but you cannot go alone. They are still out there. Who knows what could happen.”

“I can manage myself” They were now very close, moonlighting filling the room, stars shinning behind them decorating the sky, just like his freckles did with him.

“Trust me, I know that. Very well indeed. But I don��t want you to do this alone. I mean, you don't have to do this alone.”

“I” she hesitated. “I can’t ask such a thing from you, I can’t expect you to leave your family. Not for me.”

“He wouldn't,” said Arthur, whom Hermione had forgotten was there, watching, but now from a safe distance.

They both turned around at the same time, and Arthur flinched for a second. “You don't have to worry about us. We'll be fine. Your mom will be fine. Besides, you are going to find your parents, we are certain of that." he breathed, now looking directly at Hermione. "He won't leave you alone if you don't let him go with you, I know this one pretty well, trust me.”

She turned around to see Ron blushing, cheeks and ears as red as they could get. He whispered something to his dad she couldn't quite understand.

Then he turned to her sweetly, puppy 'not at all convincing' eyes looking directly at her.

“Uh fine!”

Ron smiled, mostly to himself.

“You scared me, you know” he came closer to her the instant Arthur disappeared into the kitchen.

“And why’s that”

“Well, you wrote me a letter as if you weren't going to see me ever again. I mean I always thought you were eventually going to get tired of me, but this soon? Evil.”

“Oh shush it, will you?” She couldn't help a light giggle escape her, and seconds later they were both laughing, still shyly as if they were 11 years old again.

“You really must be crazy about me, are you? said Ron while they were going up the stairs, the hallway quiet as it had never been before this early in the night.

“What makes you think so highly of yourself, mister Weasley?”

“Well you just laughed at a half-joke that wasn't even that funny.”

They walked into the highest room in the Burrow, Hermione watching as Ron packed his most necessary things (basically his Cannons shirts, toothpaste, shampoo, and underwear), and left as soon as possible to get to their apparition point as quickly as possible.

When they got there, Hermione saw an opportunity and took his hand on hers, tight and firm. She swore she saw his ears turn scarlet red, just like hers.

She summoned all the courage there was left in her, and stood on her tiptoes, leaning in and whispering in his ear before apparating in what she considered a "seductive" tone. “You are right you know, I am indeed crazy about you.”

#romione #harry potter #ron weasley #hermione granger #fanfic #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #ronmione #ron and hermione #ron x hermione #harry potter fanfic #romione fandom #harry potter series #hope you guys like it <3

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pleathewrites · 3 years

Text

Candles in the Sun

chapter 1: the one who drives all evil away

When Ryomen Sukuna was born, the ground shook.

A weeping mother cradles her baby in her weak arms. The sweat cools off her skin with the gusts of rain-scented wind pushing past an open window. Her baby’s heart beats - she can feel it through the pads of her fingers - and she sighs.

Her eyes do not betray her.

She looks at her child and begs the Gods for mercy to be given - for this world to treat her child as kindly as she vows to because she cannot feel anything but infinite gratitude as her baby looks up at her with bright, red eyes.

Both sets.

Her child has been born with a gift - the blessing of 4 eyes and 4 arms.

When Itadori Yuuji is born, his first breath matches the last of his mother’s.

A weeping father holds his daughter’s baby to his chest and begs for the Gods to bring her back.

His prayers are futile, as his daughter’s unblinking eyes remain downward towards her belly, awaiting the arrival of a child she never got the chance to hold.

With the tips of his fingers, using the gentlest pressure, he lowers his daughter’s eyelids and lets her rest.

Her baby cries.

He prays for the strength to give this child the same love and protection he had for his own. He feels the ache in his chest, lungs rattling with every inhale.

He begs his body not to give up on him.

It’s an odd feeling, Sukuna’s mouth stretching over his cheek.

He was in the middle of packing up the extra things that had been left behind in his move to Jujutsu High when he had stumbled across the frame that had used to stand upright on his grandfather’s dresser.

“Oh, is that a baby picture? Let me see,” Yuuji feels the words before he hears them.

His knee-jerk reaction is usually to deny the curse, for whatever he’s asking.

“What, no -”

“Let me see or I won’t leave you alone this whole day,” The King of Curses demands, rather childishly.

Yuuji sometimes forgets this guy is supposed to be a thousand years old.

He stares at the picture between his fingers. It’s a capture of one of his earliest memories, a blurry thing that Yuuji only really has random flashes of. He doesn’t remember what the occasion was, but he remembers the exhibit of huge dinosaur fossils and the vibrant green of grass against a rough picnic blanket. He doesn’t remember what they ate for that lunch, but he remembers his grandfather asking an elderly to take a picture of them in front of the museum entrance.

This maybe-five-year-old Yuuji has his mouth open in laughter while his grandfather swings him up to sit on the concrete pillar of a staircase.

His heart mourns.

Sukuna starts to let out whining noises that pull irritatingly at the skin under Yuuji’s eyes. Yuuji grumbles and holds the photo up for the curse’s eye to see.

Sukuna lets out a coo, “You were so cute. Fat,” and just when Yuuji feels the side of his lips tilt up in a smile at the comment, Sukuna continues, “You’re so ugly now.”

Yuuji squawks, “Fuck you!” and slaps his hand over the offending mouth.

The sting against his cheek lingers, though the curse does not.

Sukuna is five years old the first time he levitates.

The boy had stomped into his house with muddy shoes, and his mother had asked him to take a bath. He said he didn’t want to. She told him to take one anyways.

He screamed.

And the next thing they both knew, he was 5 feet above the ground, his feet dangling uselessly beneath him, and the tips of his shoulder-length hair brushing the ceiling of their home.

He sees his mother’s eyes widen, and his own breath stutters in the childish fear that maybe he’s doing something bad, and just when he’s about to try and return to the ground, the expression on his mother’s face changes.

She’s laughing.

The first laugh is blurted shock, the second disbelief, and the rest are consistent peals of happy - proud - laughter.

On that day onward, Sukuna’s mother discovered her son’s curse energy bleeds into his temper tantrums.

Fushiguro Megumi makes Yuuji’s soul wiggle, Sukuna observes.

The first time Sukuna notices, they’re in an abandoned school and the brat is about to get himself killed by a Special Grade curse that Sukuna could pulverize with a flick of his finger.

He tells Yuuji as so, tells the boy that he could easily help him out, but that he won’t hesitate to kill anyone who gets in the way.

Sukuna’s no hero, after all.

When Itadori Yuuji tells Fushiguro Megumi to run away, the energy of Yuuji’s soul seeps into Sukuna’s domain and messes with the physics of the place - and for a split second, Sukuna feels breathless.

Sukuna smiles, ‘Could it be?’

After defeating the Special Grade, Sukuna decides to test something out.

He beats Megumi within an inch of his life, and when he has the boy’s full attention, he rips Itadori Yuuji’s heart straight out of his chest.

Megumi's soul cries.

Sukuna lets out a manic laugh, ‘So it’s true.’

His plan will succeed.

However, when Megumi begins to speak, he foolishly speaks directly to Yuuji about why he had saved him and Sukuna feels the same watery jolt of the brat’s soul and he is immediately sucked back into his Innate Domain.

Sukuna burrows further into his cloak as he rummages through the village market.

He huffs.

He hates the townspeople. They always gasp at the sight of his arms and chase him away with their brooms.

But his mother grows weaker every harvest, and the walk from the mountain to the village center takes her nearly half a sun cycle, whereas Sukuna can make the trip in a third of that time.

He tries to recall what was written on his mother’s list when he’s pushed roughly from behind, a gust of wind and scrape of cotton breezing through his side. When he regains his balance, he opens his mouth to yell in complaint only to stop when he notices the person who pushed him is another kid, perhaps around his age, sprinting.

He looks behind him to see an older man - horribly familiar, especially with that stick of his - running toward the kid’s direction.

Sukuna sends a small wave of curse energy aimed at the man’s feet and trips him.

When the man falls flat on his face, Sukuna hurries in the direction of where the kid had run.

It only takes him a few seconds to locate the other kid.

One glance around the area with his four eyes confirms their privacy. Sukuna brings two hands to cup near his mouth and yells, “Hey!”

The kid freezes, at both Sukuna’s voice and the fact that they were running into a dead end.

They turn around, and Sukuna swears his chest rattles.

Stone green eyes shine back at him.

Sukuna swallows, “I know a place you can hide, but we have to go now. That old man won’t stay down for too long.”

The kid nods quickly, and Sukuna leads them through several back alleys of the town until they reach a rundown temple on the outside edge of the village. The two climb up jagged rocks that stick out the sides of the temple, and they don’t stop until they reach the highest floor, climbing through the window into the building.

The kid slides down the wall and tips their head back, swallowing the much-needed air back into their lungs.

When their chest stops heaving, they turn their head towards Sukuna and narrow their eyes at him. Their voice cracks when they ask, “Why did you help me?”

“Why were you being chased by the tomato vendor?” Sukuna counters.

Their lips close and tighten in frustration.

A gust of wind pushes through the temple’s window and knocks back the hood of Sukuna’s cloak, revealing the face he forgot he was hiding.

Emerald eyes widen.

Sukuna’s heart jumps to his throat. He knows he should run, but he’s frozen in place, waiting for a reaction. He can’t help it - his mother told him, time and time again, to never care what other people think of him, and, usually, he listens, but something is rooting him down in his place, faint and inaudible whispers behind his ears, telling him to, ‘Wait.’

“So, you are the boy,” are the next words breathed into the air.

Sukuna doesn’t know how to respond. He both knows and doesn’t know what this other kid is talking about - yes, he is the village monster, but the words, ‘the boy,’ have never been uttered like that.

Like sanctity.

“My mother used to speak of you,” the other continues, using their hands and knees to crawl closer, and closer, until they are close enough to block out the evening sun from Sukuna’s view, “But, we thought you were a myth. In the past ten harvests, she’s never seen you, but she always stayed firm. How odd, that only a year after that she - that I…” they leave off, and Sukuna doesn’t even notice the hand inching towards his face until they stop themselves, their shadow-tinted hand hovering in the air.

He startles backward, head thumping painfully on the stone wall.

The kid retracts quickly, “I’m sorry!”

Sukuna rubs his throbbing head, and the motion lifts his cloak, revealing the second arm that rests beneath his primary, “I-It’s ok,” He tells them, watching the way their eyes stare at the two arms on his left side with something that looks like wonder. He continues after another moment of silence, “What - uhm, I mean… What did your mother…?” He doesn’t know how to ask.

When the child looks back up, kind emerald eyes greet him, “A blessed child, birthed eleven harvests ago. Born with a soul four times as bright.”

Sukuna gasps.

(“Why do I look like this, Mama?”

His mother pauses, before setting her threaded needle on the table. She beckons her son with an outstretched arm, and he follows all the way up to her lap. She smiles warmly as Sukuna repositions himself atop her knee to face her. He waits.

“Sukuna, my boy… You are blessed. A child born with a soul four times as bright.”

The ruddy pink of his eyebrows furrow, “... four... times?”

His mother nods and thumbs under his lower left eye, “Four eyes,” the same hand slides down in a quick movement, and when her fingers wriggle into Sukuna's side, he shrieks in laughter, the sight causing his mother to let out a few giggles of her own, “and four arms!”

“M-Mama, s-stop it!”

Her hand stills and she presses a kiss to the crown of her son’s head.

“A soul brighter than four souls put together.”)

The child assumes his surprise to be fear and reaches out to hold the hand of his lower arm.

“Do not worry, I will not hurt you, or decieve you. I… I would like to be your ally.”

Sukuna thinks he would like that, as well.

“What is your name?” He asks. His mother told him once that he could, ‘obtain a glimpse of a person’s soul by the way they wear their name.’

The child beams, a missing tooth mirroring the one he had lost himself earlier that year, “Chiyoko! You can call me Chiyo, though. I think it’s cute.”

Sukuna thinks so, too.

“My name is Sukuna.”

SUKU - NA: The one who drives evil away.

CLICK TO READ REST OF CHAPTER

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crystaljins · 3 years

Text

River lead me home | 09 FINAL

Characters: Kim Seokjin x reader

Word count: 5k

Synopsis: Ever since coming to the human realm when you were child, nothing seems to fit, and this was just supposed to be a simple roadtrip to help you find yourself.

Is that too much to ask for?

Spin-off to A long journey home

Rating: Teens

Genre: Adventure, fluff, angst

Notes: Ahhh. We’re finally here. At the ending.

I feel like so much happened since I started writing this fic. I’ve been through so many ups and downs, and so have my characters. And you guys are probably the same; I wonder what adventures you guys went on as I posted this? I hope they were fun ones.

Anyway, thank you for sticking around for this long journey home. I hope you enjoy the final chapter, and I hope you enjoyed following these guys on their adventure.

Till next time, my loves.

Tags: @blue1928 @veeparkersstuff

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 FINAL

It’s a long journey home. The three of you stay with the mice long enough to see the first of the recovered victims poke their little noses out of their burrows. The mayor, a harried, round little mouse with hay coloured fur and absurdly long whiskers, cannot express his gratitude deeply enough, other than to procure the three of you a comfortable stay in a nearby inn.

The journey back is only slightly less fraught with danger. The Saishtas think the two of you are dead, and not long after you part ways with the mice, new begins to circulate in the local areas that the might, evil Saishta queen has died and that her kingdom has fallen into disarray. You come across one or two of the insidious lizardpeoples after that but none of them approach or acknowledge you. Why bother, when they failed to save their queen?

After hearing that news, it’s more of a relaxed journey. You all head on from town to town, purchasing supplies and another bed roll for Jungkook. Jin is strangely eager to spend what little currency you have on the most comfortable bedroll he can find, and when Jungkook suggests he just continues to share in the interest of saving funds, Jin nearly has an aneurysm.

Jin’s behaviour is probably the strangest part of the journey. He’s not cold or standoffish like he normally is when having a crisis, but he’s definitely gentler. More reserved but also warmer. It’s not unwelcome. In fact, you can’t help but wonder. If the war had never come, would this be the life you had with Jin? Endless adventures amongst the thrilling dangers of your home realm?

You bring the thought up to Jin and Jungkook one night, while the three of you huddle together over a fire, snacking on some of the dried meats you’d purchased from the last town.

Jin looks surprised at the thought.

“I’ve always thought it would be you and Taehyung going on the big adventures.” He points out. “The two of you were never able to hold still, even for a moment.” His smile is warm and fond as he recalls your childhood.

“You’d have been dragged along.” Jungkook counters through a particularly chewy mouthful. “You’d probably be married to (Y/N) and forced to follow her around keep her out of trouble.”

Oddly, you expect Jin to flush, or protest, or attempt to strangle Jungkook. You certainly feel a bit flushed at the thought. But Jin is unfazed- he merely offers a secretive smile and tilts his head curiously at you. You couldn’t decipher the look if you tried, but it has your throat feeling tight.

You change the conversation topic after that, but it’s not the only way that Jin has changed. A few days later, the three of you are attempting to cross a little slippery creek when you lose your footing.

You stumble over a few rocks and land on your hands and knees. Even in the deepest part of the creek it only comes up to your mid-thighs when you are on all fours.

Jin skids to a stop beside you, crouching before you in the water. He doesn’t seem to care about the way his clothes become soaked.

“Are you hurt?” He demands. You take stock of your injuries- a scraped knee, a bruised shin, the palms of your hands rubbed raw. Nothing that won’t be gone in an hour or two.

“I’m fine.” You reassure him.

He nods awkwardly for a moment and then offers “I could kiss it better?”

It takes you a few blinks to comprehend his words, and even then, it makes you re-evaluate the severity of your injuries.

