#i would like to make more of them. for now ill make props to bake with them

[bittybatarts]

Attempt 1 at recreating calico critter baby was a failure but thankfully a failed attempt makes a good warmup and attempt 2 turned out much nicer

#polymer clay #furry #my characters #calico critters #i would like to make more of them. for now ill make props to bake with them

[first13]

[ cooking ] - sender and receiver prepare a meal or some sort of baked good together {From Steve!}

Her glasses are propped appropriately on her nose as Margaret reads from the recipe book on the stand. She's in the zone as she measures out the proper amounts of each ingredient to make things easier later. Perhaps it was all of her teachings as a young woman, the thirties offered homemaking lessons to women in that time and while her parents could have afforded to send her, a young girl to get a man's formal education, she still valued the fact that she had learned to keep a home.

She did think Steve appreciated that side of her too. The more maternal caregiver side, it reflected as some kind of feminine weakness when it came to other men in her workplace back at the SSR. There she was either ill-equipped because of her anatomy or too much of a tomboy for the boys to keep up with.

Well, she did grow up with a brother. It was inevitable really. She used their underestimations of her against them. It's how she got so good at espionage.

"Stevie darling," It's sung slightly as it comes out and she points to a particular bowl, "I need strong arms to knead that dough, it's pretty tough." It's not often that she uses the damsel in distress trope, but she does know that he likes a task, some kind of duty and she wanted him to notice just how much she enjoyed watching him at work. Battlefield or kitchen. It did help that he looked like an adonis. Then again, she thought that even before he took the serum.

Her summer dress swooshes as she spins from one end of the kitchen to the other, pre-heating the oven, prepping pans and pots and stopping briefly just to watch those said arms at work, each flex of his bicep, how defined he was...

What? They were trying this thing. She was allowed to look unashamedly behind closed doors. He had 70 years, she hadn't been away for so long but distance made the heart grow fonder right?

She does make quick work of busying herself the moment she notices he was about to turn to look at her. "We gotta roll that out in a little bit and add butter between each fold to get it all flaky." She says quickly. The last thing she wants to do is lay it on too thick. She wasn't a common whore now. Thought time travel and confined spaces were starting to make her feel like one.

Peggy climbs on the countertop to reach the taller cupboard to grab some more ingredients, "Who would have thought? Captain America, Artist, Avenger, Personal chef" She snorted.

#samhlaiocht #( ☆ ) ⸻ margaret carter ╱ ANSWERED. #( ☆ ) ⸻ long long time ╱ v7. #( ☆ ) ⸻ margaret carter ╱ QUEUE.

[bakingandbooks3]

A Court of Song and Serpents

A bit short but the begging of a project I'm SO excited for- hope you love this as much as I do.

Summary: What a time to be alive as Nesta Archeron, going backward to move forward and finding that the places she once called home are now empty tombs.

Nesta

Nesta held her breath for a moment, a pause, and stilled entirely. The Court of Nightmares. She knew the verdict would be severe, but never would she have expected exile to a world of terror. The horrors of that place, of how it was once the main residence of the High Lord- till Rhysand.

Rhysand, the man who boasted of lands bountiful with choice and reason, now sat across from her donning unmasked hatred. A look he kept shielded from his mate, reserved just for Nesta. The kind that rips one apart from the inside out, would carve out the belly of a beast, burn a witch on a wooden pyre.

Nesta felt nothing, she always did. It wasn’t hard to see what he was thinking of her, how his beautiful wife’s wretched sister was little more than a gambling thief who slept her way through his glorious city. Now, fingers smeared that blank canvas so pure of her darkest shades.

Eyes flicking back, she studied that same sister. The Cursebreaker, the Savior.

How small and insignificant she became next to the glimmering shining thing Feyre was. The lands spoke of her beauty and kind touch, and how she sacrificed everything to save a world of people, and Fae that she was raised to despise.

Nesta wished it’d be known that her touch wasn’t always kind.

She built her bricks firm enough that her house of grace never shattered; Held firm, it was all she had left in her. Too many eyes on her filled with grief, excitement, retribution-Nesta was keenly aware of how this Court of Dreams felt of her.

“This is an exile.”

Rhysand's smirk peaked so slightly, his mate tensing.

“No, no. This is an intervention, a chance for you to find yourself away from bad influences and habits. You can’t keep living like this, and I refuse to let it continue happening and I take the fall for it. Your decisions are impractical and immoral. You are sober much less than you are drunk and-”

“If you’re going to condemn me, do it. But don’t sit here and act as if this is out of kindness.” Nesta snarled. She hated the barbed words, but it’s what she felt. “Who are you to question my morality?”

“I think I can speak for my wife when I say that your presence here is….” Rhysand growled but pulled back, like he forgot Feyre was right there, too.

Nesta wished he would’ve let go, so maybe that facade Rhys reserved for Feyre was broken. No, that’s cruel. As much as she hated this and him, he was making her sister happy.

Something Nesta could never do.

“I do not give a shit what my presence is doing. The decision has already been made, so stop scolding me like a child and make good on your word, Rhysand.” Bile rose in her throat, the words feeling nothing but slimy and disgusting. Foreign, yet habitual all the same. Sometimes, she forgets there once was a woman called Nesta who was so much more than the viper living in her now.

Sometimes she remembers that she can’t ever be her again.

Home was nowhere for her, not in a person, not in a place, certainly not in this bombastic group of “heroes”. Nesta didn’t need a hero, she just needed someone to care. But Nesta knew better, no one would. She was taught to be unlovable, just a woman to be sold off and married- to climb her mothers' ever-growing social ladder.

But Nesta on her own was never enough, even with her mother six feet under and rotted away there were unsung expectations unmet. She was a catastrophic failure and a dark smear on a family name that never truly held weight to her.

Nesta looked up, felt everything all at once again, could only see one man pacing a worn-through tether between them. He wasn’t going to stop this, but she could see it, how it looked like he wanted to jump out of his own flesh, the veins of his arm prominent and knuckles normally so brown a new fresh fallen snow.

There was no prince to save Nesta, much less any will to save herself. So when Mor took the pleasure of bringing her to a living Hell, Nesta did not fight.

She was tired of fighting, after all, she fought an inescapable fate for the first twenty years of her life…

Flowers always made Nesta sneeze, but Elain lit like lights during winter whenever she could thread them through her hair. They all symbolized something, Laine would say. There are ones for good days, and hard storms, for sunshine and stars.

Nesta was always adorned in flowers that paralleled the estate. Astute, cold, tired, where she was warm, comforting, and smelled like cookies- ones that Celia normally baked for the sisters. She never asked Laine why she picked the ones for her that she did, her reasons would stay silent for now.

Spring was a high time of activity in the Archeron estate. There was always a flurry of activity, from preparing their mothers' obscene balls, to guests at every corner in every room. The halls were sprinkled in candles and on walls hung frames nearly kissing it was packed so tight.

They were in the gardens. It was an Elain day, as the girls would call it, and no matter how boring or mundane her wishes were they’d be fulfilled. Nesta was propped on the floor in front of Laine, who was bunching handfuls to weave in tangled auburn coils that gathered on Nesta’s head- as a bird's nest would.

Eventually, Nesta would have to learn braids or risk knotting the curls entirely.

The eldest basked in the silence she created from mentally muting her middle sister, and spared a glance at Feyre. What she saw was not surprising, but required far more willpower than she expected to not burst into laughter and risk the flowery rat's nest on her scalp.

Feyre appeared to be so bored out of her mind she was eating discarded flowers of Elains. Actually, ingesting them, as if she was a critique. When Elain wasn’t looking at Feyre, she’d grab another couple and study them- analyzing her next experiment. Glaring at the blues and yellows as if she was speaking to them, “Which one of you will make me puke the fastest so I can run away?”

In time, Feyre looked up from her taste tests to see Nesta grinning at her so violently you’d think Feyre hung the moon.

And Feyre beamed back, crossing a pinkie across her chest and pointing it back to Nesta. Then she viciously spit out the grass she’d just finished chewing, crying directly at Laine, “This MUST stop at once, my stomach hurts far too much to continue on here.”

Elain, in a garden so quiet, simply ignored her sister's poor attempts at escape. Making Nesta work even harder to stifle the shaking of her shoulders, covering her mouth and nose before she started wheezing. Elain would hardly hurt a fly but sent Nesta a glare that could’ve easily killed a man.

Nesta cleared her throat, “I do believe there are more of the blue flowers down that hill near the pond. Would you mind getting some more for Laine?”

Feyre was already on her feet, mouthing her thanks as Elain turned her back to get the next bunch of flowers, “Why of course I will!” And with a very bad curtsey, Feyre threw off her shoes and was rolling down the hill, spinning wildly, her laughter sure to be heard in meadows far beyond theirs.

You would find the Archeron sisters all together, or never in the same place.

Laine was the easiest to find, by the waters or pond on the east side, in gardens surrounded with bugs and willows calling to the young girl. She could hardly read but if the text included any mention of colors and blooms, suddenly she was a scholar. Elain was not simple or dull, but rather a passive spirit, like a summer wind- brief, fleeting, but teeming with love and hope.

Feyre, as their mother said, was a reckless wild child. Far too young to care, far too small to be whipped into shape. If you were sent to find her and your life depended on it, may the Mother bless you. Feyre liked the kitchen, because of the immaculate food and maids who would shove any sweet down the littlest Archerons throat. But, also for the immeasurable amount of sharp items to be found in there. If it was pointy and could stab a wall or scare their ice-cold mother, Feyre would be running the halls with it in hand or making targets of her fathers old trade route maps.

Then there was Nesta, the firstborn. Molded to be another woman that she somehow couldn’t fit, as if her feet were too big or hair too long, Nesta was outgrowing the standards forged into her being. You would see her as a ghost, floating in and out of rooms, comfortable in silence and slumber, but never escaping people. She loved the maids and could recite all of their names like clockwork, and the workers loved her in turn. Always stuck in new worlds between pages or willingly dragged by the two youngers, Nesta teemed with liberation. She was often alone, but never lonely, and found new loves in the library or in the fields beyond marble confines.

Adela was constantly dissatisfied with her eldest's progress inside these walls, as if at eight she should’ve already been engaged to a prince. Granted, Adela knew better. Nesta would never truly find another kingdom to buy into when she already had a crown waiting for her elsewhere. She was known as fair and beautiful beyond her years, would age like fine wine, and become so much greater than Adela ever was. What Nesta saw as fit would normally come to be, an instinct Adela was unprepared she would inherit. Nothing left her more confused than this daughter only by blood, who was hated by both her parents for reasons far from the same, and how at less than ten years had an entire mansion wrapped around her fingers.

But Adela would wait, and simply leave them be for now. When viper's strike, they kill. And even though the Matron of the house wanted her little queen gone, she had other ways to see this through.

Anyways, children's blood on her hands would stain her diamonds.

---

Cassian

Cassian was violently fucking ill. Watching whatever the fuck that was did not help in the slightest. The second she was gone, so was he.

The General and High Lord were not on speaking terms, his presence was an obligation and not a request. When Rhys first displayed his plans, Cassian just about murdered him. Had his brother on the table in a chokehold that the Shadowsinger had to come and release Rhys from. The way his so-called family planned her exile was… horrific.

Cassian was full of light and humor, but not dull the way his family made him out to be. He could see this for what it was, punishing an already broken female for not meeting every damn need of a fully grown woman that was no longer her responsibility. Cass knew better than to downplay the sacrifices Feyre made, but he was also well aware that Nesta's habits were hardly a financial problem and more of a reputation scandal.

That’s what the High Lord did best, when his Court was breaking at the bonds, the mess would “disappear”. Just like the Illyrians hidden in the mountains, the displaced families of Spring, the homeless warriors of Night.

Cassian loved his brother, but more often than not he wondered when Fate would come to bite them in the asses for Rhys’ neglect.

Now, here he was, in his mothers' cabin, wings dragging behind him wiping tears long since shed over a woman who was thrown to the wolves and torn into so many scraps he wasn’t sure how he could put her together again.

He missed his Nesta, the one who threw glares and begged for her people, not this one who hardly spoke and caved into herself enough that she couldn’t see where she was heading.

Cassian fingered for his mug in the wooden cabinets and hit his mark, soon placing water to heat over a small fire over the counter.

He was not okay, not okay at all.

When you look for something in the dark for too long, you eventually find what you need but not always in the way you expect. Cassian coped the same as Nesta Archeron in his first years post-war. It was suffocating trying to be the happy one while dying inside. He watched men he looked up to fall and a lover he admired take her last breath- too much in far too little time. Cassian was not an idiot, he was simply perplexed. Why was he allowed to grieve in unacceptable manners, but Nesta was a sinner in holy clothing?

Bright walls and unlit rooms in the house were silent, only the winds of the mountains singing outside. The newly dusted snow wrapped the dirt in a delicate kiss- a forbidden touch. It was the peak of winter, just after Feyre’s birthday and another insufferable party.

One that Nesta wasn’t invited to.

Cassian wished he wasn’t invited either.

The cup in his hands was dwarfed in comparison to the bulky Illyrian holding it, but at least it was warm. At least it wasn’t empty.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it could always be worse.

Cassian knew that if things were a little different, he’d be the one sitting in a prison of darkness and Hell because of mistakes made as a child. He’d be exiled by family, cast away by the only living remains of a life once lived.

Nesta didn’t know but long before this he had called it even, their sins atoned for in hurting each other equally.

She was the only one in the world who could tell which smiles he was faking.

To anyone on the outside, one kiss was merely that. How curious it was, the iceberg went far deeper.

So when the mug crashed against the wall, and in its wake resembled his inner turmoil, Cassian took to the skies and found himself at the door of a place far too familiar.

.

.

.

AHHHHHHHH OMG OKAY hope you guys enjoyed this:) if you want to be added to the tag list let me know!

@lovemeforever12345 @champanheandluxxury @nahthanks@perseusannabeth@queenestarcheron@silvernesta

@loosingdreams@sayosdreams@audreycressworth@cyra04@that-golden-lyre@nessiantrashh@misswonderflower@dontgetsalmonella@caram267@bickbickbarnes@sabrinasam-blog

#acotar #cassian #nessian #acomaf #acowar #acosf #a court of silver flames #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #nesta #acosf rewrite #bab writes #azriel #elain #feyre acotar #feyre archeron #rhysand #anti rhysand #okay it’s not really anti guys it just starts that way #so like bear with me #to have development you gotta bash them first #you know? #anyways love y’all

[pinkhairedlily]

Utakata Hanabi

Prompt: Festival | AO3 link here. Connect with me on Twitter. Happy SS Month everyone! 🌸🍅🥗 @ssskmonth

Funny how things change over time – from Uchiha Sasuke, youngest heir among the biggest clan in Konohagakure, most handsome, the brightest, the one with highest potential to Uchiha Sasuke, the traitor.

It has become difficult to stay beside Haruno Sakura, the girl who bugged him to no end at the academy but now the world-renowned medical ninjutsu specialist, the peak flower of the Hidden Leaf Village, the most beautiful and the strongest but also the woman he loves.

Her admirers flock daily to the village’s hospital where she is the head of medical corps, and to her and Ino’s newly established mental facility. These so-called patients have a unique array of illnesses which often end up with a scolding prescription rather than a real medical certificate. He wonders if he deserves to monopolize her affections.

These thoughts stay with him even if she spends nights in his state-sanctioned apartment, her steady breaths against his chest, and her hair splayed between his fingers, even if she prepares him bento boxes for lunch as he gets ready to spend the whole day briefing the council of elders of his missions, even if she kisses him in the shower before leaving. No one knew they were even together. This is a burden he had to carry – the stigma of his name, the inability of society to forgive, the consensus that he doesn’t belong.

And so it catches him off guard when Sakura brings up the summer festival. “I already picked out a fabric for my yukata. It’s so pretty I don’t want it to go to waste.” She bats him with her puppy eyes impression – her emerald irises jumping at his defenses.

“Sakura,” he starts as he reaches for her hands on the couch. “I want to but you know how it is.”

“And you know how I don’t care about any of that, right?” She looks at their intertwined fingers, and she blushes, quite not used to with their intimacy although they are already quite far in that particular journey. “I just want to see the fireworks…together.”

“We can see the fireworks together. They’re on the same sky anyway.”

Sakura lifts her fingers away from his grasp. “I’ve spent countless summers watching them alone. Now you’re here, and you don’t even want to go. I think I’m gonna sleep early.”

She’s angry. Sasuke finishes creating new storage scrolls and climbs on the bed with her. He hugs her with his lone arm and breathes in the fading lavender scent on her hair. “Maybe I can compromise.”

Sasuke apologizes with a fancy dinner the next day, and by dinner, that meant miso soup, grilled mackerel, kani salad, and her favorite – blueberry muffins. Sakura beams seeing the freshly baked dessert on their table. She also sees two masks on the edge, the compromise he talked about while she was already drowsy in slumber.

He holds them up – a fox and a dragon – and he is rewarded with a grin. “Wear your yukata tomorrow, Sakura.”

--------

She is beautiful, she has always been, and he loved her long pink hair ever since they met. When she cut it off in the Forest of Death, he felt a slight of pang of loss, even more so when it was because of him. Finally grown to her waist, she lets them down for the night in a long single braid adorned with cherry blossoms and her fringes clipped to the side with two butterfly pins. Her yukata, white and adorned with stars, fits her like second skin. She is beautiful.

They walk together hand in hand in the lantern-lit street filled with the crowd. No one actually pays them attention, everyone is too busy catching fish, playing shooting games, and trying all food stalls. They find a space on the riverbank, and they sit together on the grass, hands still clasped with each other.

“Are you happy?” Sasuke asks behind his mask. He slightly regrets this arrangement since he cannot see her expression, and Sakura has these charming microexpressions, like she wears her heart on her sleeve, an open page for everyone to read.

Before she could say anything, a pair of young men also dressed in yukata taps her shoulder. Sasuke immediately lets go of her hand.

“Dr. Haruno! We were right to come tonight. You never fail to go to summer festivals.”

Sakura takes off her mask and smiles back at them. “How did you know it was me?”

“We can spot your pink hair anywhere, Ma’am.”

“We can immediately see you in the sea of crowd. Do you need company?”

“It would be sad to see your outfit go unappreciated.”

Sasuke can feel a headache coming on. He is never the jealous type but the audacity of these kids to hit on Sakura.

She tilts her head, and her voices takes on an apologetic tone. “I’m actually with someone.” To drive the point further, she reaches for his hand and returns her fingers to where they were before they came. “You can enjoy the rest of the festival.”

Sasuke eyes them through his mask, and true enough, they are unperturbed because why would Sakura spend this important social evening with someone hiding behind a prop. But they eventually leave, knowing when to respect her wishes and knowing what happens if they don’t.

More people start filling the riverbank, indicating the start of the fireworks. Sakura eases in closer to him and wraps her arm with his. To their surprise, an elderly man sits beside Sasuke and waves to Sakura.

“Dr. Haruno.” He surmises this must be a previous patient of hers.

“It’s nice to see you with company this year. I was actually thinking of introducing my son to you later this month.”

Sakura chuckles, sensing the annoyance ooze out from Sasuke. “Oh my, there’s no need.”

“I see that. You look happy, happier than I’ve seen you in the past years,” the old man remarks then he fixes his gaze on the man beside him. “You.”

Sasuke slightly shifts to face him and bows in respect. “Good evening, Sir.”

“I’ve seen this girl come to the summer festival every year without fail. She would sit on the riverbank, her hair done up, with some makeup on, and wait for the fireworks. And when they finally light up, she would allow herself to cry, hiding her tears in the celebration, thinking no one looks beside them when the sky is showered with beautiful explosions. I sometimes think why the hell would a gorgeous girl spend the festival like that and watch fireworks with her eyes on the ground. And this year again, she’s here. You better not make her cry.”

“Oji-chan, you can stop now. You’re traumatizing my date,” Sakura lightly protests. She gives him a smile and words a soundless thank you.

“My child, he deserves to know. Anyway, I’ll leave you two and my knees are starting to hurt again.” The old man starts to get up, but he stares openly at Sasuke, piercing the mask barrier with a glare. “I’m serious though, you better not make this girl cry again.”

Sakura laughs and pulls Sasuke tighter. “Of course, he won’t. You come visit me tomorrow Oji-chan so I can prescribe you some meds. Okay?”

The old man pats the top of Sakura’s head and walks away into the crowd. The countdown starts from the opposite of the riverbank, and they hear the explosion. Colors burst into the velvet sky, and her emerald eyes follow the bright traces of the sparkling lights.

Sasuke slowly lifts off his mask and places it on the grass. He foregoes the sight above and focuses on the one beside him, memorizing every line on her face, committing them to his memory, savoring the awed glint in her eyes. He stays like that for the duration of the show without care for anyone who might have recognized him.

She finally notices his look and shifts her attention. He lets go of her hand and allows his fingers to tuck a stray strand behind her ear then he brings her closer to him and plants a soft kiss on her lips, their first public kiss, shrouded comfortably by the distracted crowd and the ephemeral lights above.

“I love you,” he whispers against her ear, and she responds by leaning against his chest with his arm around her, enjoying the last seconds of the show, a giddy smile on her face.

Links for Utakata Hanabi: Youtube | Spotify

#ssm21 #sasusaku month #sasusaku #ssm21d2 #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #sasuke #sakura #fanfic #anime fanfiction

[courtlyharlequin]

Amaranthine

Warning(s): female reader, mentions of anxiety, slow burn (I think), 17K word count, self-indulgence, Vivi’s Vil brain rot with no plot,  not proofread

Summary: There was this monster inside your head. It went by the name of Anxiety. To you, it was, and always be, more so of a parasite you couldn’t live with, but you also couldn’t live without. It looked after you in the strangest of times. For the most part, it was a hindrance, cluttering your mind with dark and bitter thoughts, assuming the worst in people you’ve never met before, jumping to conclusions, and crying over the smallest things. It made you extremely aware of yourself and others, for better or for worse. That was Anxiety, the monster in your head. The exact moment in time when it nestled instead into your mind is unknown to this day, festering in the back of your mind. Then there was Vil Schoenheit, your lover, your soulmate, and most importantly, your pillar of support who cheered you on in his own way. He taught you how to tame Anxiety. But alas, a monster will always be a monster.