“What?” You demand, shocked. He shrugs and looks away.

“Like when we were kids. I could kiss it better. You used to always refuse to stop crying until I kissed you. We could try that again.” He offers nonchalantly. You must have hit your head. It’s the only explanation. You can only stare, your mouth dropped into an “o”.

“I guess that’s a no.” Jin finally says, oddly sulky in the way he says it. “Just thought I’d offer.”

You wish you could say that it’s the strangest of his behaviour, but it’s not. The rest of the journey goes like that- if you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think Jin was flirting. Albeit, in a weirdly awkward, tentative way. Even Jungkook notices it.

“Do you think he’s finally gone mad? Maybe the extreme social media detox has made all his brain cells shrivel up and die.” Jungkook whispers conspiratorially one night while the two of you wonder a small village that is throwing a little festival. Colourful lanterns line the streets and the various creatures that inhabit the village are dressed in bright colours. Jin had decided to stay back at the inn but the two of you had wanted to explore.

“It’s the only logical explanation.” You concede, as much as it physically pains you to agree with Jungkook in anything.

“All I have to say is, if this is how he flirts I have no idea how he gets so many dates.” Jungkook laments, and your eyes widen.

“Stop.” You laugh. “He’s not flirting. It’s Jin. He thinks of me like an unwanted houseplant.”

“What if he didn’t, though?” Jungkook asks suddenly. His gaze is probing, and the mood is oddly serious for what you thought was a joking conversation.

“What?” You ask, caught off-guard.

“What if he’s actually flirting? Hypothetically. What would you do?” He questions.

You go silent, as you contemplate your answer. Honestly, you’re not stupid enough to entertain the thought of Jin liking you back. But something about Jungkook’s earnestness has you genuinely considering it.

“I don’t know.” You finally admit. You sigh, suddenly feeling tired.

“Can I ask you something?” Jungkook asks, tentative and almost gentle. He tilts his head curiously. “Do you like him?”

The question startles you. It feels like it’s been so long since you came to term with your feelings that you forgot not everyone else was aware of your revelation. Honestly, even to yourself it had filtered to the back of your mind. An unchanging fact, rarely acknowledged. The sky is blue. Jungkook is annoying. You are in love with Kim Seokjin.

“I do.” You finally admit. You’re reaching the end of the street where most of the festivities are taking place- the crowd is thinning and more distance separates each lantern.

“Then, if he were flirting... wouldn’t the answer be that you’d date him?” Jungkook asks. He’s pulling a face like he’s working out a rather complex maths problem. “Why don’t you know what you’d do?”

The two of you settle at the end of the street. Roughly hewn chairs are scattered randomly across the little square. In the corner, a large, greyish being snoozes, and a small group of little humanoid trees laugh over something and chatter in a foreign language.

“I feel like there’s too much to sort out first. Like... to date him I’d have to be better. I’d have to have a job. And I’d have to have apologised to my mother. I’d need to stop spongeing off the people around me. And maybe live out of home. Be a proper, human adult.” You list. “The me that I am now... I couldn’t date Jin. I’m not... I’m not...”

“Good enough?” Jungkook finishes the words gently. There’s a sad look in his eyes, and it surprises you.

You nod.

“Yeah.” You admit, and your voice is oddly choked. It’s weird- you had thought you were at peace with your feelings. You were meant to be happy with whatever scraps of affection Jin threw your way. But you’re not- there’s a deep, miserable ache in your chest that won’t go away.

Jungkook uses his sleeves to dab at the tears you didn’t even know were slipping down your cheeks.

“For what it’s worth,” Jungkook offers. “Jin doesn’t actually care about that stuff. The only reason he makes a big deal out of it is because he thinks you’ll be happy if all that stuff works out.” He tells you. “And hey. Someone once told me that the best things are the scariest to start- maybe this is one of those times?”

After that, you call it a night, and Jungkook doesn’t bring the topic up again. But you can’t forget his words. The closer to the portal the three of you draw, the more the ache in your chest grows; the closer you get to going back to normal life. What happens to you and Jin when you step back into the human realm?

What if Jungkook’s words are true? Would you... would you have to return to normal? Could you have more? Is it stupid that a part of your stupid, traitorous heart longed for it to be true with each new step towards home?

There’s a surefire way to find out; if you ask him. But you can’t. The words die in your throat every time you even consider it. You remember how he freaked out when Jungkook suggested it earlier on the trip. He likely already knows your feelings despite your denial, and it is only your constant denial otherwise that allows the two of you to exist in this strange limbo. If you stopped denying them, he’d have to address those feelings and then what? It would be back to square one- the avoidance and awkwardness as you cling to the shambles of your friendship.

You can’t go back to that- you’ve fought so hard to fix what is between you, to salvage things. Would it be worth risking it, just in the hopes that you and Jin could be more?

The night before you reach the portal, all the nerves and worries you have build up to the point that you find yourself gazing up listlessly at the canopy overhead. The branches interlace and you can perk glimpses of the stars beyond. This is the last glimpse you will get of these stars. You have already decided you won’t come back here. It’s time to stop looking back and only look forward.

Yet, despite your resolve, despite everything, sleep evades you. Tomorrow, real life awaits. An existential sort of dread has gripped you.

With a sigh, you sit up. To your right, Jungkook has curled into a tight ball as he peacefully rests. But to your surprise, Jin’s bedroll is empty. You’re surprised you didn’t hear him move.

It doesn’t take long to locate him. Only a short distance away, where the vegetation is a bit lighter and a clear patch of sky shimmers overhead, Jin lounges peacefully. He gazes thoughtfully up at the sky overhead as the starlight gilds his face in breathtaking silver.

Wordlessly, you step towards him. A twig snaps beneath your feet and Jin whirls around in surprise. When he spots you, he smiles and gentle pats the open space beside him.

Awkwardly, you settle beside him, hugging your knees to your chest.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He questions, his eyes closed serenely. The soft sound of wind and distant sounds of wildlife filters through the night air.

“Yeah,” you admit, your voice heavy with a sigh. He blinks open one eye to peer curiously at you. It’s the most relaxed and open you’ve seen him in a long time. “What about you? You couldn’t sleep either?”

Jin shrugs.

“I could have.” He informs you. “But I thought I’d enjoy my last night in this realm instead.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. Jin has made it clear throughout the trip that this journey has been anything but enjoyable.

“Enjoy?” You say, only slightly incredulous. He nods and opens both eyes to stare up the sky.

“I’m as shocked as you.” He concedes. “This place has only ever meant bad things to me. It’s why I could never understand your fixation with it.”

You grimace.

“I kind of get it now, though.” He admits, before you can complain to him. “It’s a pretty beautiful place.”

“What changed your mind?” You ask, your curiosity piqued. Jin shrugs.

“You did.” He answers simply.

“M-me?” You’re not sure why you stutter; perhaps it is the strange look to his eyes as he turns fully to face you. He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his cheek against them, watching you lazily.

“Yup.” He says, as if it’s the easiest confession in the world. “When I used to think about this place, all I could think about was the night we fled. My dad didn’t even time to wash the blood off his hands. He grabbed me by the wrist and held on so tight I had bruises. I didn’t want to remember that. I didn’t want to remember the place that had caused us so much pain. And you... you were such a shell. I felt like one of my best friends had died in this realm and I was so angry at what it had taken from me.” His gaze is distant with recollection. “And then I was mad at you, because you couldn’t forget no matter what I did.” He gazes at you. “But now it’s finally given me something.”

You’re startled, by his heartfelt words. You’ve always known Jin hated this realm, hated the way the beings of this realm had driven you all out. But you didn’t know you had such a huge role in his opinion of it. “You.” He finishes. “So I guess I can’t really hate this place after all.”

You’re struck speechless in that moment, and your heart swells with an overwhelming feeling. You already know you love the man before you, but in that moment, you’re shocked at just how much. A feeling bubbles up at the base of your chest- your heart feels fit to burst.

“What do you mean?” You ask- is this feeling hope? What does Jin mean, when he says the realm gave him you?

Jin merely shrugs.

“I’ll let you speculate.” He tells you, shooting you a coy smile, an oddly cheeky look that he’s given to his friends before but never to you. But then his expression shifts into something more serious. “I think there are more pressing things to discuss first, though. Like why you’re sitting here with me instead of sleeping?”

The warm feeling from earlier instantly evaporates as you recall the reason for your melancholy.

“I guess I’m just nervous.” You confess. “About going home. I’ve... I’ve really enjoyed this trip. And I’m excited to go home. But I’m just so...” you struggle to find the word. “So...”

“Nervous?” Jin suggests. He shuffles so he’s just a bit closer. His shoulder brushes yours- if you extended your neck, you could rest your head against his broad shoulders. A strange electricity buzzes through your body at the thought- it reminds you of your fight over the fungus a few days ago. The air had felt strangely charged then as well.

“Yeah.” You admit, swallowing past a dry throat. “There’s a lot to do, back home.”

“Back home?” Jin echoes, and then his smile turns warm. His mouth carefully forms the word “home” and his eyes wrinkle into two joyous crescent moon shapes. “I guess there is.” He acknowledges. “But you’ve already made the first step. You’re calling the human realm home.”

That startles you. Obviously, it is your home. But you hadn’t realised how instinctive that had become until this moment; at some point the human realm had stopped being that uncomfortable alien place, and had become the place you’re meant to go back to. Home. Jin watches you process the words carefully before he speaks again.

“You don’t have to be nervous.” He tells you softly. The tone to his voice is oddly vulnerable and delicate. Something delicate hovers between you like the flutter of a pixie’s wing. “You said you wanted to work things out together, right? So, you don’t have to be nervous because I’ll be there with you.”

He looks away and his expression is surprisingly shy. “I know you said I don’t have to be the guy with it all worked out, but I still want to try. It makes me happy. Being there for you. So even if you’re nervous... we’ll work it out together, right?”

It is that exact moment that you figure it out. Earlier, you had been uneasy at Jungkook’s line of questioning. You didn’t feel worthy of Jin’s love and affection, and that made you afraid. Because you couldn’t bear to lose him. You still can’t bear to lose him. But gazing into the warm eyes before you, you know you won’t ever lose him. The two of you have braved death together- you’ll make it through anything.

You feel lighter then, and you offer Jin a smile.

“Thank you.” You whisper. Jin smiles back.

“Any time.” He whispers back to you in answer.

Sleep comes easily after that, and so too does the end of your journey. All too soon you stand before the portal back home.

The trip feels like it’s taken a thousand years and no time at all at the same time. By your calculation, the entire journey has taken almost a month, with all the detours and misadventures. That means almost six hours have passed in the human realm. Jin has almost definitely missed his dinner plans, and your mother is probably starting to wonder why you aren’t home yet.

“What will you do, when you go back?” Jin asks. Jungkook has already stepped through and you’re surprised that Jin is making conversation now, of all times.

“Apologise to my mother.” You say easily. “What about you?”

“I’m going to save my snapchat streaks and apologise to Joon.” Jin shares. He’s nervously twisting his fingers together. The energy he gives off is like an uneasy teenager about to do a huge public speech. It’s a big contrast from the person her was last night. Like he’s bracing himself for something.

You thought you’d be bracing yourself too. On the other side is hard work and futile dreams and a bleary, dull city.

But on the other side is your mother, your friends, your family. Your evil cat waits for you on the other side; the life your father dreamed of for you is on the other side. You had thought that so much in your life is wrong, and now that the portal is here, you realise that it’s not. It’s just life. Things go wrong and things go right. Like the path of a river, cutting through the vast, unknown wilderness. You had been thinking of it this whole time like you’d flip a switch and things would be easy. But that’s not what it’s going to be like on the other side of this portal, and it’s not really what you want things to be like. It’s an adventure of a different kind.

And it’s an adventure that you want to share... with Jin.

You remember what Jungkook had said- the best things in life are the scariest to start. And you’re scared now. No, you’re terrified. But if you’re this scared, then you know that this moment is going to be huge. Life-changing. You can’t keep the words in a moment longer. You don’t want to. You’ve spent too long running and fearing and hesitating and overthinking. But you’re confident, that the two of you will survive this even if he doesn’t feel the same way, and you’re ready to take that risk.

The river loves those who take the plunge.

“Jin,” you call, and you thought that if you ever did this that you’d be lost for words. But you’re not. Because you’re finally ready. Last night had solidified that for you. The words come easily. “You remember how you said that I look at you a certain way?”

You turn and face him, and he looks bewildered.

“Like you’re my hero.” You recall. And then you steel yourself and meet his gaze. It’s the same eyes you’ve known all your life. The same eyes you want to look into for the remainder of your life. “It’s because you are my hero. No, actually, it’s more than that.” You assert, and he just stares, completely dumbstruck. “I look at you like that because I love you. Because I admire you and think you’re strong and brave and kind, and even if you’re not the guy who has it all together, I still feel the same way. And I lied when I said I just wanted you to be my friend. I thought it was enough, but it’s not- I want to be your partner. I want to be your best friend. I want to be your girlfriend.” You say. And then you summon all the exciting fluttering feels in your chest and let it pour into your smile. “I love you, Kim Seokjin.”

Before you stands something you never thought you’d see. Kim Seokjin, the mastermind behind the Jant, is completely speechless. And then slowly, very slowly, he opens his mouth to give a response.

“Are you dead?” Jungkook demands as the upper half of his body appears once more through the portal. “It’s been like 30 seconds in that realm which is approximately ten years in this realm if my maths is correct!”

You spring back from Jin. You’re startled at how far you have to step back- had you really been standing that close?

“R-right.” You stutter. You feel like you’ve been caught cheating on a diet or something equally scandalous. “We’re coming.”

Jin just looks annoyed.

“No we’re not. Give us a minute.” He snaps at Jungkook, placing a palm against Jungkook’s head and shoving him back through the portal none-too-gently. He then turns urgently back to you. “What did you just say?” He demands. His intensity has you cowering slightly- your bravado from earlier leaves you.

“I said “we’re coming”?” You recall, attempting to divert the topic, but Jin steps closer.

“No you didn’t. You said you love me. And that you want to be my girlfriend.” He accuses.

“If you knew, why did you ask me?” You grumble. And then your expression softens. “But yes. I did say that. And it’s ok if you don’t feel the same. I know you could have any girl you want and I won’t be mad if you want someone else.” You reassure him quickly. He just stares, offering you no indication of whether he’d processed your words. It’s uncomfortable, but you suppose your words were going to be uncomfortable. You’re changing the very nature of your relationship by voicing them aloud. “But if you were willing... maybe you could give me a chance?” You trail away.

Still, Jin just continues to look at you blankly. He looks like he’s a robot that just encountered a programming error. Hesitantly, you reach out to tap his shoulder, just to make sure he hasn’t died or suddenly been transformed into stone.

A hand shoots up. It grabs your wrist, halting its movements. Jin’s eyes bug out of his head.

“YOU’RE TELLING ME NOW?” He all but screeches. You flinch- you hadn’t anticipated a jant in response to your confession. “YOU HAD THE WHOLE TRIP TO SAY YOUR FEELINGS AND YOU SAY IT NOW? YOU COULDN’T HAVE WAITED ONE DAY?”

His nostrils flare as he releases your wrist so that he can point accusingly at you.

“You had all your chances! You could have said it on the way to the forest spirit! Or when the Saishtas were chasing us! Or when we landed in the ravine! You’ve had literally the whole trip and you wait until right before I’m going to confess?” He spits out in that rapid-fire way that you’ve never seen another person be able to replicate.

And then you process his words.

“Wait-“ you say, hoping to abort the jant so that you have enough time to comprehend what he’s saying.

It’s no use.

“Seriously! I had a whole plan, (Y/N)! We were going to go to dinner and I was going to buy you flowers and I was going to ease you into it! But no! You just had to beat me to it, and for what? For what? So that you can make a half-assed confession right before we step into an alley next to a brothel?” He laments.

“It’s not half-assed-“ you protest, because you’d poured your heart out to Jin.

He steps in menacingly.

“Take it back.” He demands. Your eyes widen.

“What?” You cry, defensively. To your credit, you only cower a little which is an impressive feat for someone on the receiving end of a jant.

“Your confession! Take it back!” He orders.

“No!” You argue back. “I’m not going to do that.”

“You are!” Jin counters. “You’re going to take it back and we’re going to do it properly, over dinner, and you’re going to have washed hair and I’m going to-“

You don’t let him finish whatever stupid thoughts were filtering through his brain. If he wants a proper, romantic confession, then he’s going to get one! You hear a sharp intake of breath from him as your lips press to his. They’re slightly chapped after such a long period of rough travel, but the sensation is still pleasant. Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel like you’re about to burst.

It takes Jin a moment to respond. But when he does, it’s with an intensity that is almost frightening. You’re startled by the way he pulls you close. It’s like the electricity from last night, but multiplied a hundred-fold. If you thought your heart was ready to burst before, it is nothing compared to the way molten lava fills your chest when his hands come up to gently cradle your face and deepen the kiss.

When you finally recall that oxygen is something you need, Jin pulls away and searches your gaze. His hands slide down to your waist, resting delicately along the flare of your hips. His face is bright red but his eyes are determined.

Something about the way he is looking at you has you feeling shy.

“That was weird, huh?” You stammer, trying to cover the way you feel so completely overwhelmed. “Sorry.” Your heart is dancing in your chest. It’s all too much for one person to feel and you’re just not really sure what to do with the sensation. Did he feel it too? This weird tension, like you’re a balloon about to pop?

Jin doesn’t break eye contact and his tongue darts out to moisten his lips.

“Hard to say.” He finally says, breaking his long spell of silence. He then grabs at either side of your face, puckering his lips obnoxiously. “I think we need to try again to be sure.”

You barely have time to protest before he’s attempting to pull you in for a second kiss, although you slap a hand over his mouth to halt his advance.

“Wait!” You accuse. “You can’t just kiss me and not respond to what I said!”

“I already told you.” He snaps. “Your confession doesn’t count until we do it properly. Now if you excuse me-“ He grabs you by the elbows and tugs you back towards him, attempting to kiss you once more, but you stop him with a hand pressed to his chest. His expression turns pleading. “Just one more time.” He requests.

You swallow, and gaze into his eyes. It’s not an unfamiliar look, you realise. He’s looked at you like this before, but you now realise what the emotion was behind that look.

“I love you.” You tell him. “I told you like this because yes. I couldn’t wait one more day. I don’t want to wait another day without you knowing. I love you.” You say one more time, just for good measure.

His expression crumbles and he sighs in resignation, before pulling you tightly against him. His embrace is warm, and secure. It’s no different from all the other times he’s hugged you in your life, and yet nothing is the same.

“Fine.” He says, into the crook of your neck. “But I’m not saying it back until we have a proper date.”

He pulls out of the hug and the love in his gaze is overwhelming. It’s not a confession, per se, but his intent is as clear as day.

He loves you. You know he does.

“Deal.” You say back, and his response is his eyes crinkling up as he offers you that special smile, the one that he only shows when he’s really, truly happy. “But you’re paying.”

“How about we save any important conversations for the side of the portal where we’re not in constant mortal danger?” Jungkook demands, his head once more poking through the portal. There’s an awkward silence as he glances between the two of you, and then he groans. “Seriously? You had the entire journey to sort this out and you waited until now? You couldn’t even just leave it until after dinner?”

“Sorry!” You apologise quickly, going to follow Jungkook’s lead through the portal. But a hand wrapped around your wrist stops you- you hadn’t even noticed Jin had grabbed you.

You turn to gaze questioningly at him, and he shrugs, shifting his hands until he can interlace his fingers with yours.

“Wait. Let’s go together.” He requests, then pauses. “Can we?”

Something about this moment feels monumental. Huge. You’ve braved enemy encampments, crossed mountains. You’ve gone free-falling into giant ravines and overcome furious forest spirits.

And yet this moment feels like the start to your biggest adventure yet. From this point on, real life starts. You smile at Jin and he returns it.

“Yeah.” You say. “Let’s go together.”

Jin’s reply is covered by Jungkook’s annoyed call through the portal:

“What did I just say? Hurry up!”

~Fin~

#castlebangtan #thebtswritersclub #kim seokjin x reader #jin x reader #seokjin x reader #writing

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bonny-kookoo · 4 years

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Shattering (KTH x Reader)☁️🔞💜🐾

🌹Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader

🌹Genre: ANGST, romance, smut, god AU, Idk what to call this, hybrid AU

🌹Warnings: heavy angst, death is a major theme, mentions of suicide and death by freezing, listen there is smut but it’s not as kinky as it usual is, just sweet and heartbreaking lovemaking y’all, Wintergod!Taehyung, Winterspirit!Reader, Wolf hybrid!Taehyung, Bunny Hybrid!Reader, major character death, please love this okay I needed to get all that angst out of my system, somewhat of a happy ending? I don't know you tell me lol

🌹Summary: Every day he would warn you. He’d try and keep an eye on you, his favorite spirit, curious as ever- until one day, he looses sight. And you understand why you were warned. Oh dear rabbit, what did you do?

Humans are amazingly interesting to you.

Sometimes, they'd look at you in wonder, they would call out for you, bending down to seem less intimidating, or would try and beckon you with food- yet the voice of your master would always continue to remind you never to get too close to them.

'Humans and beings like us don't mix well, little rabbit.'

So you'd simply watch from afar, or play hide and seek with the children running around the snow covered meadows and in between the trees of the forest you lived in.

Taehyung was worried every time a new day would start. Even though he had a lot of spirits under his command, and other matters to keep watch over, he couldn't help but feel enchanted by you. His heart had you locked inside, never to open again and free your soul within- and you didn't seem to mind that at all, making matters just more complicated for him. He was no god- he was merely a hand of those who ruled over the times and seasons. He was just as much a puppet as you were, yet they prayed to him like he was in control of all live.

Humans would leave presents and wishes at his shrine, every year around the same time. He sometimes felt a bit of guilt seeing all those things delicately placed for him, while he had you at his side, innocently asking him what they brought him this time. It was another charming attitude of yours; you seemed to felt no jealousy at all. In hierarchy, you were low- so low in fact, that everything around you could easily become your end. While he was graced with with a presence so heavenly that he was invisible for the human eye, you were always seen as the snow white rabbit jumping around the white covered grounds. He saw your actual form instead; a young lady as if drawn by the hands of a painter in the 18th century, with pale skin and snowy white bunny ears- your tail just as expressive and adorable as in your animal form. Everything about you made him feel attached, and he didn't mind at all.

The only thing that did in fact bother him however, was your dangerous curiosity. He knew that one day his scolding voice he'd managed to place inside your head would not be enough anymore to hold yourself back from stepping over the line he'd once drawn in the snow- a line for you to never cross. He knew that one day you would, that one day your life would end, either way. Spirits were never intended to continue living for long, anyways. It was a fact he was very well aware of, yet somehow he couldn't bear the mere possibility of your death. Even if it was inevitable.

As he laid there with you, warm and cozy in your burrow underneath the largest tree of the forest you both called your home, he started to let his mind wander, while his fingers traced along your delicate spine. Your skin was so soft, he swore nothing could truly rival the feel of it under his hands. As his palm laid itself over your ribs, you sighed, moving a bit so snuggle closer to him.

He knew he had made a mistake, a heavy weighing one if he was being honest with himself. His life would continue centuries, while yours could very well be taken tomorrow, or today; yet when he'd seen you last night, skin seemingly glowing underneath the moonlight, as your hair shone like stars, he'd given into his deepest desire to claim you for himself.

It wasn't uncommon for small gods like him to feed on small spirits like you, but this was more than simple craving, this was more than pure need. What he felt for you was desire in its purest form, love in its painful ways, and a soft and warm song of happiness and fulfillment inside his head. You drowned out his thoughts and quenched his thirst for adoration; the way you had sighed so blissfully at his touch made him feel like he needed to relive the moment again already. You'd noticed this as well by now- his length rising in need as your eyes opened, sparkling orbs finding his gaze as he moved, tiny rays of the early sunlight peeking into the cave you'd made and shown him proudly the day you'd finished it. He remembers how uninterested he pretended to be, even though he had felt so proud of you that day.

And he notices how he's never voiced that out until now, as he moves to lean over you, his hands holding yours as he looks down on you. "I've never told you how well you did with this home, little rabbit." He humms, his lips finding yours as you can't seem to hide the grin growing on yours. "You did so good." He mumbles, as his kisses move from your lips to your ear, so they can make their way down your neck. "Yet my pride forbade me to voice my thoughts back then. I hope you forgive me." He speaks, and you smile at him, eyes filled with nothing but happiness as he copies your expression.

"I would forgive you anything." You say, and he feels his heart swell inside his chest.

He humms against your pulse point, before he chuckles. "Those are dangerous words, darling." He sighs against your skin, as you squirm underneath him. "What if I was to snap your neck, little rabbit?" He growls, his hybrid features moving as he grazes his sharp canines against your collarbone- a place he'd already bitten and marked the night before, purple bruises and other marks already blossoming beautifully on your skin. Yet you only mewl at him, eyes closing as you stay relaxed underneath him.

"I'd happily die under the hand belonging to the being that holds my heart." You say, and his eyes widen a bit at your statement. "What a way to go, knowing my last breath belongs to you." You say, and he stops a bit, before he snaps his mind out of your words.

"Foolish little rabbit." He mumbles, hands now more desperate, more aggressive, less careful as he seems to be frustrated. "You make it sound like you love me, darling." He chuckles, and you suddenly open your eyes, hands grasping his biceps as he halts his movements, gaze meeting yours.

"I do." You say, voice quiet and wavering, as if you're scared to say them too loud. "Please don't say that you don't, even if it's the truth." You suddenly seem sad, making him grow uneasy as he searches for any way inside his head to make it better. "Please lie to me. Please say that you do- just once." You whisper, and his large hands hold your face, his eyes wide open as he speaks his words.

"I cannot lie, and you know this." He answers, and you smile painfully, not meeting his eyes as you look to the side, nodding. "I don't love you, little rabbit." He speaks, making you choke up before he leans down, kissing your closed eyelid, before he moves to the other. "I adore you." He humms, as he kisses the bridge of your nose carefully. "I cherish every second with you." Another kiss, placed on your cheek. "I'll worship you like those humans worship me, little rabbit." And another kiss, placed upon your lips as your eyes open, watery and glistening as he smiles. "Love is nothing compared to what I feel for you, my dear." He humms, and carefully brushes the tears off of your face as they fall. He he doesn't think about the weight of his words in that moment, and simply lets himself be washed away by the waves of emotions drowning you both in this small space, hand underneath your thigh as he positions himself properly, to enter you smoothly, thoughts flying away like crows after a hunter's warning shot into the trees. It's not for pleasure, it's not to quench any thirst he has- its simply to feel close, to cherish your body, to make a memory he can remember once you're gone.

And as he listens to your blissful sounds, he fights his own tears, knowing deep down that your fate was already decided. This was no fight-

because the loosing part had already been decided. And he knew it would be him.

He watches you from afar as you play with the children of a wandering couple, who seem just as enchanted by your form as he is. In these moments, he can't help but think what would've been if you were both born human- fighting problems so wonderfully mundane and normal, working and coming home to find you smiling at him, asking him what he'd done during the day. He wished your fate would've been reversed- but then again, he's glad that it is how it is. He's happy that you're going to spend your time happy, at his side, with love never fading away. He's feeling comforted by the fact that it's going to be him carrying the burden of living on without your presence at his side. He's sure he can take the pain- he would never want you to carry those bone crushing feelings on your shoulders. He's happy.

It feels strange, the way you suddenly stop in your tracks as you try to run after the kids, turning around to spot him, as you run towards his opening arms; a gesture he hadn't even noticed doing. It was beginning to become normal to him, as you fall into his arms, body fondly buried into his robes, as he places a kiss onto your head, right between where your ears sit. He feels like you're soulmates never meant to be, and he knows that this is only temporary. Yet he's feeling the need to be selfish, as he looks down on you.

You smile at him, unknowing how it makes his heart race and pulse quicken.

Oh how he loves you.

It's not the sound of it that makes him worried.

It's the lack of your body at his side, that instantly has him worried.

He walks around the forest, asking every spirit around him if they have seen you; but no one can quite answer him, as he grows frustrated. His steps quicken as he searches for you, unknowing if the sound he'd heard had just been a warning shot as usual. He can't help but feel as if today was different.

He asks Hoseok, a fellow spirit of yours, but the bear hybrid can only shake his head, as he tells him he has not seen you today either. It's when he hears the soft weeping of the sparrows that he becomes scared to look around the tree he is standing behind. But his legs lead him forward, as he spots your form, the sparrows tearfully placing flowers around you; and he knows that you have been taken away.

They look at him, their child-like forms noticing him, but for a change none of them decide to put their attention on the small god. He knows why it is, knows that your place in hierarchy had maybe been as low as they can be, but your kind heart and soft character made you be loved by almost everyone around you.

He swallowed hard as he felt his eyes sting, slowly walking towards your form, snow softly falling onto your now unmoving limbs, your skin as pale as it can be. Snowdrops grow around you as he kneels down at your side, the sparrow's bodies still getting shaken by their hiccups as they hold each other, mourning your passing. He can't look down yet, chooses to look into the sky as he tries to keep his composure. He's not supposed to cry, he's not even supposed to kneel at your side like this, cold and wetness from the ground seeping into his knees as they begin to sting from the bite of temperature. But it only helps him, in away, gives him a bit of a distraction before he looks downwards.

But he's unprepared for what he sees on your face; the serene smile, a look that tells him you had not been scared in your last moments of life. You had accepted death, and for some reason, this just pains him even more. He doesn't know why this feels so much worse now. If he could only spot a tiny speck of pain or regret, a bit of fear or a hint of regret, he could channel all his emotions into anger and make it storm so harshly everyone would never return into those woods ever again. But knowing that you were happy and content with your end gives him nothing instead.

His eyes widen once he feels the sparrows on either of his side, carefully hugging his body as he does not understand what is happening. They swallow tearfully, needing to calm down for a moment until one of them looks up at him.

"She said even if you decline and fight it, we should comfort you." One of them whispers.

The other nods. "She said even gods need a hug sometimes."

And as a sob escapes him, he can't do nothing more than pull your body onto his lap, holding your head to his shoulder, as if to warm you up in his embrace. He knows he has to let go, but he wants to be selfish for a moment. He wants to keep you just a bit longer, before he has to move on.

He doesn't know if he can.

"I never said it back." Is what he presses out between gritted teeth, tears blurring his vision. "But I love you."

He watches the kids play with the sparrows, as he passes them, their smiling faces greeting him.

He smiles too.

He walks around aimlessly, never straying too far away from the cave you'd build years ago. He doesn't need to sleep, but he still keeps it cozy and clean. He feels like he needs to prepare it for you if you were to miraculously return to him, even though he knows its just a wish he makes every day to keep his mind relaxed.