A/N: It’s my birthdayyyyyy~ so I made a very, very, very self-indulgent fic for myself. While I did write it as a reader insert, it pertains to my mental health, particularly my anxiety, and there may be aspects of it that you may not understand. That is okay. I wanted some feels with Vil on my birthday because I have a case of Malleus syndrome;;;

A/N²: To clear things up, the reader in this fic is female. She is not Yuu (I usually write the reader as Yuu and yes, I’m aware they can be two separate entities). She likes to scrapbook, bake, and wear lolita clothing. She also attends NRC though her dorm is left pretty open-ended. However, it might not make sense if you’re in Pomefiore. This might not work if your birthday is in March either. I’m sorry asdfghjkl;

Disclaimer: Please note that this is not a fanfic that romanticizes mental illnesses. A significant other cannot solve everything. They shouldn’t solve everything. They aren’t meant to fix you; they’re there to bring out the best in you and be by your side when you need them to be. By no means, is it their job to help your completely overcome your mental illnesses. It’s a common trope in fanfiction and gives off mixed signals to me. This self-indulgent fanfic of mine is not meant to give anyone false hope. It is simply a love story that I always wanted to experience. Think of it as my own anxiety story. The only thing real about this is some events like the presentation meltdown though my partner eventually turned into my middle school bully so I just replaced him with Vil because Vil>>>>>>

[ Present Day, Vil’s Bedroom ]

Fwip!

You flinched. You looked up. Vil had flicked your forehead. His eyes were filled with worry, brows creased and his lips strung in a frown.

“Fairest, is something on your mind?” he asked.

“No. Not at all.”

“Hold still for a minute. This lip tint is watery,” he said in a stern tone, tilting your chin upwards

He lined your lips in red and handed you a small mirror.

“Beautiful, my love.”

You stared at your expression. Vil was right. You were beautiful, all dolled up in this getup. You were prettier than usual, that’s for sure. However, the look isn’t for you or your hollow eyes. He snapped his fingers.

“Fairest,” he paused, sitting down on his bed, patting the space next to him, “Come here.”

You obliged.

“Now, talk to me. Don’t deny it. Something is on your mind. You’ve been zoning out all day. If you need a break just say so.”

“No, no, it’s not that. I was just thinking…”

“Thinking?”

“Yes. About the past and whatnot. Trivial things! No matter,” you dismissed, leaning onto his shoulder.

Vil crossed his legs, “How could I help you if you give me such a vague answer?”

Had he truly forgotten your special day, the only day you were willing to break out of your shell and be showered in compliments and praise without feeling like an alien? While you didn’t have a cake to share and you were certain that he wouldn’t want to eat it either, you expected he would remember the date as your lover of seven months now. So far, he only asked you to drop by his room for makeup practice as he just landed a part-time job as a makeup artist. Not that you minded of course. He made you feel beautiful, one of the many reasons you loved him.

“I don’t think it’s something you can help me with. I was thinking about middle school and—”

“Don’t waste your time with those fools.”

“I told you it was trivial.”

You nuzzled against his shoulders.

“It’s been hard lately, you know? I’ve been overthinking again. About silly things. Group projects, you know? Presentations too. Ah, there was this one person who told me to shut up because of a misunderstanding and everyone laughed and I felt— But you mustn’t hurt them!”

You clutched his arm. His posture had stiffened. He gave you a blank expression though his eyes told the whole story.

“I felt a little out of place. Things were going fine until they showed up. It’s not their fault, don’t worry. I was excited to talk to them, but it ended up going downhill. I felt like I was overstepping my boundaries. It was embarrassing,” you continued.

“I know you don’t like it when I say this but it’s not as bad as you think it is. Know that you made progress compared to your pot– first year self,” Vil said, squeeze your hand, “If you want help with your presentations, then I’m here for you— as always.”

Straightforward as always. He never tolerated things he deems piffling, but you were glad he didn’t pity you, not one bit.

“I’m sorry for bothering—”

He placed the tip of his index finger on your nose.

“What do we say instead of apologizing for something we cannot control?”

“T-Thank you.”

“Go on now.”

“...for listening to me.”

“My pleasure, Fairest.”

His finger shifted as he cupped your cheek with one hand, leaning in to kiss your forehead. He must’ve forgotten your birthday, but you mustn’t going to ruin the mood. You watched his back as he gathered his makeup brushes. Vil was a busy man though that was something you were used to as his lover.

[ Two Years Prior, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Are you just going to sit there while everyone picks their partners, little potato?”

You flinched at the sudden comment. Potato? You had a name. Did you do something to be labeled in such a way? Moreover, what was the Vil Schoenheit doing standing in front of your desk? You prayed for the conversation to be brief. Part of you also prayed for him to ask to be partners.

“What are you staring at? Answer.”

You shook your head. This was bad. You were staring at him for too long. While you were dying from embarrassment, you let your gaze linger for a little longer. He was gorgeous. You loved how his blonde hair transitioned into a pale lavender, complimenting his violet eyes, eye makeup, and fair complexion.

Vil snapped his fingers before your field of vision.

“I know you aren’t mute. Answer.”

“Probably…” you said.

“Hah? That won’t do, potato. I’ll be your partner then.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, ‘I’ll be your partner’. Now, move over.  We’re in direct sunlight here and it won’t do any good for our skin if we sit there everyday for so long even if we are indoors.”

You nodded, sliding one seat over. He sat down next to you, arms and legs crossed. He seems mad, concerned with something, something else. His body language didn't match his facial expressions though he wasn’t hard to read. 

“Why me?”

You bit your lip, cringing at your own inquiry.

“You seem responsible enough to be my partner for this project,” he said, propping his head on his elbow, turning to face the blackboard.

What did he mean by that? Sure, you were responsible, but were you worth noting of? You were decent, not the best but not the worse either. Failing a class meant coming the topic of conversation when a teacher asks you to stay after class for a brief checkup or tutoring sessions. Excelling in a class meant being called out on your exemplary work by teachers. Anxiety was not equipped for either circumstances therefore it tried to help you maintain your grades discreetly. But Vil noticed, indicating that you were overachieving. Perhaps you should purposefully miss a few questions on the next quiz. You got a perfect score last time. It wouldn’t hurt. However, you were partnered with Vil, someone who strived for perfection, someone who stood out against a crowd. The phrase goes “...like a sore thumb”, but Vil stood out like a well polished and manicured appendage. He was beautiful, so beautiful that one had to stop for a moment to admire his beauty.

That was Vil, your partner. You could feel heavy stares in your direction. They were directed at Vil, but you couldn’t help feeling nervous. You fiddled with the ends of your hair, fixating your eyes onto your textbook.

You flinched when Vil pushed your back lightly. You shot him a widened stare, opening your mouth to ask him why he touched you. He placed a finger on your lips.

“Bad posture isn’t good for you. Straighten up and pay attention.”

Heat rose to your face as you adjusted your posture. 

[ Library ]

“Mind telling me what this is, potato?” Vil said, throwing a stack of papers onto the table.

Your shoulders tensed. You set your textbook down, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s our project.”

“No. It’s your project.”

“I wrote your name on it too so don’t worry about it. I don’t mind sharing the credit.”

“It’s not about the credit. It’s about the integrity. I dropped by Crewel’s office hours today with a question about this project and he told me that we had already turned it in. Fortunately for you, I’m good at improvising so we’re off the hook. I got our project back so we can work on it together.  Scoot over so we can get started. I’m assuming you also did the slideshow, but I–”

As usual, you complied to his demands, allowing him to sit next to you. He was a bit too close for comfort. Your peers could manage with this proximity so you probably could too if you took deep breaths every now and then. 

“We only have a day left, you know.”

“I know.”

“So why bother?”

Vil clicked his tongue, throwing his French braid over his shoulder as he slid the stool closer to the desk, “I bother because we’re a team.”

He paused, pondering, “I don’t like things being handed to me either.”

“That’s gold especially since this is coming from someone who’s always too busy to even reply to my texts,” you replied.

As soon as those words left your mouth, you bit your tongue. Was that too much? Should you have just listened to him? Kept quite? How will he react? Will he shame you on social media? Spread rumors? Tell Crewel?

“Listen here, potato. I work various part-time jobs and I run a club. I apologize for my poor time management, but I am here now. You, on the other hand, have only sent me one text pertaining to scheduling and this assignment during the three weeks we had to do it. We are both at fault, got that?”

“Yes,” you murmured, pulling out your laptop.

“Wonderful. You won’t have to rewrite everything. Just subtracting here and adding some words there for smoother transitions. It’ll sound better.”

You bit your lip. You were hoping that because you made the entire presentation, Vil would take up the speaking part out of guilt. Unfortunately for you, he was too self-righteous to give in. He can’t be persuaded either. His eyes were glued onto his own laptop, typing the evening away.

You’ll have to make due.

[ Presentation Day, Alchemy Classroom ]

From the brief time you’ve interacted with him, you knew that Vil was meant to be in the spotlight. He shined brightly, you could feel his charisma even from the back from the classroom. His performance was worthy of a standing ovation. You could never compete with him, let alone get through a single presentation. You had made it through all of your slides, but every time Vil spoke, you felt out of place. Your hands were shaking and you were on the brink of tears. Your peers must think you were incompetent. Their intense stares were unbearable. Did they pity you? Or Vil?

“It’s your turn,” Vil whispered.

You refused. His hand twitched as he grabbed your shoulders. This exchange was awkward enough yet your silent plea for help didn’t reach him.

“Go, potato.”

“No.”

He enunciated his words, “It’s. Your. Turn”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“You couldn’t possibly understand,” you cried.

Vil’s expression softened. He reached for you and you braced yourself yet it never came. He huffed and proceeded with the rest of the slides.

Ah… crying in the first semester as a first year in high school? Because of a presentation overwhelming you? Wonderful. You’ll never be able to live that down. Should you transfer to RSA then? No, that won’t do. They had mandatory choir classes or so you heard. Maybe an ordinary high school from your hometown then? But what if the headmaster disapproved?

You meekly walked up to Crewel, “I’m going to the infirmary.”

Your instructor only nodded with reluctance. Dissatisfaction was written across his face, but turning down a frantic student in tears for an unknown reason would be frowned upon. You heard him mutter something about the puppies this year being too sheltered. You gave Vil a second glance before heading out. He brushed you off and continued with the deliverable. 

You were hopeless.

[ Infirmary ]

You pulled the covers closer to your face, hiding behind your hair. He was there. Why?

“(y/n),” he said.

You inched away from him. He finally called you by your name. Not by “potato”. Why were you a potato in the first place? Was it because you were beneath dirt? Were you that ugly to be beneath him?

“Are you just going to stay here forever? Curfew is soon. You should hurry and get to the mirror chamber.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same, potato.”

 You were beneath him. The tears won’t stop falling. You were trembling.

“What did I do this time?” he sighed.

His voice was firm. He must’ve been irritated by today’s stunt.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just leave me alone... please.”

The blanket shrouded your eyes. How pathetic. How could you let him of all people see you in such a miserable state? You’ve only seen his social media profile once or twice. Was he the type to post and gossip about others?

The mattress sank as Vil sat down. You hugged your sides.

“Fine then. Be a stubborn potato.”

“... You honestly did nothing wrong. I’m the problem. I can’t function as a human being. I can’t talk to people. I can’t- Well, I can but it’s...”

“Difficult?”

“Yeah.”

“What is there to be scared of? Follow that trick where you pretend everyone is potato.”

Is that where the potato shtick came from? How reassuring. His tone was unchanging in pitch. Was he trying to comfort or criticize you?

“It's more complicated than just being shy. It’s tiring. I don’t have a clear mind. I worry too much. I spend my days in fear. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

Vil pulled the covers off your small figure. You turned to him in a haze.

“I believe the term is ‘anxiety’, potato,” he said.

“Y-Yeah. Was it obvious? It probably was. Pretty silly now that I think about it, but anyways curfew–”

“Did you think I was stuck in some era where I don’t even acknowledge mental health? And would look down on you because you have anxiety? Please. Give me more credit than that. I’m not close-minded. You’re still a person and you have feelings. So you have anxiety. What of it? Certainly no less of a person.”

Oh how your heart fluttered.

“Get up. You can stay at the Pomefiore dorms tonight. I should get you cleaned up. I can’t stand the sight of those red and puffy eyes…. Cheer up a bit, will you?”

He held out his hand. Was this his way of apologizing? It wasn’t his fault you crumbled in the first place so why? What did he want? Did he want to help you out to boost his reputation?

“Why are you helping me?”

“You clearly need help don’t you?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yes or no, potato.”

“I can’t burden you more than I have,” you shook your head.

“I talked it over with Crewel. You’re fine.”

“I suppose I’m not excused either.”

You shrugged off the blankets and took Vil’s hand.

“No, you are. He seemed to be under the impression that you were actually ill,” he said, tapping his finger against his cheek.

“Then–”

“Leave it for now. We can discuss this over tea. After we clean you up though.”

“Do you pity me?”

What if you sounded desperate? What if you sounded needy? Was that needy? Would he change his mind? 

You clamped a hand over your mouth. Vil squinted at you as if he was trying to inspect a stain on a fine textile. He proceeded to grab your cheeks, squeezing them. He exercised his authority.

“I. Do. Not. Remember that. I don’t stoop that low. Good grief.”

“Then... what’s the price?” you cried.

“Excuse me?”

“Your time is valuable, isn’t it? You’re clearly busy. Why are you wasting your precious time on me? Shouldn’t you be compensated for the time I’ve wasted?”

“Yes, my time is valuable, but we can talk about compensation another time.”

He let his hand go, leaving you to gasp in sheer terror. So forceful… he scared you. What did he want from you?

“You coming, (y/n)?”

“Yeah.”

[ Pomefiore Dormitory, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Hold still. After you cleanse your skin with this superfruit cleanser, you have to apply this fir extract to exfoliate. It’ll sting, and it’s even worse when you get it in your eye, so be careful. Try not to move too much, potato.”

Vil dabbed the cotton ball on your face meticulously. You felt like a celebrity with your own hair and makeup team.

“There. All done,” he beamed.

He spun the chair around so you faced the vanity mirror.

“Beautiful. One hundred points for you.”

You gripped the hem of his shirt. He shouldn’t say things like that and expect you not to combust. What’s more was that this attire was incredibly lewd. What if someone came in and got the wrong idea? What if they spread rumors? You were wearing nothing but his shirt after all. It was long enough to reach your knees, but it was his shirt regardless.

“What do you think, potato?”

“It’s nice, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It’s not for me?”

“Well, I think it does,” he said.

You patted your cheeks. Soft. Oh dear, you were soft.

“Ah, ah. Don’t touch,” he scolded, prying your hands away.

Goodness you were hopeless.

“Eh? Stop crying. No! Don’t rub your eyes either. Let me get you some tissues.”

Annoyance was etched into his speech, but his actions betrayed his words. He never left your side; he wiped your tears with his own thumbs. You held his wrists tenderly. His touch was like a thousand butterfly kisses.

“I’m sorry. I just… Annoying… Nobody… I’m not.. You…”

He sighed, “Don’t apologize for your feelings. You’re not that annoying as you think. Instead, why don’t you try saying thank you?”

“Thank you?”

“Yes, something like ‘thank you for listening to me’. That shouldn’t be hard for you now, is it?”

“Thank you… for not being annoyed with me.”

Vil palmed his face, “Not that bad. We’ll work on it. Twenty points for you.”

You sniffled and broke out into a small fit of laughter. He smiled too, standing up straight. He towered over you. He was a giant. You watched his back as he approached his bed, fluffing up the pillows.  His heels clicked and clacked against the flooring. He was still in his school uniform. When was he going to sleep? Didn’t he say he wanted you to stay here? People would really get the wrong idea now. You tugged at his sleeves. Vil turned to you, waiting for you to speak.

“I’ll be going now.”

He grabbed your wrist, “Stay.”

You pulled away from him.

“No, not like that. I’m not going to do anything to you, potato. You really have to stop associating me with other potatoes. I meant stay for some tea. Of course, if you really feel uncomfortable then you’re free to go, but at least let me walk you back.”

“I’ll stay,” you said.

“Wonderful. Give me a moment to fix the bedding. The tea should be ready by then.”

When did he prepare the tea? When you were bathing? When you were changing into his pajamas?

“Vil, if I do stay the night, where will I be sleeping?“

“We have one spare room left over since one student never showed up to the ceremony so you can sleep there.”

You sighed, shoulders at ease.

“Did you honestly think I would let you sleep here? No, potato, I need my beauty rest.”

“No, not at all.”

“You are terrible at lying.”

“I’m not dirty minded I promise!”

“Did I say you were?” he smirked.

Vil had a frisky side to him… how unexpected. Nevertheless, you were relieved. You had insomnia already. If you had to sleep next to Vil… you would never see the dawn again.

“Potato, your tea.”

You jumped.

“Careful! It’s hot and these pajamas are made of silk. I dare you to stain them,” Vil scolded.

You nodded. He handed you a tea cup. 

“I was hoping to talk some things over with you, but it’s getting late. You can take this to the spare room down the hall and relax. Self-care time if you will. Here’s a bag for you to put your dirty clothes in. You can drop it off in the morning to the ghosts for laundry. When you get the chance to change, return the top to me. Capeesh?”

“Capeesh...” you mumbled, turning to the door, fumbling with the tea cup.

“(y/n),” he said.

“Yes?”

“Don’t disturb my beauty sleep.”

“Got it.”

“You didn’t let me finish, potato. You can disturb me if you need help with anything else regarding your anxiety. I won’t do things on your behalf, but I’m there to hold your hand. Just not during my beauty sleep, okay?”

“Okay…”

Vil was not lying when he said he wouldn’t treat you any less of a human. Even if there was a monster in your head, Vil treated you like he would anyone.  Perhaps he wasn’t so bad. But how could he say such things with a straight face? It sounded like something out of a fairy tale. 

No, no, (y/n). You mustn’t catch feelings for someone this quickly. If anything, you were in love with the idea of him, his kindness, how he helped you out and cared for you. But was it even kindness?

Even if these feelings weren’t spawned from the idea of loving him, Vil would never return them. He seemed to be the type to be into someone independent. Or at least someone who was not broken. 

Mainly the former, it would seem. He didn’t pack your clothes even though he was the one who demanded that you strip, plunging you into a rose petal and lavender sprig bath. Admittedly, it was relaxing. He said something about lavender having a calming effect earlier. You smelt nice too. 

Maybe for today, you could be comfortable in your own skin. Just this once. You smelt really nice.

[ Four Weeks Later, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Alright, puppies. We have another lab project. The details are in the packet. You are to concoct a potion using the ingredients we learned about this unit. Any potion is fine, but Amortentia is forbidden– as usual. This project will be due in two weeks. You will present your findings to the class in small groups. You can choose your partners. You were good puppies for the last few weeks so I’ll let you choose this time. Do not disappoint me,” Crewel said, cracking his whip.

You watched as the class swarmed into a chaotic mass. Students laughed and embraced one another. You scanned the crowd, looking for someone as unfortunate as you, someone without a partner.

“(y/n). Would you like to be partners?”

Oh. Vil. After all this time, you were baffled by the fact that he continued to interact with you after your meltdown weeks ago. What’s more is that he even followed you back on Magicam. He engaged in conversations with you, asking to check answers with you despite passing tests with flying colors just as you did. You never minded per se. Vil always had something to say. He wasn’t talkative, but he was captivating and civil with a hint of sarcasm. He had a lot to critique. Moreover, you two were from different worlds. Whenever he shared stories about his life, from modeling to troublesome classmates, you felt like a child with a new toy. You were immersed, zoned out of your surroundings, your focus on that one, single thing. In turn, you shared your own anecdotes, anxiety struggles and small victories— to which he celebrated with you through small, almost satirized, cheers and affirmations. 

You were comfortable around him. Anxiety kept you from advancing your acquaintanceship to a friendship, but you were more than happy with sharing homework answers and making small talk. Vil most likely wanted to work with you because, as he said so before, you were reliable. Or was it responsible? Whatever the word was,  you were useful to him. You were noticed in the best way possible. A twisted way to put it, but that’s simply how you felt.

Vil was not what Anxiety said he was and that was more than good enough for you.

“Sure,” you said.

“Wonderful,” he smiled.

You slid over as he took a seat next to you. Away from the sun, just as he liked it. You remembered your first encounter well.

“We’re presenting in small groups this time so you don’t have to worry that much about it,” he paused before continuing, “We can practice. When are you available?”

“Any time, really, I don’t have any clubs.. Or part-time jobs.”

“How does this Friday sound then? I’ll ask my manager to clear my schedule for that day.”

“You don’t have to clear your schedule. I can manage even if you come back late… Just don’t come to me the day before the deadline?”

Were you being too bold with this request?

“Friday then,” Vil said, flipping through the packet, “What type of potion do you want to make?”

“You can choose. I’m not really sure.”

“No, you are sure. You keep staring at that one page. I know you’ve read everything the moment it was handed to you. You certainly weren’t zoning out either.”

If there was anything worth noting about Vil over the short time that you’ve known him, it was that he was observant. Profoundly observant. Perhaps even more than you.

Vil clicked his tongue: “Spit it out, potato. I won’t judge you. I don’t have much of a preference either. We can compromise if we don’t agree.”

“Amortentia,” you winced.

“Now, that we can’t do,” he waved, “Didn’t you hear the professor say?”

“I did, but the structure of this potion is so intricate. I want to try.”

“Aphrodisiacs are prohibited. We can’t do it.”

“I know. I can dream though.”

“Do you have a boy in mind, potato?”

“It’s not like that,” you huffed.

If only he knew. You were head over heels for him– or rather the idea of him, someone who accepted you wholly without ever wanting to tame the monster inside your head. You weren’t sure if you loved Vil for who he was or what he did for you as a classmate. Do mere classmates have afternoon tea in each other’s dorms? Did they engage in small talk frequently?

Vil chuckled, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, potato.”

[ Friday, Library ]

“You’re late, (y/n),” Vil said, leaning against the door frame.

“Sorry.”

“I hope you weren’t planning on skipping out.”

“No, sir.”

“Sir? I’m not that old, you potato.”

You weren’t fond of the session already. While you enjoyed talking to Vil, his strict attitude was oftentimes a trigger for Anxiety. Vil made it rage, rattling against the cage that encasing your heart. It didn’t fancy that. Neither did you.