He spots a body not too far away from him, as he kneels down. Its a young man, never passed his early twenties, as he spots the blue lips and pale skin. His soul is long gone, and he usually does not feel anything towards these people. But maybe you had colored his soul differently, because slight sadness creeps over him as he starts to silently place his hand onto the young man's head, brushing away his hair in a soft breeze of wind. He had probably underestimated the stormy night, since it was early morning right now. What a sad way to go, he thinks.

The sparrows and a fox spirit look over his shoulders, as he begins to mumble. "Make it pretty, yeah? Give him a good end." He speaks, as he looks across the body, the almost see through soul of the young man watching him as he smiles, nodding, as if to thank him. Taehyung simply nods back, as he stands up, walking away from the scene, as he tells the crows on the trees to help the villagers find the boy.

Something in the air is shifting as he feels his skin tingle. He watches from the cave as the moon glows onto a figure emerging from the frozen lake, a new wintergod being born as he leans against the tree, a smile gracing his lips as the new god greets him. It's the young man who'd frozen to death all those years ago. He walks towards taehyung as he kneels down, bowing respectfully. "Does it.. does it need to happen?" He asks, and The older god smiles, chuckling as he immediately thinks that this would be something you'd say as well. He got his hybrid features, the young man in front of him- those soft bunny ears bringing back memories that no longer pain him. He nods.

"It's how the world works, friend." He says, and the rabbit in front of him looks saddened by his words. He places a hand ontop of his head, as he looks up at him. "Don't feel sad- there's nothing to be sad about." He explains. "I'm ready." He speaks, and the young god in front if him nods, though he bites his lip, as if to keep his emotions at bay. Taehyung knows that he's going to be a good hearted god. The upcoming winters will lack moody storms and heavy snowfalls for the next years without his own swings of emotions every now and then.

He smiles brightly suddenly, as another figure emerges from the lake behind the new god, who turns around as well. Taehyung heavily gets up, bones heavy as he stumbles on weak legs, chuckling as your arms catch him. He chuckles, head burying into your chest before he laughs out, smile genuine and young as he starts to crumble. His skin breaks off, falling down like fresh snow as the sparrows, the spirits, and the new god watch him embrace you closely, his last strength fading as he looks up at you.

"I love you." He mumbles, before he kisses you tearfully, making you chuckle. "I love you, I love you-" He repeats between every peck, as you laugh, fading together with him.

"I know." You say.

And together, you leave nothing behind but fresh snow, a new generation, and a field full of snowdrops.

#bts imagine #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts smut #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung smut #taehyung x you #kim taehyung imagine #hybrid imagine #hybrid kim taehyung

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the-fiction-witch · 3 years

Text

The Witch

MOVIE THE LAST LEGION AGE UP COUPLE: ROMULUS X READER RATING: SMUT

I stood leant on the balcony looking out across the city, watching the villages on the other side of the mountain… they were burning, the smoke rising high into the sky, the flames illuminating the stars, we had sent a legion but they had been slaughtered along with the hundreds of men, women and children defenceless and slaughtered. My advisors were idiots, my staff useless. I feared for those in the city and the palace, the hundreds and thousands here that would die if our walls were to be breached.

I knew what had to be done, but I was fearful to do it.

"Romulus My king, please, you must reconsider" my father said as we walked down the hallowed palace halls

"Reconsider? What other hope have I got?"

"Our walls with prevail the legions will destroy them before they step foot into the city"

"Yeah we send one to protect the villages… how well did that go"

"Those were rural mountain villages, now where near the strength or security of the city”

“And what happens if they do get through the wall?”

“The army will-”

“What happens. If they get though?”

“If they get though” He says “The moment one of the barbarian men steps foot in on the city stone, We will have you halfway to britannia”

“So, you want me to run off to Britannia with my tail between my legs? While my people die for me? While they suffer under a barbarian ruler? While children are tortured? While women are raped in the streets? Men forced into amries? While I hide myself away in Britannia hiding away in some dirty, muddy, tiny little hole while he destroys everything my ancestors have built?”

“Why not come sit in with the senet we will discuss the attack and matters” “The senet is a bunch of men sitting around with titles from a hundred years ago. What is that going to help?”

“They know the city better than anyone” “The beggars in the street know the city better the senet never leaves the palace” I sighed

“Then why not go to the vestals? They always have good advice for the kings”

“Ohh so you want me to go sit around with a bunch of honry old virgins? And philosophers who cut their dicks off?”

“Then go to the library and discuss with the Philosophers?”

“Ohh please, Unless I’m a new constellation, some old books or a cannabis bath they couldn’t give less of a shit” I sighed

“Then go to the temple my king, discuss with the gods. Think things over in their presence” He says “Speak with Minerva, Take council with Mars,”

“I’m going to the temple… just not theres”

“I still do not advise it my king”

“Well that's all it is. Advice” I said “I’m going to see her”

“You know the sort of things people…. Will say they see you going there?”

“I know. But I need power… and wisdom. Older, Stronger than the twelve”

I could feel my fear, thick inside my heart, getting heavier, harder, Like… I wanted to run away with every step I took closer, my escort followed me as did two slaves heading though the city past people all adoring but even the people had fear knowing the trouble coming and some knowing… where I was going. I walked the walk of gods where the temples all sat, I past Vesta and Vulcan, Past ceres and Minerva, Past Apollo and Diana, Past Venus, Past Neptune, Past mercury and mars, Past Pulto, Past juno and Jupiter… but I stopped a moment and nodded to the female slave who carried the offerings she nodded and took some of the flowers to juno and jupiter's statues as I felt there eyes watched me. Once she came back I continued until reaching the end of the road where the temple of Luna sat.

I went inside the empty temple, the black stone mosaic floor clean and the roof open to allow in the sun but at the right times the moon. I went to the statue and left all the flowers there and I saw the door at the side

“Stay here, I need to see her alone” I said. They nodded so I headed to the door and down the stone steps deeper below the temple. Each stone step was dusty, and felt Ill trodden.

I got to the chamber firelight cascading across the room and a woman in black knelt on the stone.

“Greetings My king” she said

“Greetings Lady of the Moon” I said

“What is it you seak?”

“You know what I seak”

She stopped and turned to me pulling the hood of her dress down revealing her shock white hair

“You seak her?”

“I do.”

“You know what darkness lurks there?”

“I do. Please…. I need her.”

“I can send you there… but I cannot be held accountable for if you return”

“I know that. But I must see her”

"....very well. You know where she is"

"Thank you" I nodded hurrying out the temple.

I stood changing my clothes to look plain so I could walk freely wrapping a brown cloak around me,

"Please let someone accompany you"

"No. I don't wanna scare her. I take an army boy she'll think I'm arresting her, besides I need to be quiet, quick and unnoticed. She already knows I'm coming if she's going to hurt me there is little we can do about it"

"My king… as one of your oldest and most trusted advisors make I speak plainly"

"Yes."

"I think you are betraying the gods. Your people. And your ansestors. Romulus… I have severed your family my whole life, served your father and mother while you rested in her womb and I have seved you every day you have been king… I beg of you. Do not go to her"

"I must. And honestly…" I said "I want to see her"

"Very well my king" he nods

I took my things and scurried out the palace like a theif, sneaking thought the city as best I could trying not to draw attention to myself keeping my hood up so people didn't see who I was, I got to the city gate out to the woods seeing travelers coming in to find rooms for the night, women coming in from walks in the woods with there baskets, traders headed in and out but I walked straight out.

I felt so strange but I kept walking deeper and deeper into the woods, walking the pathway between the trees and animal burrows flowing the trail of lavender flowers that grow along the walk, there purple glow in the setting sun leading me to her.

I stopped, as I arrived.

The smell of grass, lavender and smoke filled my sinuses.

The sound of music from within, the wind in the tree's like voices, the movements of the branches and grass all seemed muted here.

I could feel grass and small sticks under my feet.

As I looked apon the house.

It was a small thached cottage with firelight beyond the windows, smoke coming from the chimneys, a wooden fence around the garden where herbs and flowers grew a gate in the fence sat close to me open already, beside the gate was a little apothecary shelf with a few bottles of things.

I stepped inside the gate shutting it behind me pulling down my hood stepping in the stone wedged into the dirt to avoid touching any plants I went to the blue door tapping three times.

The door creaked open, I exhaled to calm me down before stepping inside, I shut the door behind me looking at the cottage, it was dark the fire going yet it did illuminate much, herbs sat on windowsills and tools in tables, a bed by the side with gosomer red and purple curtains and sheets with lots of pillows, symbols carved into anything wood or stone, the smell of something sweet over the fire and I saw her across the room sat surrounded by candles in her black dress she faced away from me her hair tightly wound around her head, working one something at her desk, lightly humming as she did.

I stood a moment just listening to her hum, to the fire crack all of it muffled by the sound of my own heart beating in my ears.

"I-" I began

"Romulus Augustus, king of rome, second if his name right, blood of Cesar, the boy king" she says "good evening"

"Good evening miss."

"You don't have to you know"

"Don't have to what?" I asked

"Go see her. If you would like to come see me romulus you have only to come see me" she says mixing potions

"I like to, so you know I'm coming"

"I always know when your coming" she giggled

"I know you do. But still"

"I know why your here"

"I don't doubt you do." I said "you know everything else"

"Not everything"

"Almost everything"

"You know I can't romulus. It's not fair"

"How is it not? He believes himself a god carries dark magic with him it's only leveling the battle field"

"And I'm sure he'd say the same if he found out you had first"

"Y/n. Please"

"My magic isn't strong enough for that romulus"

"Isn't strong enough? I've seen the power you have…" I said going over to her wrapping my arms around her neck and kissing her hair "I know you can. Please… thousands in the city will die if you don't"

"And thousands of them will die if I do" she says turning to face me going to get up and walk somewhere else but I held her hand

"If your alligence to me? Or to him?"

"Neither of you" she says "I don't fight. For either side" she says moving away to go to the fire

"You've seen what will happen if you don't? Haven't you?"

"I have"

"Tell me"

"No. Knowone should know there-"

"Tell me!" I snapped "by order of the king you will tell me"

"I…. Romulus I can't" she said holding back tears I went over and pulled her to my chest kissing her hair

"I'll die. Won't I?"

She nods

"And if you do?"

"Then he dies"

"Y/n… I know that can't be easy. But would you listen anyway?"

"Okay" she nods

"If you help me, I can give you anything, you'll save thousands of men, women and children in the city, save generations of art, books, sculptures that you'll know he'll destroy if he can and… and I'll owe you my life. And anything I have the power to give you I will. Land, a title, servents, a castle, whatever you want in this world I will do it for you, if you just do this...for me"

"Romulus, he's my father" she says

"He abused you, abandoned you, murdered your mother, I know he's your father but he has never once treated you like his daughter," I explain "atleast I wouldn't hurt you, I care about you… my little witch" I smiled caressing her cheek

"Romulus, you know I can't" she says pushing me away and going back to her work

"So you'll let me die?" I asked she didn't answer "... I thought you loved me?"

"I do"

"You love me? Your the only one who can help and your going to let me die?"

"Romulus! I can't"

"Why not?" I asked her "give me one good reason why you can't?" She didn't answer just sitting there staring at the fire "well?"

"Relax. I already did" she smiled

"What?"

"Seriously romulus I did it hours ago. Before you even left home"

"... You evil little thing! You really had be going there didn't you!"

"It's fun" she giggled

"What do you need for doing it?" I asked

"The usual"

"Alright" I smiled getting the coins out my bag and the little bag of treats from the palace kitchens

"Thank you" she giggled taking the to put them elsewhere in her house

"Your welcome my little witch. Thank you for doing so"

"I have to take care of you" she smiled "speaking of which?"

"Is it that time again already?"

"Humm"

"Alright," I smirked slipping off my cloak and my bag leaving them by the door I went over to the bed perching myself on the edge leaning in my elbows as she came over and began untieing my pants hooking her finger into each loop of the string pulling hard and so each loop and knot undid until they where completely untied she pulled them down enough that my cock jumped free excited to see her, I bit my lip hard watching her undo the small leather corset around her waist letting it drop to the floor which allowed her dress that noticably wasn't tied together in the centre as it should have been, she took each side and pulled it off letting it pool in the floor around her leaving her completely naked. I tried not to moan just looking at that beautiful body. She let her hair down completely and pushed me back in the bed I smirked back and moved to be laid in her bed as she crawled ontop of me sitting so my cock nuzzled between the lips of her pussy. I went to touch her breasts but she slapped my hands away

"You know the rules" she says

"I know" I blushed "I pledge my heart, my soul and my body, willingly and ...excited"

"I pledge my heart, my body, and my soul willingly" she giggled before she lent down and kissed me, those lips as soft and sweet as last I was here. I kissed back eagerly as I felt her undoing my shirt so I took over and pulled it off throwing it off the bed she smirked sitting up and next I knew I was inside her

"Uughhh y/n!" I groaned grabbing her hips feeling how warm and soft she was around me

She gasped as she reached the hilt and moved over grabbing something from her table as she did the way she leant her breasts where in my face so I smirked nuzzling with them and giving them kisses

"Romulus!" She giggled pushing me away

"Aww come on! You can't wave them in my face and not expect me to give them a kiss" I smirked

“Dirty boy” she smirked holding her knife she cut her hand she offered the knife so I let her cut my hand and I took her hand tightly feeling my heart beating out of my chest as she began to move …

#the last legion #Romulus Augustus #Romulus #Thomas #thomasbrodiesangster #thomassangster #thomas brodie sangster #thomas sangster #thomas brodie sangster smut #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster i #thomas brodie sangster s #thomas smut #thomas sangster x reader #thomas sangster smut #thomas sangster imagine

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captain-emmajones · 3 years

Text

everything is icy and blue (you would be here too)

Dearest @klynn-stormz, Merry Christmas! It has been so lovely to get to know you during this past month. I hope you’ll enjoy this gift I wrote for you, and here’s to hoping we’ll get to know each other more during this new year!

A big thank you to @cssecretsanta2020 for organizing this event, to @therealstartraveller776 for being the loveliest beta and to @carpedzem for screaming at me -- always.

Summary: Canon divergence in which season 3B happens during Christmas time. Set after 3x16 and before 3x17 (let’s pretend more time passed between Neal’s death and Hook’s curse).

When Hook has to adjust to Storybrooke’s Christmas traditions and learns about mistletoe, he starts carrying it around with him, all the time -- just in case Emma decides to join in the fun that was promised and kiss him. Except it doesn’t exactly go according to his plans.

6OOO words - Fluff - Angst - Ao3

The sun is long gone when Hook and Henry finally sail back home. The stars and the moon have invaded the night sky, twinkling peacefully above their heads.

Hook exhales a sigh of contentment, twirls of white smoke dancing out of his lips.

“Quite chilly, isn’t it, lad?”

Henry stands before him, spyglass firmly pressed against his right eye. It seems to take him a few seconds to register that Hook has been talking to him.

“What?...No! I’m not even cold!”

A quiet laughter jolts out of Hook’s mouth. Of course he isn’t cold. The lad has been looking mesmerized ever since they left port. It is a miracle he still knows his name.

A mechanical swing of the wheel, cold fingers against cold metal -- and not warm wood, not like the Jolly -- and the small boat Hook has ‘burrowed’ slides gracefully into port.

“Almost there, lad.”

If Henry hears him speak, nothing in his demeanor gives it away. Hook’s heart smiles as something warm swells inside his chest.

The sailor has to admit that Storybrooke’s docks in this late winter afternoon have proven to be a sight for sore eyes. They seem forever entrapped in shimmering clouds of misty darkness, the pavement glistening under unusually bright street lights.

Hook frowns.

“Tell me something lad, why are those street lights this colorful?”

His question causes Henry to finally give up on the spyglass. He clicks it shut, and abandons the front of the boat to reach him.

“Christmas lights. Why do you ask?”

Although Hook has very little idea what this Christmas thing is, he gathers from Henry’s matter-of-fact tone that it is on the list of things he shouldn’t be talking about with the boy if he doesn’t want Emma to kill him.

“Oh, just like that, lad. My vision must not be what it used to, because I couldn’t make them out properly.”

Emma’s cheeks are flushed and her nose stained with red when Hook and Henry finally reach her. Her slim body appears tense under the quivering lights of the docks, and there is not an inch of her skin showing.

“Everything alright?” she asks, voice hoarse from the cold.

Her head is buried beneath what she calls “a beanie”. It is also red, and it is positively the most wonderful vision Hook’s had the pleasure of gazing at in weeks.

“I think so, Swan. The lad is quite fond of the sea. Isn’t that right, Henry?”

Henry is polite enough to look up from the video game he was already engrossed in to nod vigorously.

“Yeah, it was so much fun. Thank you for taking me, Killian.” Henry dedicates a smile to Hook, to which the pirate answers back: “T’was my pleasure, lad.”

The boy then shifts his attention to his mother. “Can I go wait in the car?” he asks.

Hook watches as Emma pretends to think, for one minute -- eyes rolling and underlip tucked between her teeth -- before she drops the car keys into his hand.

“Thanks, Mom. Bye, Killian!” Four words and the boy disappears as a gust of cold wind curls around the two warm bodies still outside.

Emma scoffs a little as her eyes linger on her son settling himself comfortably in the yellow bug parked a few feet away and raises her eyes to gaze at Hook.

The immediate effect it has on his heart rate is truly ridiculous, and Hook cannot hold back his smile.

“Thank you for taking him,” she mutters quickly, scrunching her nose -- and her words seem to burn her lips.

Hook sees himself lean into her space, smirking.

“Why, you’re most welcome, Swan.”

He watches as her eyes widen and scrutinize him before a slow, timid smile curls up her lips.

Behind her back, the waves crash tenderly against the harbour, claiming it as home.

It’s always a sight for sore eyes, Emma Swan smiling at him, and Hook counts his blessings.

“Oh, by the way, tell me something, Swan,” and as he speaks he leans into her space even more, bending forward as if Henry might hear them.

Emma’s eyes grow wider, but she does not back away.

It isn’t necessary, of course, and it isn’t like Henry is paying any attention to two of them anyway but neither Hook nor Emma seem willing to take that into account.

“Yeah?”

Her breathy tone and bright eyes cause Hook’s heart to leap inside his chest. As he squeezes his belt between his fingers to gain some composure, Hook gathers enough courage to incline his body towards hers even more, lips dangerously close to Emma’s face.

“The lad mentioned a Christmas celebration, and I’m afraid I haven’t been updated on this subject.”

Hook catches a whiff of Emma’s fragrance as he backs away to gaze into her eyes, cinnamon and vanilla invading his lungs, and he has the pleasure of seeing her face crease into a wider smile.

“Christmas, uh? Don’t worry, I’ll make you flashcards.”

“I don't know what that is but sure.”

By the time he finishes his sentence, Emma’s grin is dazzling and Hook begins considering freezing this moment forever in time and possibly angling his face just right so that he might meet her lips, perhaps, just perhaps --

“It’s a holiday from our world. It’s supposed to be religious, but for most people it’s mostly an occasion to exchange gifts and kiss under the mistletoe--”

“-- kiss under the what?”

And Hook sees the bubble burst, just like that. A veil falls over her gaze and her smile dies away in a frown.

“Nothing. It’s stupid.” Even as she talks, her legs take a step backward, and Hook can only watch as this invisible tether between them seems to stretch and stretch.

He wonders if she feels it too, this suffocating feeling as she pulls away. The answer is cruel: surely not, or she wouldn’t be pulling that way.

“I see. Well, goodnight, Swan.”

Although she’s just begun walking away, Hook knows Emma is long gone when she whispers back: “‘Night, Hook.”

Since Emma doesn’t seem willing to share anything with him these days, Hook settles his mind on learning more about this world’s tradition on his own -- which ends up being quite easy, as he fumbles through Storybrooke’s library.

The Wicked Witch hasn’t shown up in two weeks now — since Neal died — which allows Hook to take some liberties with his time schedule.

“Do you need any help?”

Hook startles and turns around to face two, big blue eyes.

“Belle,” he says, but it sounds a lot like a reproach. Belle’s clearly understood it because she is frowning now.

“I saw you all alone with your books in the Christmas section and I figured you might need help to understand this world’s traditions,” she explains but any warmth has definitely escaped her tone.

Guilt immediately circles Hook’s throat, and he is gentler when he says: “No, I’m fine lass but... thank you for offering.”

Belle simply nods as a faint smile flickers across her face. And Hook thinks guilt is quite a vile thing because it pushes him to give up on the book in his hand Christmas Traditions to Brighten your Holidays-- silly, silly title -- and press his palm across the brunette’s shoulder.

“Actually, you might be able to enlighten me on something…”

A wink, and the right corner of Belle’s lip raises slightly.

“Sure, what do you want to know?”

“Swan mentioned a kissing tradition that involved toes of some sort?”

She’s frowning now, and it cannot possibly be good.

“What?” Her hands meet her hips as she furrows her brows harder. “Oh you mean mistletoe!”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I said.”

Hook watches as Belle’s grin becomes impish. “I’m not sure Emma would like me telling you this,” she begins, coy.

“Which is exactly why I want you to tell me.”

Belle shrugs, glances down for a bit. “Well, I guess there’s no harm…”

“So you mean to tell me if this plant hangs over two people, they have to kiss?”

Hook’s startled blue eyes are quite a comic sight, Belle must confess. Surprised glimmers glisten amidst tender blue; he looks younger.

“Yes, that's what I mean.”

But Belle knows Hook’s cheerful smile is merely a facade. A few minutes ago, he seemed so...lonely, when she entered the library, nose buried in his book, and Belle figures it isn’t quite fair that he ends up having to learn it all -- on his own.

No one deserves to be left alone. Especially not during the holidays.

“And what does it look like?”

Belle gives a little chuckle. “Why? You want to use it?”

Hook’s answer comes out as a matter of fact. “Aye.”

And he looks so boyish, with this Christmas book in his hand and this hope hovering his eyes that Belle cannot help but smile frankly.

“I’m not sure Emma will fall for that.”

“Never try never know, lass.”

Belle sighs, scanning the shelves of books. Her eyes settle on one that she flips through rapidly.

“There,” she points with her finger, “this plant with the green leaves and red berries? It’s mistletoe.”

Hook peers above her shoulder. “Thank you, lady Belle.”

In a wink, the pirate has disappeared out of the library and Belle scoffs— amused, in spite of herself. He won’t be stopped, will he?

Hook and Henry are playing dice at Granny’s when he figures he might as well just ask the boy for more information.

“I’ve got a question, mate,” he begins, uncertain as to how to address the subject without sounding suspicious to those teenage ears.

Thankfully, Henry’s little concerned about Hook as he shoves French fries into his mouth.

“Yeah?”

Hook tries not to look horrified as one French fry tries to escape and Henry tucks it in expertly with one greasy finger.

“Where do you think I could find mistletoe in this town?”

That does make Henry stop for one tiny second, eyes open wide and eyebrows raised.

“Mistletoe? Why?”

Hook clears his throat, looks down at his fingers stretched on the table and lies: “Mary Margaret sent me.”

From the look on Henry’s face, he isn’t convinced. Smart boy.

“I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve been living in this town very long. You should ask my mom about it.”

Hook frowns. “Nah, let’s not bother her with this when she’s already busy with her...how does she say it…?”

Henry’s eyebrows reach unprecedented height. “...Case?”

“Aye. That.” Why would Swan bother with cases, that Hook doesn’t bloody know -- but it’s part of the things he doesn’t question.

If there’s one thing Hook’s learnt over the years, it is that if one wants something badly enough, it always ends up in one’s lap. However, the tricky thing is it rarely lands softly or in an expected way.

As Emma and he investigate the west side of the forest looking for the Wicked Witch, he quite literally stumbles onto mistletoe.

As things turn out, it is quite a painful venture and it involves gazing for a bit too long at Emma who is a little far behind and not long enough at the vicious root right under his feet -- not that Hook truly thinks he is to blame -- and plummeting to the floor, head first, leading up to Emma falling on top of him in a colorful “HOOK”.

Hook groans at the impact but he isn’t about to complain -- Emma falling on top of him might be the only way she’ll fall for him these days.

Emma, on the other hand, isn’t so pleased.

“What the hell? Can’t you look where you’re going?” she hisses as fiery green eyes pierce through his soul from under golden strands of hair.

“I didn’t bloody mean to do that!”

Hook wishes he didn’t sound like a ten-year-old boy, but that’s what it’s come to these days with Emma.

Emma grunts some more before rolling onto her side and kneeling to spring to her feet.

“You’re impossible”, she mumbles, and it sounds a lot like she might just kill him as she taps snow off her knees. “Tripping in the snow as if the Wicked Witch couldn’t kill us both on sight…”

Hook keeps his lips resolutely closed. When Swan starts rambling about him, he knows better than to interfere and possibly worsen the situation.

She’s still dusting snow off her jeans when suddenly, she stops. And stares at him.

Hook’s toes curl in his boots. “What?”

Emma scowls and he thinks she’s hesitating. “You’ve got...” she starts and then seems to catch herself up and stops.

Hook is about to ask what he’s got, but then Emma’s walking towards him, her hand raised up, and before he knows it her fingers have landed into his hair.

“Don’t move…” she whispers. Hook stands very still, feeling a blush creep up his skin, eyes lowering slowly not to stare.

From his height, he is able to see the slight freckles dusted over her small nose, and her pink lips and, -- perhaps he ought to look at the ground.

Emma’s face remains blank as she rummages through his hair, gentle fingers sieving through it, but a hint of red does stain her cheeks. When she retreats, the glimmer of a smile lingers on her lips.

“You had mistletoe in your hair,” she finally explains, with that quiet, abashed tone that’s only too rare.

Hook swallows down, heart drumming. “Thank you for the assistance, Swan.”

But then she’s quick to avert her gaze and Hook knows the spell has been broken as the small sprig of mistletoe lands onto the snow-coated ground in a faint whisper,

“Come on, let’s go. We’ve already wasted enough time.”

Hook lets her stride forward, making sure she isn’t looking at him before stooping down and picking up the small plant to slide it into his coat. He promises himself to come back for more. We’re not about to waist treasures, now, are we...

Hook is a subtle man, but he is aware that he cannot rightly expect Granny to be okay with him sticking mistletoe onto the window above Emma’s booth without asking first.

So he does.

“Why isn’t there mistletoe here? Isn’t it a Christmas tradition?” He begins, the picture of innocence, as he twirls a spoon into his cup of tea.

Granny sees right through him. “Very cute of you to be concerned about our traditions, Hook,” she mumbles, piling up plates onto a drying rack.

He nods, smiles even. “Fortunate are we that I’ve already stocked up on it.”

Granny’s eyes pierce through his soul. “How fortunate indeed.”

She lets him, of course. Not that Hook had any doubt.

When Emma strolls down the B&B’s stairs to go claim her daily hot cocoa and bear claw, Henry still caught up in a teenage coma, she does think Hook looks especially weird -- staring at her with a glint in his eyes that she can only coin as mischief.

“What are you up to?” she mumbles on sliding into her booth.

Hook says nothing but leaves his spot next to Granny at the bar to come and sit down in front of her. Emma doesn’t have it in herself to complain -- it’s too early for that and it’s not like it would make him go away anyway.

“Nothing, Swan. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he asks, pointing towards the window pane.

Emma tilts her face to gaze through the window. She distinguishes a sky heavy with grey clouds of snow and looks back at him with a puzzled frown in her eyes. He is being suspicious. She squints.

“Is that grey sky the reason you’re so cheery?” she asks, and then dives into the hot cocoa Granny just dropped in front of her.

At least, hot cocoa is still sweet and perfect and doesn’t disappoint her.

“Can you blame me for being happy to see you?”

Emma nearly chokes on her beverage but she catches herself soon enough. Instead, she furrows her brows and proceeds to ignore as well as she can the stubborn leap of her heart.

“You’re never that happy to see me,” she retorts, smothering a smile, and then drinks up another mouthful of hot cocoa.

Why is she encouraging him?

“Allow me to disagree, Swan. Plus, look up: there is a wonderful opportunity to make me happier.”

“Why would I want to make you hap-?” she begins, but then she discovers what he’s pointed at with his hook and the end of her sentence vanishes from her mind.

It takes a lot of willpower not to burst into laughter or stab him in the face with her little spoon -- which one she hasn’t made up her mind on just yet -- and instead plaster the blankest expression she can conjure on her face....

...which is in that case a silly, silly smile.

“You’re really desperate if you think mistletoe is what it’s going to take for me to kiss you,” she retorts, and she really hopes the heat she feels blooming on her face isn’t showing up.

From the look on Hook’s face, however, it is definitely showing. Emma wants to rip that stupid, smug smirk off his face.

“Can you blame me for trying?”

This time she cannot hold back the chuckle that’s bubbling inside her throat as she shakes her head. Idiot. Her cheeks hurt.

“No, of course not, if you don’t expect to succeed.”

And he smiles that smile, that “that’s when the fun begins” smile and stands up.

“We’ll see to that, Swan.”

And when Granny asks her “So, mistletoe, uh?” Emma figures the grin spreading across her face isn’t her best poker face and she pretends to be exceptionally thirsty for hot cocoa -- mostly to distract Granny’s from the flush on her cheeks.

Hook is meticulous in his endeavours, and has the sense of details, Emma will give him that.

She slowly finds out that the whole town suddenly is brimming with mistletoe. Mistletoe in the B&B’s corridor, mistletoe in the laundromat room, mistletoe in the library, mistletoe everywhere.

Mistletoe even in the leather satchel Hook carries around everywhere with him. “You never know when the occasion might be right, Swan. You have to be prepared.”

Although she hates him for it, she does not hate him nearly as much as she hates herself for not hating it completely.

After all, it’s not necessarily a bad thing.

For instance, when Mary Margaret and David notice it above their head at Granny’s, they smile and meet halfway in a kiss. The other day, Granny’s lips also found Ruby’s forehead and left a sonorous smack there -- a rare display of affection between the two women -- and Ruby then proceeded to stain Emma’s left cheek with a lovely burgundy color.

No one knows Hook is the one hanging them there -- except for Granny -- and Emma wishes she would find it more ridiculous. (Even a little bit, that’ll do to make her feel better about herself.)

They are only a few days from Christmas Eve when, after another endless afternoon spent patrolling, Mary Margaret starts musing over the Christmas spirit in the sheriff station.

“I just love Christmas and I am so glad we are spending it together, this year -- Wicked Witch or not.”

Mary Margaret’s right hand brushes over her round belly while the other rests above David’s shoulder.

Emma sits in a corner; exhaustion is weighing down her limbs, coloring her world blue. The snow seems to have sunk into her skin, crystalizing over her muscles.

She can hardly share their enthusiasm. With the Wicked Witch on the run, she’s had little time to think about the holidays -- if not for mistletoe because of a certain someone -- and what it means to spend Christmas with her parents and her son. Henry still hasn’t recovered his memories and all she can think about is avenging Neal’s death and the life she gave up on, back in New York.

“Should we invite Regina?” Emma asks in a breath. This all starting to sound a lot like a complicated masquerade.