“Come sit,” he walked over to the desk.

His braid swayed back and forth. You followed him in suit, taking a seat. Vil reached for your shoulders and the small of your back. You yelped.

“Posture is the first step to confidence. If you shrink, you’ll portray your nervousness in the most obvious way possible. Feet flat on the ground and shoulders back.”

You felt exposed, flustered, but not to Vil’s touch. You felt vulnerable to a nonexistent crowd. 

Vil stood up and took a seat before you, staring at you intently.

“Now, deep breath. Scan the crowd and focus on a point behind them, away from their eyes, but still in their direction. Remember to look around occasionally so it’s not obvious that you’re staring at the back of the room. You don’t have to make direct eye contact.”

You nodded sheepishly and obeyed. It wasn’t difficult. You could stare into his eyes forever. You hoped it wouldn’t be too awkward if you kept your gaze fixed on his.

“Shall we begin?”

[  Two Weeks Later, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Hold still, potato,” Vil hissed.

He held your jaw steadily as he applied a glossy red lip tint onto your lips. In a classroom. In public. How many people were staring at you two? What did they think? Did they think you were his plaything?

“I don’t see the point in dressing up.”

“Please. Lip tint and a few touch ups isn’t ‘dressing up’. Plus, you’ll feel more confident if you look confident. Own it, my friend.”

Friend? You were his friend? You could feel your cheeks getting rosy. At the same time, you felt a surge of adrenaline. Was it confidence? You were on cloud nine, feeling unstoppable. If he said so, then Vil would be your first friend at Night Raven College outside of your dorm. 

But… what if he didn’t mean it?

No, no. he meant it. There was no need for Vil to lie. For him, lying was pointless. It was a waste of time; he preferred to get straight to the point even if it might be harsh on someone’s feelings. You’d learn to accept that his words come from honest intentions.

Crewel blew his whistle, signaling start time. Students flocked to their not-so-small groups. Vil had volunteered for the both of you to go first despite your protests, saying that it would be best to go first so you would not overthink and compare your presentation to others. 

“I’m Vil Schoenheiit.”

He squeezed your thigh. The gesture was of chaste intentions, you were sure. Your leg was the only place he could touch in hindsight. Or so you assumed. Regardless, it set your insides on fire, but it made his presence known— as if to say “I’m here, don’t worry.”

Your breath hitched: “And I’m (y/n) (l/n).”

[ One Day Later, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Potato, what are you doing here? It’s the weekend.”

You hugged your sides. He was sweating. You’ve never seen Vil in anything but his school uniform, Pomefiore’s dorm uniform, and pajamas. There he was… standing right before you in a stormy gray tank top. While he was wearing pajama bottoms, the look was foreign to you. What should you say? You never knew he worked out.  Were those weights heavy? Is he training for a certain role?

“I have something for you: a small thank you gift for yesterday,” you said, brushing past your thoughts.

“Oh? You don’t have to thank me. I wanted a good grade too so don’t think too highly of me… Simply improving is enough.”

You shook your head, “I insist. I want to do something for you too. I would feel guilty if it were any other way.”

Vil rested his palm on your head. You looked up at him attentively. The height difference between the both of you was immense. Compared to Vil, you were a dwarf.

“What is it that you want to show me?” he sighed.

You jumped with excitement, handing him a small container. He took them.

“What’s this?”

“Open them.”

“Alright, alright. Such a demanding potato…”

You watched him gingerly pop off the lid to reveal your culinary creation. Your eyes wandered back to his violet orbs.

“Potato, what is this?”

Did he honestly not know or did he think you were jesting?

“They’re oatmeal raisin cookies. I made them myself. It’s all organic ingredients, I promise. There’s apples in it too. I know you watch your diet, but I think it would be okay if you ate just one. At least?”

You scratched the back of your neck while Vil stared at them in bewilderment.

“Just one.”

“Yay~”

His furrowed eyebrows softened as he took a bite, “Not bad, potato.”

He placed it back in the container and closed the lid. Your heart sank. Was it just for show? Were they bad?

“Don’t take it personally. They are delicious. I don’t eat too many sweets though. I… also have a meeting with my producers after this. So perhaps later, my dear.”

“Oh alright.”

[ Someday– Your Birthday, Alchemy Classroom ]

You weren’t sure what kind of strings were pulled or if this class had free seating, but Vil gradually sat closer and closer to you. Now, his seat was next to you. He said that it was because he could not stand the other potatoes near his old seat and that he’d much rather sit with a friend who helped him stay on task– which in turn made your heart melt.

Answers weren’t the only things you two shared now. You often brought snacks to share with him. You brought healthy ones like apple crisps and celery sticks for accommodate the diet of your classmate. He only consumed workout smoothies in the morning. He would drink one before he went for a run with no post-workout smoothies to make up for the calories he burnt. For someone who claims to life a healthy lifestyle, Vil was oftentimes too busy to keep up with it. He rose when the sun kissed the tips of the hills. Granted, he could have risen earlier so he could consume his post-workout meal, but his work trails later in the night. Sleep was important to him. Between balancing his beauty sleep and fitness regime, he frequently came to Alchemy with his hair still wet from a morning shower, his eyes caked with concelaer, and an empty stomach.

The first time you offered him something to munch on and regain the calories burnt, he declined. But as these days became more frequent, Vil caved.  

“Potato.”

He slumped against his desk– a rare sight from the Pomefiore student.

“You should stop pushing yourself,” you said, taking out a container.

He shook his head.

“A break would be nice once in a while, Vil.”

He rolled his eyes, slipping off his gloves to take off the lid. God, he was so stubborn. He was going to burn out one day.

“I don’t mind sharing food with you, but you should pace yourself. Take a day off”

He shook his head again. Why though? Did his schedule not allow him to? Vil worked late sometimes, but was it worth it?

“Potato.”

“Hm?”

“Do you have anything aside from these cookies?”

You inhaled sharply, closing the lid and shoving it in your bag. They might have crumbled, but you didn’t want him to know. 

“Unfortunately, no sorry,” you sighed, clutching your bag’s handle.

“Fine then. I’ll just eat one then.”

“No.”

“Why not? “

“It’s not healthy for you.”

Vil lunged for your bag. His stomach growled. You did your best to stifle a giggle. 

“You just said it was alright to take a break,” he said.

“You can’t have them.”

“How come?”

“They’re for me…” you whispered.

“Come again?”

“These are mine.”

He hummed, clearly not buying into your excuse. Perhaps excuse was not the right word because they were for you. They were self-indulgent treats that you made for yourself around this time of year. They were self-indulgent with a miserable origin. 

At this point, he was gripping your wrist. Since when was VIl this forceful? He never crossed any boundaries. He was never nosy. Was he concerned? Or did the madness of hunger consume him?

He was akin to a stray kitten. You were the one to offer him food in the first place. There were two cookies. One wouldn’t hurt.

“Fine. Just one. Please don’t eat the other though. I’d like to eat one on my birthday.”

“Birthday? Potat–”

You put your hand over his mouth on impulse. He was going to throw a fit with you for placing your “breeding ground for bacteria”  on his face, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Don’t tell anyone,” you pleaded, “But, yes, today is my birthday.”

Crewel’s footsteps echoed through the room, “Silence, puppies!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Vil hissed under his breath.

“I’m not big on birthdays. The attention is too much– plus, rarely anyone celebrates with me.”

“You honestly remind me of that one miserable Diasomnia first year from the class next door.”

The conversation was left at that.

[ A Few Hours Later, Courtyard ]

“Potato.”

“Vil?”

Where did he come from? How did he find you? Class had ended a few minutes ago. What’s more is that you only saw him every other day due to the Alchemy schedules. It was the only class you had with him. You never saw him outside of class, aside from rare encounters in the cafeteria. You ate in the library to avoid people so that was partly your fault too.

“Come with me.”

“Pardon?”

“I won’t take no for an answer. You are the birthday girl, after all.”

He struck his signature pose, one hand on his hip and the other pointed, barely touching his cheek. When did he develop this again?

Wait. What did he just say?

[ Pomefiore Dormitory, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Here. This is an anxiety journal. Think of it as a diary to write your thoughts down in case you don’t have anyone to talk to”

“Vil, I can't take this,” you said, pushing the notebook away.

“I insist.”

“Still…”

“You said you didn’t celebrate. And that others didn’t celebrate either, no?”

“Yes…”

“If you don’t put yourself out there and let people know, then how are others going to celebrate? And then you go mope around and eat cookies all by yourself in the library with the ghosts?”

Was he watching you? You were sure that there was no one there when the ghosts sang you happy birthday.

“I never said I was moping. I don’t care if I’m all alone. I don’t mind at all. I’m perfectly okay with that. I don’t need to be acknowledged or receive any gifts of pity so please just leave it at that…. I appreciate the gesture though.”

He leered. You took a step back. Was he angry? Why? This doesn’t concernto him. Why was he getting angry?

“I care. So take it.”

You caved, taking the journal. It was similar to the Pomefiore dorm leader’s grimoire: leather bound, decorated in gold decals in floral patterns and peacock feathers. It was pretty. You were a fool. A sensitive and broken fool. You were crying over a notebook, a gift put together at the last minute with tender loving care by a classmate you barely knew. It had been a long time since you felt this happy, this acknowledged.

Vil grimaced, “Oh stop crying already. I told you that I was here for you.”

He embraced you. It was awkward, but wholesome. You never hugged him before. He was warm. Perhaps a little bony for it to be of any comfort, but that was most likely due to the position you two were him. His head pats were stiff. It was ill at ease, but endearing.

Vil was your friend. Though not the closest, you treasured his actions. You weren’t sure how he put up with you. Or why even, but all you were concerned in at this moment was that he cared. It would be lovely to not assume the worst in people for once.

[ Present Day, Vil’s Bedroom ]

What would Vil surprise with you this year? He hasn’t mentioned anything yet.

The makeover was nice, but you weren’t big on makeovers. Did you get to keep this dress? It was embellished with lace and frills– fancy. It was white, pink and floral like the Heartslabyul croquet court. You felt pretty albeit out of your own skin. Vil hummed a soft song whilst cleaning his makeup brushes.

Would that be all?  It was your first birthday as a couple. Were you ungrateful if you asked if there was anything else? His schedule was tight. What would he say if you mentioned that today was your birthday? What would he say if you asked if he had forgotten? Would you sound narcissistic? 

Would he say the same thing he said to you when you were second years?

[ One Year Ago, Someday– Your Birthday, Hallway ]

“Vil!”

You were so excited to see him again. You couldn’t stop yourself from running up to him.

“(y/n).”

“I haven’t seen you in forever. How are you? Congratulations. It’s a bit late though. How’s being Pomefiore’s new dorm leader treating you?”

He brushed his hair off his shoulders. Ah... a new hairstyle. He was wearing the barette you made for his birthday. You missed the French braid, but you felt that he was more relaxed when he let his hair down (literally).

“Rook. Guide the baby potatoes back to our dorm. Give us a moment,” Vil said to the person he was walking with.

Rook, you assumed. He was bizarre with his exaggerated features and hat. You were certain that the accessory violated campus dress codes. Needless to say, he was beautiful in his own way– just like any Pomefiore student.