She stares at the bright, yellow neon lights above her head. She’s stared at them so many, lonely times, but now their sight is almost comforting... and then, slowly, slowly, flutters her eyes shut…

It would all be so simple, if they went back to New York. No more villains, no more happy endings to bring, no more sacrifices to make -- just Emma, a mother, and her son in a normal, quiet life. It was enough. She would be enough.

Silence. Emma cannot see her parents’ faces but she thinks she guesses quite well their expression anyway.

And then her mother’s voice, a bit blurry, as if erupting from another reality: “I mean, yes, we probably should or she’ll be alone for Christmas Eve. We’ll just have to tell Henry this family is really close to the mayor.”

“I still don’t know why you guys celebrate Christmas. It’s not even from your world,” Emma mumbles and yawns.

She is tired, so very tired. And celebrating Christmas always did feel like staring at an open wound that will not heal.

“Then we should also invite Belle…”

Emma hears her mother sigh. “In that case, maybe we should just all gather at Granny’s.”

Emma opens her eyes. The bright neon lights above her head are no longer soothing; they glare and burn. There will be no happy ending for the Savior.

“That makes sense,” she whispers and stands up before she can sink into another lethargy

Emma rubs her eyes and stretches her sore muscles.

“I gotta pick up Henry. Hook and he went sailing this afternoon,” she says as she slips one arm back into her jacket and another yawn quivers out of her.

“You should tell Hook, Emma,” adds her mother while Emma sieves impatient fingers through her hair.

Emma stops in her steps, arches one eyebrow. There is still so much exhaustion clinging to her bones and clouding her mind. “Why should I be the one telling him?”

Emma’s mother isn’t impressed by her petulant tone. “Because you’ll see him tonight, Emma.”

Emma winces. “Right.”

Christmas always sucked for Emma. She doesn’t know why this year should be any different.

Emma nearly hates Hook on sight when she sees him reach the B&B alongside Henry, his arm swang around his shoulder and this stupid gust of wind playing with his thick, black hair. She rubs her hands together to warm them up. At least the cold breeze is enough to sharpen her senses and wake her up.

It does warm her heart, to see Henry and he get along just fine, not that she’d admit it under torture or something.

Henry greets her with a hug and Hook with a tilt of his face and an intolerable smile. As they enter the B&B together in silence, warmth curls around their bodies, hugging them tightly, and Emma unzips her jacket on the way up the stairs.

“Go take a shower, Henry. I’ll be here in a sec,” she tells her son, palms on his shoulders to guide him inside their room.

From the corner of her eyes, she sees Hook peer at her but she ignores him. “‘kay, Mom.”

The door bangs close behind her back and Emma shifts to face Hook staring at her with his insufferable blue eyes and a quiet smile and that silly, silly mistletoe hanging between them -- teasing her, it seems.

Smells of food and the faint rustle of conversations surround them as they stand in the corridor -- as if isolated in a liminal space.

Emma blinks, breathes in, inhaling some courage, and exhales: “We’re going to celebrate Christmas all together at Granny’s.”

She can tell he isn’t following because he looks taken aback for a moment and she hates seeing him like this -- when the mask cracks and light spills in and illuminates this earnest look on his face. It’s really hard then to convince herself that she does not care -- not at all, not one bit.

“Are you inviting me, Swan?” he asks, and Emma knows he means to sound impish but something else is rearing its head behind the sly smile and Emma feels a weird pang, down in her stomach.

“I’m not inviting you,” she retorts but she doesn’t have it in herself to keep her armor on tonight and she feels herself smile a sluggish smile. “Everyone is invited.”

He’s tilting his head then, in that manner that has a terrible effect on Emma’s heartbeat, and slowly bends down towards her -- his fragrance filling her lungs.

Emma thinks then that her eyelids are definitely far too heavy, that she should sleep, and she watches herself lean into him.

“So,” she begins again, voice hoarse and it isn’t quite because of the cold, “are you coming or not?”

But then, somehow, something seems to shatter between them and Hook takes a step back. Emma’s stomach gives another lurch and she has to fight the instinctive spring of her hand towards his arm.

“I’m sorry, Swan, but I don’t think I’ll be able to attend.”

“Why?” The word comes out of her mouth before she can think about it.

From the colored windows, Emma can make out the sun setting behind Hook’s back -- purple and pink clouds softly floating away -- and that sadness everywhere -- on his face, in her open palms with nothing to hold, in that distance between them.

Emma clenches her jaw as she watches him, as she watches him pulling away from her.

“I don’t think it is my place to be,” he simply answers.

Emma’s stomach twists.

This same urge to touch him burns her fingertips, owls that she should take a step forward. She doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand why he won’t, why she feels that --

Instead she remains very firm on her legs and smiles a faint smile and says: “I understand. Just know that if you want to drop by, you’re welcome to.”

A grin flickers across his face, but the glimmer dies before it reaches its eyes. “I appreciate that, Swan.”

And then she says: “Goodnight, Hook.”

And feels something bitter tug, tug, inside of her when he bows his head and disappears without a word.

As Emma expected, this Christmas Eve dinner in Storybrooke is...something.

Granny’s diner is bursting with people and clatters of heels and a silly, silly jingle bell rattles the walls. For the occasion, everyone brought a dish of their own while Granny arranged the bar to turn it into some kind of buffet where the guests get to pick and choose what they want to eat.

Emma stands on the side, an empty glass of champagne clasped between her fingers, as she watches her son queue near the buffet.

Emma isn’t hungry. In fact, it feels like her stomach is full to the brim with heavy bricks and she cannot swallow anything else down.

As her gaze wanders and lingers on the Christmas tree, near the stairs, Emma isn’t so sure she wants to be here at all.

She wants to blame the Wicked Witch for her lack of enthusiasm, but the truth is this scene of profusion and happiness is quite painful to watch.

There are so many people, and so much noise, and Emma feels like the light garlands are mere colorful spots dancing before her eyes, twirling and twirling, and they will not stop and she wishes they would.

Hook isn’t there. In fact, since their last conversation in the corridor, he has seemed quite inclined on avoiding her -- which is fair, considering it’s exactly what she’s been doing since she got back from New York.

Emma sighs, lowering her gaze to watch the Champagne bubbles fizzing inside her glass. Perhaps if he were here, it would be a bit more bearable. Emma frowns, fingers clutching around her glass. Nonsense.

A warm hand closes over Emma’s shoulder.

Emma startles, but when she looks up, she only meets Mary Margaret’s gentle green eyes.

“Emma, your plate is still empty. Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

Emma brushes off the attention. “I’m okay for now, thank you. I’ll go get something later.”

Dammit. She doesn’t mean to sound this cold, doesn’t mean to push her away like this, but thankfully for her Mary Margaret knows best.

The next thing she knows her mother is sitting down on a chair next to her.

“Is everything alright, Emma?”

Emma hates the concern she hears in her voice, or rather she hates that it is somehow enough to tighten her throat and burn her eyes, and that there is a part of her that is desperate to feed on it. Maybe, just maybe, her mother can help her lift the bricks down in her stomach.

“I’m okay, I’m just --”

But then Emma glances down again, and she stares at mother’s hand, brushing over this round, loved belly and Emma’s breath catches in her throat.

Run.

“Emma, you are…?”

Something clatters down to the floor, and suddenly everything is too much. Emma’s eyes widen and before she knows it she’s moved up from her chair, heart pounding.

“I need to get some air,” she says very quickly, putting her coat on with trembling fingers.

The siren keeps blaring in her mind. Run. Run. Run.

“Please, will you make sure Henry eats something? I won’t be long.”

Emma does not wait for her mother’s answer to flee from the dinner, bursting through the front door.

The icy winter air leaps onto her skin just like she expected it to and Emma sighs in relief, closing her eyes. Her legs are still trembling beneath her weight, and her blood is still pulsating at her temples, but at least she is outside now. Her lungs quickly fill in with December smells — burnt wood, misty dead leaves and something almost magical that crackles as she breathes.

Outside, beyond the quiet chirping of insects, there is no noise. And it is incredibly peaceful.

Emma breathes in, and out, envisioning her anxiety slowly flowing out of her body like trails of electricity.

“Swan, are you alright?”

Her eyes shoot open as her heart skips a beat. There he is. Hook is sitting alone, his flask of rum in hand and his legs crossed under the table.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, voice still stammering.

Shit. She didn’t mean it to sound like that. Too late, Hook’s smile has already faded into a mirthless expression. Emma curses herself inward.

“It is always a pleasure to see you too, Swan.”

Oh she hates the tone of his voice, this distant, cold tone that sounds so sad, so sad. She cannot bear it.

“I’m sorry,” she exhales rapidly and she sees his eyebrow raise up under the surprise as she heaves short breathes. “I didn’t mean it like that.” A pause to stretch her hands, to feel the cold seize them gently. And then she tries again: “What I meant is.... why are you not inside?”

He’s quick to strike back but his tone is tender: “Why aren’t you?”

Although her heart still beats uncomfortably fast, he makes her smile.

“Don’t change the subject.”

She wonders if he can tell, if he can tell that she is still shaking, if he can tell that it is helping to simply be there and talk about something else.

Unfortunately for her, her legs are still frozen and she stands on the stairs leading up to Granny’s as he ponders his words.

Of course he can tell. Open book.

“I’m not sure people really want me there,” he says.

Emma’s stomach lurches forward just as her legs begin moving against her will. “That’s not true,” she begins, still walking towards him.

She does not understand the wave of relief that washes over her as she strides his way, and suddenly the Champagnes bubbles are fizzing gently inside her empty belly.

“Is that so?” He asks, his tone polite and distant.

“Yes,” she asserts. She fists her cold palms. “People want you around. Look at Henry, he really likes you. And I --” she begins and then stops in her tracks.

She’s standing before him now, and he’s staring at her with his bold blue eyes, his expression blank.

He isn’t making this easier for her, but when did she make things easy for him?

“And you…?” He’s challenging her, taunting her to jump the one step she will not take with him.

She breathes in the cold air.

“And I could use you around, in case something bad happens--”

His mask finally drops, his eyebrow raising. “-- in case something bad happens?” he repeats, frankly grinning now.

Emma’s lips quiver with a smile. “In case something bad happens,” she confirms, nodding.

All anxiety has now departed from her body and Emma feels light for the first time in...in a very long time.

And then Hook’s standing up in front of her, and Emma’s surprised to see how close they’ve gotten.

There is this terrible moment during which they both stare at each other, and Emma glances down at his lips and fancies herself leaning in and --

“It’s a shame you’re not carrying that stupid leather satchel, tonight,” she says.

She does not leave him time to ponder over her words before she crosses Granny’s door again.

As things turn out, Hook fills the chair next to hers quite nicely. And by his side, the dinner isn’t that noisy and overwhelming anymore -- not that Emma would tell him.

“Killian showed up! That’s great!” Henry looks up from his game when the pirate has gone to get one more serving of turkey.

Emma smiles down at him. “Yeah. I’m glad, too.” Hook definitely seems at ease, twirling among the rest of the guests, one eyebrow raised as he examines the food on display.

Clearly, he was wrong. He fits in just fine. And Emma starts thinking perhaps she was wrong, too.

“It’s good for him, you know,” her son continues and Emma blinks to see Henry, head down, focused on his game as he speaks, “I don’t think he has that many friends here, but he definitely likes you.”

Emma is glad Henry isn’t looking at her then, because it saves her the embarrassment of having to justify the blush on her cheeks.

When Henry’s climbed back up to the B&B to get some sleep, and everyone’s helped to clean the dinner, and Hook proposes one last drink outside, Emma may or may not ask him to go ahead in order to retrieve a bush of mistletoe from the window above her booth.

She may or may not slide it into her pocket and join the pirate outside.

She lets him tell his ravishing tales of pirating and freedom, as they exchange his flask of rum. The starry sky is their only quiet companion as they sit outside until eventually the tingle of her lips cannot be ignored anymore, and Emma gets the small sprig out of her coat.

The bewildered look on Hook’s face is a sight for the ages.

“Pirate,” he says then, and he probably means to say more, but Emma is holding the mistletoe above their heads resolutely.

“Tradition is tradition” she says, even as her free hand already closes over the lapel of his coat.

“As you wish…”

Later, much later, Emma will blame the mix of rum and champagne for the way their lips met in an icy, starry kiss and Emma lingered above his lips, just a little bit, unable to get enough of him, until they were both panting outside of Granny’s -- forehead against forehead, twirls of white smoke escaping their mouths.

And Hook will definitely tease her about her definition of “one time things” but surely that matters little when she can just grab the lapel of his coat to make him shut up once and for all.

#cs ff #cs fanfics #csss20 #cssecretsanta2020 #captain swan #klynn_stormz #my stuff #i hope you'll enjoy this <3 #amy writes

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velvetthunder1999 · 4 years

Text

All the time on Earth

Part 35 - Strangers

Summary: After Fred’s death everything is dark. How can you move on when you don’t want to move on? And how can you love each other, when all love seems lost?

Warnings: Angst

Word count: 2K

George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist

Like two strangers, you were lying on each side of the bed, your backs opposite each other. The clock on the wall said it was way past two in the morning. Still, you were not asleep. You were quiet, your breathing steady and slow, and you were staring into nothing, while George’s quiet sniffs came from behind you.

You’d moved back to the little flat above the shop three months ago, after spending one more month at the Burrow. It was still hard. Without Fred the rooms felt empty and deserted. The shop was open, sure; you knew George rather wanted it open so that he can do something… but it was not as charming, not as fun as it used to be. For the two of you, at least, it wasn’t.

The bed creaked on George’s side and he got up and left the room. You didn’t turn around; you knw either he was going to the bathroom to wash his face, drive his demons away, or headed for the kitchen to drink something that’d help him sleep. You waited for minutes but he didn’t return. Then there was a crash.

You got up and ran outside; the lights were on in the kitchen. You covered your eyes for they were hurt by the brightness and stepped in.

George was standing in the middle of the kitchen, frozen, his face emotionless and bland. He was staring at one spot on the ground, where the remains of a broken teapot lay. Around it was a small puddle of water, pieces of china all around the floor.

“Reparo,” you said. You dried up the water with another wave of your wand. You looked at George. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer. He turned away, lips pressed together and leaned onto the counter. After some hesitation you stepped closer. His shoulders were shaking, his head hanging low. You knew he was able to sob quietly, a talent which he had perfected during these past months. It came in handy when he wanted to hide his cries from you. It broke your heart.

“Love…” you said as gently as you could. You wished you could hug him. “Love, come back to…”

“Stop it, Y/N,” he said, a bit colder than you found necessary. You swallowed.

“Let me help you.”

“I cannot be helped,” he said, still not turning around. “Go back to bed.”

You stood there, choking up. He had been like this ever since you got back from the Burrow. Yes, he left the house every now and then, yes, he had reopened the shop, but he was not the same George anymore. He was barely eating, he was just staring at or playing with his food. He looked so pale and so sickly, that you were seriously concerned for his health at this point. There were times, when he was frozen in shock and in realization; then he would just stay still, staring into the void, completely forgetting about the world. Usually, he got three or four hours of sleep per night; he got to bed late and woke up early, desperately doing his best to avoid dreams, dreams which you knew were haunting him since they were all about Fred.

And the worst of it was that he didn’t want to be helped. He didn’t want to be comforted. When you tried to hug him he left, when you tried to dry up his tears he turned away. You knew you needed to give him space, and it was all right, but at the same time you felt lonely and depressed as well. He had promised that he’d be there for you, but he was distant and rejecting. You were like two strangers living together.