“Oui, Roi du Poison. I shall leave you with ta chérie~” he breathed, prancing away with the first years.

“Ta what now?”

“Don’t mind him,” Vil said, “I am doing well, thank you, (y/n).”

No “potato” this time? Not even once? You hadn’t seen him since your second year started, only keeping up with his life through Magicam and story replies. Sometimes, he messaged you to check up on you or ask to compare answers for Alchemy and Potions. You packed snacks for him though that routine eventually ceased as Vil began taking better care of himself, opting only to run when he had the time.

You missed those days, but his well being was more important than your own selfish feelings. You had grown fond of that nickname since he used it so often. It was a term of endearment. It saddened you that he called others potatoes as well.

“Happy birthday by the way,” Vil said.

“Oh! You remember?”

“There you go again. I don’t have the memory of a goldfish– of course I remember. Though I don’t have a gift for you this time around.”

Did you offend him? Did you sound needy? You weren’t asking for any presents. Did it come off that way?

“I don’t need anything so it’s fine.”

Or rather, you didn't expect anything.

“Good grief. It’s your birthday. Chin up. Have the attention on yourself for one day. It’s your day after all. Anyhow,I would love to chit chat more, but my schedule is tight. I cannot dilly dal–”

You reached for his hand, “W-Would you like to hang out at a café sometime then?”

You cut him off. Was that too abrupt? Rude? Uncalled for? You should have let him leave even if you did miss being around him, being friends with him.

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to. I was just thinking that maybe we could spend some time together and catch up. We haven’t seen each other in person too much. I’m not comfortable with too much attention either so yours is more than enough.”

God, what were you saying? That was cringe-worthy. You prayed that he would decline your impulsive proposal.

“I don’t see why not. Very well then, (y/n). Text me the details so I can adjust my schedule accordingly.”

Wait. He agreed? Was he pitying you? No, no. Stop doubting him. Vil was your friend. He must’ve missed being around you too.

[ One Month Later, Cafe Rosé ]

When he said he was busy, he meant it. A month had passed since your birthday and just now were you able to meet up.

You sat in the café idly. He watched you consume your third plate of strawberry shortcake. You glanced at him then at your growing pile of dishes. He squinted. Should you stop?

“Don’t.”

Did he read your mind?

“No, I’m not a mind reader.”

“But you did it again.”

“Your expressions are easy to read. Do yourself a favor and don’t feel bad if you  enjoy something and I don’t. Someone who makes you feel bad for getting excited about something– something harmless, something you enjoy, is the worst kind of person. Enjoy your cake, birthday girl. Don’t let me, or anyone for that matter, stop you.”

Vil sipped his hand-pressed superfruit smoothie vehemently.

That was oddly inspiring despite having relevance to your self-esteem and cake. Funnily enough, you did feel better about yourself.

“Excuse me? May I get three more slices of this cake? And another teapot, please?” you called out to a server impulsively.

What on earth were you doing? Was that rude? Did she find you demanding?

“Anything else?”

“That’ll be all for now.”

You turned from the waitress, bringing your attention back to Vil. You cocked your head to the side: “What?”

“Consume cake in moderation, you potato.”

There it was. You’ve been waiting all semester to be called a potato. Pomefiore first years have expressed a strong dislike for the nickname. You, on the other hand, treasured it. Time and memories were built into that nickname.

“It’s fine. I’m paying anyway so don’t worry.”

“You are not paying on your birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday though.”

“We’re here for a belated celebration.”

“So an unbirthday?”

“No, no. Don’t bring the Queen of Hearts’s rules and gimmicks into this,” Vil waved his hand.

He set his smoothie down, The ice shifted, echoing throughout the café.

“I want to pay. I wanted to go here in the first place.”

“Think of this as my belated birthday present for you, atonement for not getting you anything or talking as much we’d like.”

“Vil, I don’t require anything from you. You’re busy. You don’t have to talk to me everyday. I think I would combust if you did. My social battery would drain.”

“That’s reassuring.”

The waitress cleared her throat. Vil nodded, sliding his glass to the further end of the table. She placed the cake slices in a neat triangle before setting the teapot down in the center. Then she followed up with the teacups–one for you, one for Vil. He raised an eyebrow at you. Your server gave a polite bow and dismissed herself.

“Eat one slice. Then I’ll let you pay,” you beamed, sliding him the plate.

He glared at the confection, “Alright.”

[ March, Pomefiore Dormitory Hallway ]

“Bonjour, bonjour! What brings you to our humble dorm?”

Rook was his name right?

“Hello, Rook. I was hoping–”

He scared the living daylight out of you. Where did he come from? Why was nobody else around? You spun your heel and scanned the hall. It was empty.

“Echanté, mademoiselle! Let me guess!”

You yelped, falling backwards. Where did he come from? He was behind you a moment ago. His eyes widened as he lunged for you, hooking his arm around your waist, catching you before you made contact with the ground.

“Careful, careful, little fawn,” he chuckled.

Fawn?

He set you straight then pointed at you. His gloved index finger barely touched the bridge of your nose. This man, Rook, was sending your nerves in a downward spiral. 

He smiled at you, resuming like nothing ever happened: “Let me guess– you’re looking for your darling Roi du Poison?”

“Darling… Roi du Poison? Who? Vil?”

“Oui.”

“No, he’s not.. we’re not. We’re just friends. I’m looking for him though bec–”

“Are you here for compensation?”

Rook set Anxiety loose. With a few words, he sent shivers down your spine. Compensation. Would your friendship end the moment you fulfilled his request? It had always been in the back of your mind. The thought of Vil using you to make him feel better about himself shatters you into a million pieces. The thought of owing Vil something for helping you, for being your friend, was heart-wrenching. Was it pity after all this time? Was it so wrong to want to hang out at yet another café? You looked forward to those every month– ever since your unbirthday date. Was your relationship that superficial?

No, it wasn’t a date. You wanted it to be, but it was not a date. You never quite shook off those romantic feelings you felt when you saw a different side to him. Beneath the surface of the poised, strict and sometimes narcissistic prefect, Vil was extremely hard working, passionate, and observant. He was the greatest friend you could ever ask for. You can’t say that he was your best friend, but he was close. If he didn’t feel the same, then that was okay with you. You weren’t even sure if it was love. You’ve had this debate with Anxiety before. It kept telling you that you were in love with the idea of him fixing you. That was not love.

You shook your head. Vil genuinely was your friend. If those feelings were not returned, then you would still be friends.  He told you time and time again that you should never feel sorry for the way you feel. If so, then would it be alright to tell him one day? And feel terrible about it later?

“He’s here, isn’t he?” you asked.

“Oui~”

“Rook, (y/n),” a voice from the end of the half coughed.

Pomefiore’s vice dorm leader crossed his arms and gave you a smug smile. Vil. He was decked out in a trench coat and a black turtleneck. Stylish as always, but his hoarse voice told a different story. You rushed to Vil’s side.

“Vil, are you alright?,” you tugged his sleeves, “Your eyes are so puffy. Have you been crying? You’re burning up too. You should rest. Go back to bed this instant. Our café rendezvous can wait.”

He staggered: “No. I want to go with you. I finally have the time.. to see you… I have to make it count...”

“No, Vil. You have a fever. You need to rest,” you said, sliding his arm over your shoulders, ready to haul him back to his quarters.

Rook hummed a bird’s song.

“Would you mind helping?”

The height difference between you and Vil was awkward. His legs are dragged across the floor in a languid manner. One could imagine how uncomfortable that was.

“Non non, little fawn! My hands are dirty. Roi du Poison wouldn’t allow me to taint his beauty with such bacteria. Désolé!”

“Can you at least get the door then?”

“Will do, milady,” he bowed before complying to your request.

He held the door for you as you dragged Vil to his bed. You gasped as Vil’s limbs tighten around your neck.

“Would you mind getting the sheets too? Pull them out so I can tuck him in?”

Rook hummed in response. You plopped Vil onto the mattress. Your companion’s eyes widened, hands thrown in the air.

“Mademoiselle! Careful! Roi du Poison is fragile like a flower’s first bloom.”

“He’ll be fine don’t worry. Now if you could–”

Where did he go? You blinked for one minute and the vice prefect was gone.  You shook your head in dismay, turning to Vil and tucked him in bed. He looked so peaceful. His eyes were so distraught and dull before. Did he overwork himself to the point of tears? His room was a mess– shreds of fabric and crumpled balls of paper were discarded on the floor. You could hear his breathing as you made way to his desk.

What’s this? A script? And a sewing machine? What was he making? His sketches were stunning. Was this a side project of his? Was he too busy with films to continue with it? But why were his eyes so puffy?

Whatever the case was, it wasn’t your place to pry. Your fingers trailed off over the sketchbook as you made your way to his bathroom. You didn’t know where he kept the medicine or what kind he used, but it was worth a try to look around.

You opened the cabinet and your face fell. At a glance, he didn’t have anything aside from comesetics. There were a few bottles of potions, but you couldn’t make out the labels. It was best not to guess and check. The least you could do was place a wet on his head to cool down the fever. You peered over the bathroom’s door frame.

He wouldn’t mind. He was breathing heavily. You’ll face the consequences later if it violated his beauty regime. Hurriedly, you grabbed a small towel off the shelf, rinsing it in cold water in the sink. You squeezed off the excess and rushed to Vil, cursing at intervals where the water dripped onto whatever expensive material the flooring was made of. Was it expensive? You couldn’t tell. You placed it on his head gingerly. 

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned down and kissed his cheek.

Holy… what did you just do? You were taking advantage of him when he was out cold. If he was awake what would he say? Why did you do that? Why did that make your heart flutter?

“F-Feel better, Vil. I’ll be going now. Tell me when you wake up,” you sighed, patting your cheeks down.

You were a fool for initiating such an intimate act while someone was sleeping. You were also talking to said someone as if they were listening. It was best to excuse yourself now. Though maybe a little note would be helpful for when he wakes up. Your sleeves dipped. Your eyes went to the source of motion: Vil.

“Fairest… can you stay?”

You were at a loss for words. Vil called you “Fairest”– as if your other nickname didn’t exist. His face was flushed from the heat and his eyes were red and teary. What to do? What to do? What to do?

Vil tugged at your sleeves and pulled you onto the bed. Your mind went blank. You were on top of him, preventing yourself from crushing him with your weight, hands pinned on each side of his head.

“V-Vil?”

He pulled you onto him, then turned to the side, causing you to face each other. The blankets were ruffled, wrapping you two into a contorted position. The towel slipped off his face. You scrambled out of bed. Vil lunged for you, pulling you back in.

“I said stay,” he pouted.

“I know, I was just getting out of bed to get back in. Wait that doesn’t make sense?”

“It does,” he said, lifting the sheets so you could climb in,

You yelped as he pulled you into his chest, “Vil? What are you doing?”

“I wanted to see you today.”

“I’m here.”

“I wanted to go on another date with you.”

Date? Does he think it was a date too? Every single one? Great Seven, have mercy…

“You should rest. We can hang out here if you want.”

Your hold on his waist tightened. You inhaled the faint scent of his cologne. Perhaps to him, this was a fever dream. Stil, all love takes patience– if what you both felt was love, that is.

“Thank you for staying , (y/n).”

“...Do you want to talk about it? Usually you’re the one listening to me, but I’m here for you too. ”

Vil buried his head into your shoulders, “Nothing much. Just overworked. Stress came to me in the form of sickness, unfortunately. How inconvenient.”

He clicked his tongue while you giggled. Even if bedridden, Vil’s mind was as proactive as ever.

“Were you crying?”

“...”

“You don’t have to answer.”

How do you comfort someone? You’ve always been the one comforted, especially from Vil. Were you gaining more from the relationship than Vil did? You wanted him to cheer up though...

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s better to get it off my chest while you’re still here.”

What did he mean by that? You weren’t leaving. Why would you? How could you?

“Do you think I’m more than my appearance?”

He was shaking. Vil was shaking. What could have possibly happened from the last time you saw him? Was he alright?

“Why do you want my opinion? We both know you’re more than a pretty face.”

“Answer the question.”

“Alright, alright. I do think you have a pretty face. You’re gorgeous, very handsome… but you’re also hardworking, diligent, strong-willed, driven, intelligent, observant and more words that I can’t think of to describe how I feel about you. Oh and a great alchemist and friend I might add. Vil, you’re pretty. You’re beautiful. Inside and out.”

Your heart hurt. Calling him your friend didn’t sit right with you. He threw his head back in a fit of laughter.

“Did I ramble too much?”

“No, not at all. I feel much better so thank you.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better then. Whatever happened, I hope you know that it doesn’t define you. If you feel like it does, then remember that I’m your biggest fan.”

Ah, too cheesy. You’ve gotten too comfortable around Vil to think about Anxiety or your verbal filter. When you were with him, words flowed as freely as time.

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

He didn’t say anything much about it. Was that not weird for him? Did you offer the solace he was looking for? He merely pulled away from your embrace. You thanked the heavens that his eyes were closed. If he made eye contact with you while you two were still sharing the same bed, you might as well ascend to the afterlife.

“Why do you ask though?”

“Oh I just had a miserable case of self-doubt is all. My manager kept taking roles that type-casted me as beautiful as the main character. I know I’m worth more than my looks- I want to be more than my looks-  but so far the industry has told me otherwise… but thank you, (y/n).”

He stayed like that for a while, inhaling and exhaling softly. Was he sleeping? How much time had passed?

“Vil. I have a question for you. You don’t have to answer if you’re not up to it. I know you have a lot on your mind right...” you said, breaking the silence.

“Shoot.”

“Will I be able to see you again after I compensate for the time I’ve wasted?”

“You don’t waste time. You don’t have to compensate for anything. I’m glad you’re here with me. If anything, I wasted your time.”

“But you said that we could talk about compensation later. It’s been over a year, Vil,” you whimpered.

“What do you mean by compensation?” he asked firmly, opening his eyes.

You choked on your own words. This was a bad idea. It might even offend him. Would if offend him? You wanted to know.

“Our first presentation. My anxiety attack. The infirmary. You helped me. I asked why then you said there was a price and we could talk about it later. But that conversation never came up. Why is that? Why did you come to the infirmary that night? Why did you take me in? Why am I here? Why do you still talk to me?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from spewing all of the questions you had for these past months. You needed to know. You needed your heart to shatter.

He sighed, “Good grief, (y/n). You remember all of that still? It’s not as bad as you think.”

He was offended.

“Please don’t say that.”

He inhaled sharply. 

“My apologies, potato. I didn’t mean it like that. But to answer your question, I felt guilty especially since I was the one who forced you onto the podium and made you redo the presentation because I couldn’t manage my first major acting role and my academics at the same time. I am sorry that you had to suffer the consequences.”

Vil turned onto his back. He brought his forearm to cover his eyes. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? Did it hurt his pride? 

“I didn’t think of it like that. I’m sorry that I ruined our project because I couldn’t manage to improvise.”

“You shouldn’t apologize for that.”

“You shouldn’t either. Your feelings are just as valid as mine. Even if you don’t have anxiety, you still can feel anxious and overwhelmed.”

“Touché.”

“And the compensation?”

“You needn’t worry about that. My time is valuable indeed but you’re not a waste of my time at all. You’re worthwhile.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you muttered.

“Hm?”

“What would have been the compensation?”

Vil turned to face you, rustling the sheets, “Are you that curious, Fairest?”

“F-Fairest?”

“Hm, yes it suits you now more than ever. Close your eyes for a moment. This should be quick.”

You obliged, closing your eyes. Vil wouldn’t do something terrible to you would he? He gripped your shoulders and pushed you flat on your back. You felt him shift his leg so he could straddle you. You instinctively cursed yourself in a ball.

“You can relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You loosened your muscles, trying hard not to burst into a fit of nervous laughter. You were scared.

“Fairest.”

“Yes?”

“How was your day?”

“Well, it was—mmmphhh!”

Vil had told you to keep your eyes closed, but how could you? Not when he was kissing you. You had waited for this moment. You fantasized about it, daydreaming, pining for him on the daily. You never saw it coming. Did he return your feelings? After all this time? You mewled as he bit your bottom lip. You were hot, feverish just like your beloved prefect. Was he alright? He was flushed, coughing as you pushed him away.

“My time has been compensated,” he smirked.

His expression quickly changed, “Hey! Why are you crying? Did I hurt you? That was too bold wasn’t it… Goodness (y/n)...”

You cupped his cheeks.

“Not at all. I’m just so happy that you feel the same.”

“Feel the same?”

You faltered. Was he toying with you? No, he wouldn’t…

“I-I like you a lot, you know. I don’t know of a time I didn’t. You’re so confident and I adore you for that. I love how you’re always there for me, how you always listen to me, and how you lean on me too. I love how you include me and see me no less than anyone else. I love you so much that my heart hurts,” you paused and moved your hands to clutch your chest, “But if it isn’t love then I suppose that’s fine too. I think I might be in love with the idea of you. It might be a little presumptuous here, spouting nonsense to you, but I don’t want to be just friends. Even if I am broken, I want to make you happy so please accept my feelings-!”

Cheesy. Too cheesy! You’re oversharing, (y/n). Stop. It. Death suddenly seemed like a viable option. You loved him so much that you must die. Yes, that was the only way.

Vil kissed you. This time, it was more of a peck.

“This whole time… you… I love you too, Fairest. I accept you and your feelings.  Thank you for being so patient with me,” he kissed the trail of tears running down your cheeks, “You already make me so happy. I love your innocence, your beauty—inside and out as you would say. I admire your strength to help others despite being in a world of your own. I love your selflessness and... your adorable reactions to situations that make you anxious. Please, tug at my sleeves some more.”

You pouted at the last bit. Vil was observant. You’ve come to learn that the hard way. The trait never withered.

He continued: “I will be in your care from now on.”

Ah. He was crying. Smiling too. What a sappy mess of emotions you two were, sobbing in each other’s arms over a mutual confession.

He flicked your forehead, “And don’t you dare call yourself broken. You are not below me and I am not above you. We’re in this together. I love you and you love me and you better love yourself too. You hear me, potato?”

“Yes, but–”

“Did I stutter?”

You pressed your forehead against his, “Will do, Vil.”

He lowered his weight onto you, nuzzling into your neck. You wrapped your arms around his neck and combed through his champagne gold locks. You were sniffling. You were relieved that he loved you the way you loved him. You were relieved that you didn’t fall in love with potential. He loved you for you and you loved him the same. What if you weren’t good enough for? No, no, he said he felt the same. Stop overthinking, (y/n). 

You were drained after all this worrying. Being plagued by thoughts assuming the worst about him and the worst case scenarios concerning your confession consumed your mind. There was not a single day where your head was clear.

You were exhausted. So, so, so tired. Tired of thinking. Tired of Anxiety. Sleep seemed nice right now especially with Vil laying on top of you. The monster inside your head had gone dormant. All there was the thought of Vil being by your side, loving you and Anxiety all the same.

Your consciousness faded.

[ April, Someday– Vil’s Birthday, Pomefiore Dormitory Hallway ]

“Vil. Vil!!!”  you squealed, tackling your lover from behind.

He staggered on his toes, but recovered swiftly. He was tall. The stilettos made him taller. You were up to his shoulders, giggling, slipping under the long sleeves of the Pomefiore dorm uniform.

“Au revoir, Roi du Poison. Mademoiselle (y/n),” Rook chuckled and excused himself.

Vil gave Rook a look of disdain yet the vice prefect skipped along the halls, paying no mind to the daggers coming his way. Your beloved turned to you and smiled.

“Happy birthday~”

“You’re frisky today.”

“I’m excited.”

“I can see that. Thank you,” he pats your head.

“Are you busy?”

“I’m finishing up something. You’re welcome to wait in my room. Might I tell you that you look beautiful today? Red lipstick suits you.”

You followed him into his quarters, seating yourself on the bed, fiddling with the ends of your hair. He called you beautiful. You were giddy over something trivial. It was normal for one to call their significant other beautiful. In truth, he was the fairest, not you. You never minded. You loved watching him flourish in the spotlight.

You watched him undo his bun, letting his hair fall loose. The ends were curled, bouncing on his shoulders. He stepped into the bathroom to shed the dorm uniform off, opting for a black suit with faint floral patterns. Your eyes widened, coming to terms with the fact that he wore no dress shirt underneath the suit.

“You’re eighteen now, Vil,” you mused.

“What of it?”

“Oh nothing. I was just thinking.”

He hummed in response, “Is that so?”

“It feels like yesterday when we were both- what? Fifteen? Nevermind that. It’s silly. Would you like to see your gift now?”

“How does after the party sound?” he asked, lining his eyes with a thick eyeliner.

A thin smirk creeped up on his lips.

The look was similar to the standard ceremonial robes makeup. His silver chain-like earrings, leather choker and red heels threw off the professional look. Vil was striking. From what he told you, his producers had invited him to a party celebrating the release of a film he starred in. It was conveniently on his birthday. He spent the last few weeks convincing you to go with him. 

You gave in, but the thought of attending a social gathering with people you had never met before worried you. Vil reassured you that he would remain by your side at all times. You agreed on the spot, putting on a brave face for his sake. He promised to spend time with you afterwards. Just you and him. He even agreed to eat cake.

“I’m okay with that.”

“Thank you. I know you’re excited, but I want to save all the birthday related things for after.”

He set his makeup down and handed you a container of gel, climbing onto the bed while you got on your knees. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“You never let me do your hair.”

“Think of it as a reward for coming along with me.”

“I told you that you didn’t have to worry about that,” you said, letting go of your embrace and popping off the container’s lid.

“I’m thankful, but don’t push yourself for me.”

“I won’t, don’t worry. Besides, I want to. You’re going to be busy after today. I want to spend as much time as possible with you today.”

He smiled and helped you push his hair back. Dipping your fingers into the cool aquamarine substance, you combed through your lover’s hair, bringing his bangs back. When you finished, he turned around to kiss you. He caught you off guard, but you leaned into the kiss instantly. It wasn’t passionate nor was it chaste. It was somewhere in between as to not smear your lipstick. You reached for his hair to deepen it, but he grabbed your wrists. Right. You had forgotten. 

“Later,” he whispered.

Your cheeks were dusted with a rosy tint. Later? As quickly as he pulled away from you, Vil slid off the bed. He passed by his mirror, patting down his suit and hair. Then, he extended his hand to you, “Shall we go?”