On those rare occasions when he had better days — when he put a lock of your hair behind your ear, or touched your shoulder as he passed behind you in the shop — you felt empty. You were missing that raw energy that he had always had, that special George Weasley-like liveliness… you wished he would pull you into his arms, or would fiercly grab you while making love… but in reality he barely touched you, and even if he did, his fingertips brushed against your skin and that was it. Nothing more. After two months of moving back, you had wanted him so much your body hurt… but when you kissed him, he had refused and told you to go back to bed.

Just like he did now.

——

George was bleeding; he had cut himself with the paper when he unwrapped the package that just had arrived. How ridiculous, he thought, as he watched the owl flying out the open window, and sucked on his finger in annoyance. When the bleeding stopped, he looked at the little wooden box his mother sent him and opened it up. It was full of old letters, pieces of paper and pictures. He closed the box immediately, turning it’s little lock. He had an idea what it was, but he simply did not have the strength to care about it in the moment.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he said, and you stepped in. George hid his hand with the cut finger in his pocket. He didn’t even know why.

“Someone is looking for those eatable ears,” you said, the buzzing of the jokeshop coming from behind you. “She doesn’t want to understand that we won’t have them until the end of the month.”

“Just… ask her if she wants to preorder now,” he said, barely paying attention.

“All right.”

You nodded and turned to leave, but George’s gaze fell upon the box on his desk.

“No, wait — Actually, could you take this up, please? Mum sent it. I’ll deal with those ears. Why don’t you… Go up. We’re closing in thirty minutes anyway.”

He gave you the box and you took it; he saw something in your eyes but you turned away quickly and closed the door behind you, leaving him alone in his office. He cleaned his throat, fighting that depressed feeling he felt every time he talked to you.

The truth was, he had opened the shop again, but only to have something to spend his days with. It did not cause him pleasure anymore, but it was rather painful to spend each day selling products that they made up with Fred, together. He did not feel enthusiastic walking along the shelves; he felt as if he was missing something, he felt as if a big part of him was left somewhere. Well, he had been feeling like this anyway, so at least he was making some money.

He also felt lost, but it was not because of Fred. It was because of you. When he looked at you during breakfast, or talking to a customer, he wondered if he’d see the spark in your eyes, the cheekiness he loved so much. He knew he was causing you pain, he knew you were crying every night… But he couldn’t bring himself to talk to you about Fred. He couldn’t.

He was staring at the floor for minutes when he finally remembered that he was supposed to help someone. He left the office, immediately being surrounded by hundreds of people laughing and joking around amongst the shelves. He felt nauseos.

He wrote down the name of the customer, then he watched as the crowd slowly faded. Then he closed the doors, turned the lights and headed for the stairs, up to the flat. He fumbled with his keys, then stepped inside, and — carefully avoiding his reflection in the mirror — loosened his tie. When he turned around, that’s when he saw you sitting on the living room floor, sobbing.

His heart jumped in fear and he hurried over, scared, that something really serious was happening, that you were in pain, that someone might had hurt you… Then he saw the wooden box next to you, a bunch of photographs lying all over the floor. He lowered himself, feeling extremely anxious.

“Y/N?” he started uncertainly. “What happened?”

You shook your head and sobbed. George wished he could hug you. He wished he was able to.

“Y/N…” he said miserably. “Tell me…”

You reached for a photograph on the floor and shoved it in his hand. It was crumbled as if you had grabbed it too firmly. He looked at it and he felt his heart pounding painfully. He thought he’d have a heart attack.

It was the three of you — him, you and Fred, in the Burrow, standing in front of the Christmas tree, when you came back from Hogwarts in your last year. It was not moving, it was made using Mr Weasley’s muggle camera, but George could still see the happiness in his eyes. And Fred… He couldn’t look at Fred for long. He stared at himself instead, but it was like looking at a stranger. He was smiling, he looked well-fed and healthy, he even looked more mascular than he was now. He chuckled darkly — he still had two ears.

He turned over the picture and put it down. He sat down next to you, examining all the papers on the floor.

“Can I bring you something?” he asked lowly. “Tea?”

You shook your head. George swallowed.

“C-coffee, then?”

“Hold me,” you said suddenly, between sobs. “Please.”

How could he explain that he couldn’t? But you were already in his arms, and he held you so gently that he barely even touched your skin. He was sitting there with you for long minutes, thinking wether he knew what he was doing or was he just a coward…

“George?” you asked, wiping your face.

“Yes?” he said huskily.

“Don’t you love me anymore?”

He stared, taken aback and you pulled away from him, looking into his eyes.

“Why would you say that?” he asked, but he knew very well what you meant.

“Because I feel it,” you said. Your voice was really heavy. “I see it when I look at you. You… you haven’t kissed me in months. You wouldn’t even touch me… I feel so out of place, and I feel like I’m just some burden, some stranger who lives here.

“You’re not — no,” George felt his whole world shaking. How could he tell you, how could he make you understand? “I love you, Y/N! I do, I really do!”

“I’m not sure I can believe that anymore…”

George shook his head violently. How could he explain to you how he was feeling? How he was constantly wishing that he could rip out his heart to stop the pain? He didn’t even have to think about Fred to be hurt, the feeling was just there, all the time, during the day, but also during the night as well. He had nightmares, visions about the battle, but sometimes it was not Fred who lay on the floor, but his mum… Ginny… you.

He hadn’t been home for a month, he just could not bare to look them in the eye. But here was different. You were with him in the shop, in the flat, in the bed… And George somehow felt that if he kept his mind off you, the nightmares would not come so often. He felt that when you kissed him, he slept worse, fighting the sick feeling in his stomach that was telling him that he’d lose you as well, that if he loved you carelessly and freely a moment would come and take you away from him as well.

But he couldn’t tell you that. You’d not understand. You’d tell him that the war was over and that you were safe now… And George didn’t want to be reassured, because he didn’t believe that everything was fine now, he didn’t believe that life was safe and sound when he was already missing the biggest part of his life… So this is why he let his head hang low at the dinner table, this is why he went form kisses to hugs, from hugs to shoulder brushes, and this is why he told you to stop when you wanted to make love to him, during those quiet nights in late August…

He realized he had zoned out again. It had been really hard for him to concentrate on anything, really. But your quiet crying brought him back to reality. No matter how hard he tried to stay away from you… he still loved you. And he hated himself for causing you pain.

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wxlfstxrx · 4 years

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O’knutzy when one of them got hurt (I was thinking of Finn but I don’t really care) and just being in pain for a few days like walking slowly and having to rest and the boys just fussing and worrying about their baby all the time. I mean one person that loves you when you get hurt but IMAGINE two boys completely worried and caring

oof i’m sorry. some hurt/comfort right there, but all’s well at the end :) ‘s kinda short and not the best but well... hope you like it. characters by @lumosinlove.

leo and logan aren’t leaving finn alone for even a second, and to be honest, he’s feeling kind of tired of being followed around everywhere.

i’m fine, guys, he mutters frustratedly as they hold the bathroom door open for him. ‘s nothing i haven’t been through before. logan attempts to enter the bathroom, but finn pushes the door shut and leans against it heavily, his forehead resting against the wood.

really, it doesn’t even hurt that much. he’s had worse. it’s not the first time he’s twisted his ankle, and anyway, it’s been a couple of days already and he’s more or less off his crutches. he’s still leaning most of his weight on his good leg, but overall he thinks he’s healing pretty nicely.

he sighs as he lowers himself carefully onto the toilet seat. he loves his boys, he really does, but since he tripped over timmy’s skates during training the other day, causing his injury, leo and logan have not left his side, fussing over him and hovering around him, as though he’s going to collapse again any second.

personally, the worst thing about this injury is that remus specifically banned him from physical activities, with a significant eyebrow raise. he strongly believes that they can find a way to work around it, but unfortunately, leo and logan are taking remus’ orders very seriously, and hence they’ve all been very pent up over the past few days.

it’s honestly ridiculous. it’s as if his wrists are the ones broken, the way the boys are avoiding anything physical. he’s told them that there are other things to do that won’t aggravate his healing ankle, but they outrightly refused, insisting that they’ll wait for him to recover fully first.

finn flushes and walks to the sink slowly, scrubbing his hands with soap. his eyes are fixed on the steady stream of water washing the suds away, and sighing, he splashes water on his face too. he knows he should be grateful for them, he does.

he’s never really had anyone fuss over him like this before. his parents and brother usually focus more on making sure that he heals so he can return to the ice, rather than making sure that he heals for his own wellbeing. the rest of the lions are more or less the same, though he knows that they do genuinely care about whether he’s okay mentally and emotionally as well.

remus, leo and logan, however, are really going out of the way to check up on him. remus pulls him into his office every day to take a look at his ankle and asks him how he’s been, and if he’s been coping well with everything that’s going on now. leo and logan, besides the times that they’re on the ice, are practically joined at the hip with him. they carry his duffel bag, help him into dumo’s car as he drives them back, carry him whenever they have to climb up stairs, and basically, finn has been more than well taken care of the past few days.

he knows he’s being horrible and ungrateful by getting upset at them, but he can’t help the swirl of emotions in his chest that threaten to burst out of him. he knows he would’ve done the same thing if either logan or leo had been the one to get injured, but at this point, he just needs some space to rest, maybe get a nap in without constantly feeling as though they’re watching over him in his sleep. he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep for days now, and it’s taking a toll on him.

finn steps out of the bathroom, and immediately leo and logan are by his side, offering their arms as support. he tries to refuse, but they’re all over him, insisting that they can help him, asking if he needs anything else, and something in finn just snaps.

what i need, he bursts out, stopping leo and logan in their tracks, is for the two of you to leave me alone, okay? i’m fine, and both of you have been breathing down my neck for the past few days, and i’m so exhausted because i keep feeling the two of you watching over me while i sleep and that means that i can’t sleep, and i feel so fucking horrible because i know you two are only looking out for me, and i’m a fucking jerk for saying all of this, but for the love of god, i need some fucking space and some fucking sleep.

finn’s in tears, his throat closing up as he chokes out a please to the two stunned boys standing in front of him. god, he hates himself so much for this. he’s a fucking asshole. who tells the two people who love him more than anything in the world to leave them alone?

he leans against the wall behind him and slides down to the floor, burying his face in his hands. guilt consumes him and he wants to say sorry, he really does, but he’s crying so hard that he cannot do anything but shake his head and sob.

suddenly, he feels a warm hand on his arm, and a soft shhhh, it’s okay, mon amour is whispered into his hair before he’s pulled into a gentle hug. for all the space he claims he needs, he still finds himself leaning into the touch, and he grips logan’s shirt tightly, the soft cotton fabric bunching up in his hands, and he cries into logan’s shoulder.

they stay like this for a while, and finn’s so exhausted now he can barely open his eyes. he’s completely drained, and as his shuddering gasps subside, he feels logan press a soft kiss to his temple. carefully, he’s hauled up onto his feet, and everything’s a blur from then on.

finn wakes up to a snoring logan, who��s holding him in his muscular arms, his mouth wide open and messy curls splayed out on the pillow under his head. turning his head slowly, he sees that the sun’s just set, the sky a beautiful mix of dark blue and vivid orange. he shifts a little, and immediately logan jerks awake, his eyes flying open.

when he realises that finn’s awake and staring at him, he relaxes and smiles sleepily. mornin’, sleeping beauty, he murmurs. how’re you feeling? his arms loosen around finn’s, but he doesn’t let go, his hand coming up to brush finn’s flattened fringe away from his face. it’s so tender and domestic that finn’s heart clenches, and he looks up at logan with sad brown eyes.

i’m sorry, he whispers, i shouldn’t have said what i said. i feel like such a dick. he averts his gaze, staring at the small fleur-de-lis pendant resting atop logan’s chest. logan brings his hand down to his chin, tilting it up so they’re staring into each other’s eyes, and finn wants to cry all over again at the love in logan’s glimmering emerald eyes.

don’t be, logan smiles reassuringly, you’re tired, and we should’ve realised. we’re sorry too, mon amour. we just— we were worried, and i guess we were too busy fussing over you that we didn’t realise how you felt. i’m— we’re glad you’re healing well though, really. that’s all we need to know. that you’re okay. he gives finn a small smile and brushes his thumb over his freckled cheekbone.

finn’s heart flips in his chest, and he melts into logan’s embrace as he leans up and kisses him slowly. logan responds immediately, pulling him closer and wrapping his arms around him tightly. finn pulls away when there’s a soft knock on the door, and leo peeks through a small crack in the door.

great, you guys are awake, dinner’s ready, leo smiles, and for the first time, finn notices the dark circles under his and logan’s eyes. they must’ve worn themselves out from taking care of him. god, these boys. his eyes are brimming with tears again, and leo crosses over to the bed worriedly. are you okay? he asks softly as he sits on the mattress beside logan, his hand reaching over to rest on top of finn’s.

finn nods, biting down on his lip. i’m sorry, he says again, his voice hoarse. i— you two have been taking care of me, and i’ve just been an ungrateful wanker. i’m so sorry. how— i don’t deserve you two.

the two boys immediately start talking over each other, and finn frowns in confusion. what we mean to say, leo tries again, chuckling lightly as he clambers over to finn’s other side and wraps his arms around the smaller boy’s waist, is that we love you, and we’d do anything for you, and we know that you’d do the same for us too, so don’t feel that you don’t deserve us, because that’s not true. you’re incredible, love. grumpy when you lack sleep, but still incredible. we— you’re everything both tremzy and i ever wanted and needed, okay?

finn sniffles, and nods, cracking a smile. he turns over to face leo and whispers a thank you, burrowing further into his chest. logan presses closer to the two of them, and he’s about to say something when his stomach grumbles. loudly.

fuck, sorry, he laughs, and leo grins, his eyes lighting up. time for dinner, the tall blonde boy announces, pulling away and helping finn to sit up. made carbonara for our favourite carb o’hara, how’s that sound?

finn finds himself laughing for the first time in days, and leo winks at logan, his eyes twinkling as bright as the stars hanging in the night sky outside their window.

#Finn O'Hara #Logan Tremblay #Leo Knut #O'Knutzy #Sweater Weather #Coast to Coast #Lumosinlove

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likeshipsonthesea · 4 years

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I dare you to post their get together from chowder's perspective because you're an amazing and magical writer and I'd love to read it at any level of editing

well u did dare me :P inspired heavily by this post

the thing is, chowder really, really loves his new friends.

nursey is so cool and funny and nice and he knows all this poetry that sounds so cool and he always saves chowder a piece of pie when he isn’t there and bitty’s on a baking binge, and he helps chowder write Important Emails and doesn’t even complain when chowder asks him about the exclamation point in the third paragraph for the fourth time

and dex is really smart and has a dry sense of humor and he cares so much about people even when he pretends he doesn’t, he does his laundry when chowder does and lets chowder match all the socks while he folds both of their clothes with like retail level precision and he’s great to sit and work on coding with and never gets upset when chowder interrupts him to ask him why a certain part isn’t working right and he helps bitty make him soup and pastries when he gets sick right before finals week their frog fall semester

and they’re both swawesome at hockey, they do their very best to keep the dirty puck away from his net, and they are such swawesome people and literally the only thing he doesn’t like about his new friends is how adamant they are about not liking each other

he tries, at first, to correct their complaining when they come to him. “the guy refuses to listen to anyone who isn’t himself,” nursey groans, muffled, because his face is pressed against chowder’s pillow, and chowder very kindly explains that dex is a bit stubborn sometimes but he always listens to chowder, even when he has a differing opinion, and when dex wraps himself in chowder’s duvet like a burrito and grumbles out, “he acts like he’s chill all the fucking time just to fuck with me,” chowder says that nursey acts like he’s chill even when dex isn’t there and also, why do you think he’s acting?? i think he’s just that chill

but as time goes on he realizes that neither of them believe him because they haven’t seen it for themselves and, look, he could try and orchestrate some plot where they secretly see one another being good people and miraculously change their opinion about each other and they all become a happy trio of friendos with no animosity at all, but chowder is also an ncaa athlete, a stem major, and someone who likes to party a fair amount. he’s got no time for that kind of bullshit.

and so they go through spring term and things aren’t greeattt all the time and sometimes nursey and dex get into screaming matches on the quad and chowder just has to pretend like he doesn’t know them, but most of the time it’s good, it’s fine, and he really does love his friends.

then they lose the frozen four, something happens that neither of them will tell him about, and the fuckers go and gang up on him

it seems, after all the times chowder told them about how they’re both funny and good at hockey and passionate about school and all the other things they have in common, they decide instead to bond over their mutual love of chirping their very best friend in the whole wide world.

to be honest, he’s just glad they’re getting along.

and they still show up at his room all hours of the night and day to burrow into his bed and complain about each other, but at least now chowder lives in the haus and he can eat pie as he pretends to listen to them.

and maybe he starts noticing how some of the complaints aren’t necessarily the kind of thing you’d expect, like “how are his eyes so fucking green, it’s impossible to win an argument when he’s staring at you” or “have you seen how many freckles he has after summer break?? he’s like one giant freckle, it’s unfairly distracting” and despite not really paying attention, he starts to notice when the tone of complaining changes from i hate this guy to i hate how pretty this guy is

he never brings it up. once again, he does not have time to try and get his two best friends together on top of all his other responsibilities, but he notes it down anyway. for being-a-good-friend-purposes. like when ransom sets nursey up with a girl on the volleyball team, chowder spends the whole night watching monty python movies with dex on the couch, and kindly ignores the relief in dex’s shoulders when nursey shows up to breakfast the next day and relays that the date was a bust. and when they’re doing workouts at the gym, chowder very deftly navigates nursey away from the weights when dex is using them to spare him from turning into a mumbling mess at the sight of dex’s arms

and maybe he notices when they start becoming more self aware and the complaining-about-appearance becomes complaining-about-good-things, like nursey saying, in the middle of a rant, “you know he’s fixed betsy like fifteen times in the past two weeks? how the fuck can you fix an oven fifteen different ways? that’s insane” or when dex pauses his recount of nursey’s ridiculous chill behavior to mention, “he’s been editing ransom’s thesis because he knows how much ransom stresses over grammar and he’s like, really good at it”

and it’s probably at this point that chowder breaks the bro code and tells farmer all about his dumb friends and their dumb mutual infatuation, because lbr here the boy cannot handle all this pining on his own. “they’re in love with each other but they think it’s hate”

“i know, i know” farmer soothes, running her fingers through his hair

“why are boys so dumb” chowder laments

farmer, who is currently wearing her best bra and pantie set under her clothes, sighs deeply. “i don’t know,” she says, equally forlorn.

then, well, then the dib flip happens and nursey and dex are literally shoved together and either one or both of them -- chowder has an inkling that it’s dex, but he’s not sure -- seems to freak out and neither of them comes to his room to complain for the rest of the term.

and then chowder has the greatest summer of his life, his former captain wins the stanley cup, and bitty and jack get to kiss on center ice, and chowder gets to attend a training camp with the falcs and jack and he’s on the ice with twenty stanley cup champions and chowder doesn’t come down from this high until he shows up at the haus and finds out that something has gone horribly wrong.

despite the frequent texts, calls, and facetimes, dex and nursey didn’t seem to have as great summers as they’d made it appear. they don’t really tell him directly -- that’s another thing they have in common, never talking about their emotions plainly -- but from what chowder can glean from what they do tell him, is that dex’s family seemed to take jack and bitty’s coming out as evidence towards dex’s queerness and they were dealing with it... less than great, and nursey’s parents had a fight and had since been jettisoning around the world for “work” in an attempt to avoid one another and, as a result, nursey

the living together thing goes.. not swawesome. chowder is obviously disappointed that he no longer has his two best friends just a bathroom away, but after dex moves into the basement, both nursey and dex start coming back to his room for complain sessions again and it’s -- chowder wants to say it’s a good sign.

it starts out mostly complaint complaining, the familiar stuff from their frog year, but slowly but surely as the year goes on the old “his fucking hair” and “he literally helped a little old lady carry her groceries to her car” come back into play and chowder lets go of some stress he hadn’t realized he’d been holding

“they’re going to make me go gray before i’ve even hit 25,” chowder says, another night when he’s complaining to farmer, and farmer says, “you’d look sexy as a silver fox,” and, well. the rest of the night is spent very much not complaining

senior year, they’ve got an ncaa championship under their belt and dex is the captain. he stops coming to chowder’s dorm, probably out of some sense of loyalty to his team that chowder finds both ridiculous and sweet. nursey seems to have no qualms complaining about his captain, on the other hand, but soon even the thin veneer of complaining he’d covered all his pining with has washed away.

“he’s so good with the baby frogs,” and “never tell this to another living soul, but his cherry pie is even better than bitty’s,” and, one memorable night, “do you think i’m in love with dex?”

it’s after sunset, the world dark outside chowder’s window but he’s not exactly sure of the time, and nursey’s lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and he looks -- chill. he doesn’t always look chill anymore -- looking back, chowder can admit that maybe the ever-present chill from their frog year had been more a show than anything else -- so this chill means something important, chowder thinks.

chowder thinks, smiling a little, that nursey is finally ready.

“of fucking course i think you’re in love with dex,” chowder bursts out with the frustration that’s a by-product of having patience for three and a half fucking years. “you’ve come into my room at all hours of the day since we were freshmen to complain about how pretty his freckles are, you’ve been in love with the dude for years, and i’ve had to sit here and deal with all of it.”

nursey’s staring at him with a slightly open mouthed, wide-eyed expression.

chowder gathers his poise and then says, very calmly, “yes.”

nursey nods, once or twice slowly and then picking up speed. “wow. okay.”

“i’ve been holding that in for a while.”

“i could tell.”

“hmm.”

a stupid, hopeful, optimistic part of chowder thought that would be the end of it. nursey realized he’s in love with dex, he’d tell dex, and they’d be all stupid and gross and finally chowder would get them back for years of fines.

but nothing seems to change. nursey still comes in and ostensibly complains while pining and dex still doesn’t, instead apparently baking away his frustration (and it’s not like chowder’s going to complain about that) and really, chowder should’ve known these two idiots would need more than a few sentences to get over their combined stupidity

it comes to a head a week before graduation. never let it be said that chowder’s friends are anything less than Dramatic Fuckers

he’s helping dex pack away everything he won’t need in the next few days so when he and nursey leave for new york after graduation there won’t be much to do. he finds a random green beanie in a drawer with dex’s workout clothes and says, “hey, where should i put this?” and dex gets the most ridiculous sappy look on his face.

he hasn’t technically been chowder’s captain since the season ended with a back to back ncaa championship a month ago, and it’s not like dex has any authority over him after how many times he bugged chowder about nursey’s nose, so it’s without hesitation and with purely dex’s best interests at heart that chowder says, “you know you’re in love with him, right?”

dex surprises him then by saying, “yeah.”

a vein in chowder’s neck nearly pops. “then why the fuck have i been listening to nursey pine about your eyelashes for months.”

dex’s eyes widen and, when he gets over the surprise elation whatever, he stumbles over some stupid explanation that captains shouldn’t date their players and it wasn’t the right time and all this other absolute crap, and so chowder does the most meddling he’s ever allowed himself to do and tells dex that he will finish the packing as long as he goes and finds nursey right this fucking second

when nursey and dex tell the story to him and farmer later -- dex blushing and nursey embellishing with his arm curled around dex’s shoulders, pulling him close -- chowder will laugh and tease them and play his part as their very best friend in the whole wide world.

but that night, when he’s gross and sweaty from packing up dex’s entire fucking room and he can’t even sleep in his own goddamned bed because his friends are being exceptionally loud just one bathroom away, he shows up on farmer’s doorstep and says, with all the sincerity in the world, “i hate my friends”

#nurseydex #dexnursey #check please #The Frogs #chowder #chris chow #dex #william poindexter #derek nurse #nursey #my writing #sort of fic #ficlet #ramble fic #i tried to balance it between being a nurseydex fic #and being from c's perspective #idk i'm not usually good at that lol #but i am adamant that they all love each other so much okay #bffs for life!!!

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lassieposting · 3 years

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Hey, I saw you did a hc thing for Scaracen/Dexter and I was wondering if you could do one for Ghastly/Skulduggery?? (I love the pairing but there is no content and it makes me sad) Hope you are having a good time :)

I genuinely thought I had done this for ghasdug but apparently not? I can't find it anyway

There is content in my ghasdug tag but tbh in my experience the ghasdug shippers are on discord mostly...hit me up

ANYWAY

So. Ghasdug. Ghastly wants skug from the start.

They're 16 when they meet. Ghastly gets a bit seasick and doesn't really want to go anywhere by ship, but his mama tells him he needs to, there's something important for him on that ship, that one right there, and he trusts her enough to know that she's clearly foreseen something and to just go with it.

By the time they get back to shore, he's already thinking, it's you. I was supposed to meet you.

They head back to Dublin together. Ghastly's mama takes one look at this awkward, skinny, skittish child and decides she's adopting him, and skug moves into their farmhouse and is subsequently freaked the fuck out by his very first experience of A Loving Family. Ghastly's mother like, hugs him and reminds him to wear a coat and clips his ear for swearing and makes sure he eats breakfast. He is semiferal and not used to any of this.

For a few months they settle into a comfortable routine:

- Ghastly's father spends the week making clothes, then does commission deliveries one day and takes hats and boots and suchlike to the market the next.

- Ghastly's mother has a job as a barmaid, where she gets to regularly crack some skulls and socialise, which is great for her because she is both a short-n-stocky powerhouse and a giant extrovert.

- The boys spend most of their time together, and they're supposed to do the bulk of the chores. It's not a large commercial farm - they have a vegetable garden, and some chickens, and an old carthorse, and maybe a couple of goats or a cow for milk and cheese. Ghastly and Skug are supposed to cut firewood and feed the animals and fetch groceries from the market and milk the milkable animal and fix this and repair that. All the things the parents dont have time for

Which. Is great in theory but skug has never had to do a hard day's work in his lazy aristocratic life, and develops a severe and immediate allergy to manual labour, so actually ghastly tends to do most of the chores while skug skives off and naps in the sun or chats up the girls who live on the neighbouring smallholding over the fence

And like, therein lies the problem, because they are both solidly in the grip of that cruel mistress called puberty and like. Skug was a fuckin weird-looking child. He had big ears and a sharp nose and a bunch of missing teeth and his limbs were all too long for him. But he's now rapidly growing into all the features that made him an unfortunate child, and it's already clear that he's going to be one of those people who will, inevitably, grow into handsome young men.

Which is like. Fine. Ghastly doesn't care. He's not jealous or anything. He doesn't feel a twinge when the neighbour girls only speak to him to ask about Skulduggery. Nobody here is bitter.

It's a good thing, he tells himself. Nobody will want to marry him anyway, so he's glad skug is around now so Mother can harass him to meet a nice girl and give her grandchildren. At least someone will probably want to have children with skug.

He has a dream about skug not long before his 17th. They share the attic room, and when he startles awake, skug is smirking at him from the opposite bed and asking "who is she?" and ghastly thinks oh no. He's painfully embarrassed and awkward about it, and skug rolls over and stretches and says, "relax, bespoke, your secret is safe with me" and all ghastly can focus on is that he's actually been putting some muscle on lately and when he stretches like that it does funny things to ghastly's insides.

- they start riding into town in the evenings to meet up with hopeless at the tavern, play cards and flirt with pretty girls. Or rather, skug flirts with pretty girls. He's all legs and freckles and elegant clothes, and they hang off his every word. Ghastly knows they will never look at him like that. He's Skulduggery's ugly friend. Girls only approach him to ask about skug

- and he gets it! Skug is unfairly attractive! And he's witty, and clever, and sometimes when ghastly wakes up first he stays very quiet so he can watch skug sleep, the way the dawn turns his hair to burnished copper, the way his curls fall across his forehead and the patterns his freckles make on his skin. Skug is an affectionate, tactile drunk, and hopeless looks at ghastly with something like pity whenever skug rests his chin on ghastly's shoulder or leans his head on ghastly's knee or wants a piggyback back to where they tied the horse, and ghastly takes what little he can get and says nothing.

- they're coming home drunk in the pouring rain one night, later than usual, riding doubled up on ghastly's carthorse. ghastly is behind, loosely holding on around skug's waist, and the whole way home all he can think about is how close they are and how much he wants to lean in and put his mouth on skug's neck, and by halfway home he's reduced to silently begging his semi not to pop a full on hard-on until they're home, when skug will crash like always and ghastly can take care of himself in private

- when they get home, they're locked out, which is what they get for coming home well after ghastly's parents are asleep, but this isn't a one off and ghastly's mother always leaves blankets for them to sleep in the barn. so they put the horse away and give her a rub-down/groom together and skug's shirt is practically see-through and his hair is plastered to his skull and ghastly can't take his eyes off the visible jut of collarbone where the neck of skug's shirt is undone and skug makes a couple jokes about it when their eyes meet, how ghastly has been brushing the same bit of horse for as long as it's taken skug to do half his side, but then the third time he laughs and teases, "if i didn't know better, bespoke, I'd say you wanted me" and ghastly will forever blame the alcohol but he doesn't even think about it? It comes out before he can stop himself, before he has time to remember what it could do to their friendship

- he says, "what if i did?"

- skug goes quiet for a minute, and it's a tense sort of quiet, not the thick, cloying tension that comes before a storm or an argument but the light, vibrating tension that comes with standing on a cliff's edge or drawing a bowstring, and then he ducks under the horse's head to come around to ghastly's side. He's still a little shorter than ghastly, still has to look up ever so slightly to meet his eyes.

- skug says, "do you?" like it's still half a joke, and there's a chance to back out right there, to laugh and deny it and let this become an amusing footnote at the bottom of their friendship, but ghastly ignores it. "yes."

- skug shrugs, his lip quirking, and says, "so have me."

- ghastly learns a lot that night. he also accidentally blurts "i love you" when he comes, but nobody's perfect and he's...relatively...sure skug was too distracted to have been paying attention, so he'll count that as a massive win

- morning finds them in the hayloft, tangled up in the blankets left out for them, regretting their choice of tavern beverages and, in ghastly's case, sporting a classic case of morning wood. He's kind of hoping he'll get lucky again with sleepy morning sex but skug is disgustingly hungover and just wants to burrow his head into ghastly's chest to block out the light and go back to sleep so like, out of luck.

- when skug has slept off the booze a bit more, Ghastly awkwardly broaches the question of "just how drunk were you" and they establish that they both remember fucking, neither of them regrets it, and the attraction is apparently mutual? Which is a mindfuck for self-conscious teenage ghastly, because, like, why tho

- they both get to do the walk of shame into the house when ghastly's parents wake up. Ghastly's shirt hides the nail marks skug left on his back nicely; sadly, the same cannot be said for the giant hickey he left on skug's throat, and he is eternally grateful to his parents for not bringing it up (he'll allow his mother her raised eyebrows. She did it quietly)

- they just sort of? happen, after that. There's no conversation about what they are to one another, so there are several crossed wires and feelings get hurt, but they always move past it. They both have phases of going off with someone else - but they keep ending up back together regardless of how much they argue.

#skulduggery pleasant #ghasdug #sp headcanons #nsft mention #the slightest sprinkling of smut #sp getting together meme

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