[ Land of Pyroxene, Venue’s Rose Gardens ]

Vil said it was a small social gathering. A small party. The amount of people was fair to his description, but the setting was overwhelming. It was sophisticated. There were fae servers and ice sculptures. You were surprised to learn that the soirée was held in his homeland. You were expecting a carriage yet he simply led you to the mirror chamber where the headmaster bid him farewell.

And here you are. You were in a rose garden differed from Heartslabyul’s greatly as the roses were as white as snow. They grew on pickets and hung over your heads like grape vines. It was scenic, ethereal, like something out of a fairytale. There was also a castle in the distance, adding to the regality of the venue. 

“Vil! Oh thank goodness you’re here. I almost thought you were going to leave me to fend against all of these actors wanting to know more about you,” a stout woman said, scrambling towards him, “Oh? Is this your– ohhhhh–”

“Adella, this is (y/n). Fairest, this is Adella, my manager.”

Vil paused, cueing you for an introduction. He glanced at you.

“Chin up, dear,” he wrapped an arm around your waist, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Breathe. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Adella was Vil’s manager. Like he said, she’s nothing to be afraid of.

“P-Pleasure to meet you,” you extended your hand out.

She took it with a death grip. Sheer willpower prevented you from wincing. 

“No, no, the pleasure is mine. Vil has told me so much about you. And my, he calls you ‘Fairest’ how adorable~”

“What has he told you?”

You heard his breath hitch. Vil’s arm slithered back to his side. Was that too much? You were curious, but what if that made him uncomfortable? You should apologize later. 

“Nothing much. I didn’t even know what you looked like even! His pet name for you suits you so well. Oh! I do know that he frequently asks about his schedule because he said that he wants to spend time with the s–”

“That’s enough now, Adella,” Vil said, crossing his arms and putting his weight on one foot.

Shoot. He was displeased. 

“Yes, yes, sorry. Shall we go greet your colleagues? You are free to mingle afterwards. I know that there was this one actor who was practically begging me to see you. You weren't here yet though so what could I do? Fufufu~”

“Are you coming, (y/n)?” Vil asked, turning his head to see you trailing behind.

You halted and pointed to the dessert table, “You can go on ahead.”

He nodded and followed his manager to the east side of the garden. You made your way to your own destination. While you wanted to go with Vil, meeting Adella set your nerves ablaze and drained all the social energy you had. Plus, you felt out of place when you stood next to Vil.

Compared to him, you could never pull off silver earrings. A pair of red heels simply looked better on him than they ever would on you. Then there was Adella who was also gorgeous with her messy bun and nude lipstick. She wasn’t a public figure yet you felt small around her presence. She exuded a lovable aura that drew people around her.  If you had to meet more people who were meant for the spotlight, celebrities no less, you could never manage through the night. If you avoided strangers, you should be fine. There were cake pops amongst other treats at the table. You were going to have a ball of a time.

You plucked the confection off its stand, examining it thoroughly. It was as luxurious as the party’s decor. The dessert resembled the poison apple the Beautiful Queen from the stories you were told as a child. Gold foil acted as the poison while a red coating of candy melts acted as the skin of the apple. You bit the top off. It was a vanilla sponge cake. Odd for an extravagant event like this as you assumed the flavors would be bolder. Maybe it was the kind expensive vanilla. Were they all the same flavor? You plucked another one from the stand, biting into it. Oh this one was red velvet with a cream cheese filling. Were there other flavors?

“My, my, you sure like the cake pops, don’t you?” a voice cooed.

You turned your head to meet the owner of that sweet voice. He had hair as black as ebony and skin as white as snow. His eyes were a warm chocolate brown. He wore a yellow jumpsuit with a red ribbon which was complemented by a black beret. He strained a smile at you.

“You needn’t look at me like a deer in headlights. It’s okay I like cake pops too,” he laughed.

“Who are you?”

“Eh? You don’t know who I am?”

You shook your head. He blinked twice. 

“I’m Neige LeBlanche, lead actor of the film. But, say, since you don’t know who I am, I’m assuming you’re someone’s plus one? You seem kind of young though...”

He took a cake pop from the stand, peeling off the gold foil.

“I’m Vil’s plus one.”

“Vil? I would have never guessed. I thought he said he wasn’t bringing someone. He didn’t seem like he wanted to either...” he mumbled something and paused, “As expected of my senior! Say, what are you to him?”

You pulled the ends of your hair, “I-I’m his girlfriend.”

“Is that so? He never mentioned having a girlfriend. I always thought he was going to end up–”

“We started dating a few weeks ago.”

“Oh my, that’s–”

“I have to go so if you’ll excuse me, Neige. It’s been nice meeting you. Congrats on the film,” you waved.

“No, no, the pleasure is mine, (y/n). I’m glad I got to meet Vil’s girlfriend. You were so sweet! I hope we can talk some more in the future! Oh I know–You should follow me on MagiCam! We can talk there,” he exclaimed, clasping his hands around yours.

He was so bubbly… You didn’t know how to handle him. Was this interaction not awkward to him at all? Your cheeks flushed as you excused yourself. You held your head down low and avoided eye contact with everyone you crossed paths with. Where you were headed to was a mystery, even to you. Anywhere was fine. Anywhere secluded. Anywhere without people, but close enough to trace your footsteps back to the rose gardens should anything arise.

Of course, that was the ideal scenario. In your situation, nothing was ideal per se. You were lost. You had trudged forward whilst looking at the ground, not getting a good look of your surroundings at all. It was hard to tell where you were. If you had known better, you would say that you were in a children’s book. The rose bushes towered high above your head and the castle was closer than it was before. In the center of it all was a gazebo adorned with intricate floral details. There was also a well to the side of the structure. You made your way to the gazebo and sat down on the bench, gazing upon the beauty of the raven sky. It glittered like a thousand fireflies.

You sighed, “The moon is beautiful tonight.”

[ Some Ungodly Hour, Venue’s Rose Garden ]

“Nghh…”

“You’re awake now?”

Vil? What was he doing here? The moon was high in the sky. It was late. You were resting your head on his lap. You sat upright in an abrupt motion.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Ruining the party by running off and falling asleep, wasting your time when you could have been talking to someone more important–”

Vil put a finger to your lips: “I was getting exhausted of people commenting on my looks anyway. You did worry me by running off though. To think that I had to ask Neige of all people too.”

That last part about Neige. Did he not like his co-star? He ran his hand through his hair while you adjusted yourself into a more comfortable position. You opted to lean your head on his shoulder. Vil reciprocated by placing his head on top of yours, nuzzling it.

“The party is still ongoing so don’t worry,” he said, “Though you could have told me where you were.”

You exhaled. Thank goodness. It would have been embarrassing if it ended.

“Sorry about that.”

“Was it that exhausting for you? I told you not to push yourself for my sake. It makes neither of us happy.”

“At first, no, I wasn’t. I was a bit nervous around your manager but then Neige threw me off for a bit–”

“Neige? What did he say to you?”

“Nothing. He just asked what I was to you and I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“We’re leaving.”

“What? Why?”

Your stomach growled. You looked down at the ground. Suddenly the grass below your feet was the most interesting thing in the world. He took your hand firmly. His grip was different. He held you as if he was about to lose you.

“I had talked to everyone I needed to talk to. I’m done for the day and so are you. I would like to celebrate my birthday now with my dearly beloved if she would please.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a demand. There was no room for apologies.

You rose from the bench, grimacing at the soreness and took his hand, following him to the mirror.

[ Midnight, Vil’s Bedroom ]

Was he mad? He said he wasn’t. But then why was he handling you so roughly? Vil pulled you into the bathroom. He turned the faucet on, drawing water into the bathtub. He grabbed a bottle of bubble bath product and rose petals. He emptied the contents and discarded the containers onto the cool tiles. They rattled and echoed. Vil turned to his cabinets, searching for something. Strands of his loosely gelled hair swayed back and forth as he sifted through his cosmetics. He muttered gibberish as he found makeup wipes. Pulling you towards him, he began to wipe the gunk off your face. His motions were rigid, frantic, like he was wiping at a stubborn speck on a mirror. He turned you around and undid your dress’s zipper. The process was akin to a kitten’s first yawn. Slow, drawling yet somehow winsome. The act was intimate. Vil manhandling you was a first. It spawned many mixed motions. The positives outweigh the negatives, but was he alright? His eyes were ready to cry. They were glossy to the rim. When the zipper reached the end of its path, he pushed you aside and tended to his own face with a new wipe.

“Strip and get into the tub,” he instructed.

Strip? That was off-putting, especially from him. He didn’t want to have birthday sex did he? Or would he leave when he was done with his makeup? It had to be the latter. You held your sides, preventing the dress from slipping down your shoulders. But what if he did? What if he wanted to let out his frustrations on you? Was that it? He said he was more worried than upset, but his actions betrayed his words. He was tense. He could burst at any moment. Vil, as he was now, was a time bomb, ticking away. You feared he might break.

Vil snapped his fingers before you. You flinched. As you regain focus into the real world, you come to the sight of your lover in the tub, hair wet and his body leaning against the edge. His clothes were hanging on the laundry hamper. You looked away, excusing yourself under your breath. A tug on the hem of your dress stopped you in your tracks. He had broken. His eyes were red and puffy though no tears trailed down his fair complexion. You knelt down beside the tub, tucking his hair behind his ear.

“Vil…”

“Could you stay?”

“In the tub?”

“Only if you want to.”

Why is it that he could always see through you? Was your discomfort obvious? No, no, he was merely attentive. Then again, you were equally observant to everyone, especially towards Vil. Your darling was an open book, an easy read– the merit being that his words rarely matched his actions. He was a novel full of metaphors, eloquent tones and arbitrary words. Underneath the complications, he was as simple as the next composition. He was as insecure as any other person, if not more. To read Vil Schoenheit, you mustn't analyze his speech. Words fail in this case. You had to look for the little things: his weight shifting on one leg, his shoulders tensing, his eyebrows furrowing for a brief moment, his shortness of breath, his eyes.

In this very moment in time, Vil needed you. He said there was no obligation, but the small frown on his lips told you otherwise. He was aware of your own boundaries, but at times like these, when he needed you most, your instinct to reach for him, to hold him, triumphed over your murky thoughts. There was mutual trust between you and Vil, two profoundly regardful people. One was observant because he had a keen eye for details and all things beautiful. The other was observant because she was wary of the opinions of others.

Vil turned away from you as you let your dress and undergarments fall to the ground. His eyes were closed when you climbed into the tub.

“You never have to push yourself for my sake, Fairest,” Vil said as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your back closer to his chest.

“I don’t mind if it’s for you. I will tell you when I can’t do something, I promise.”

“You better,” he sighed.

You turned around and cupped his cheeks, “What about you? Are you alright? You’ve been so stiff ever since we left.”

You scooped some soap suds onto his hair, lathering and combing though his silky locks while you waited for him to formulate the right words.

“Fairest, do you think I am more than my appearance?”

You stopped mid-caress and nodded. His looks were always a touchy subject. Vil had a severe case of type-casting, a situation where he was only casted for roles with “beautiful” as the main attribute of the character. At first, he was content with them, but as time went on, he felt defined by his appearance. His hard work was futile in an industry that valued beauty over effort. Comments such as “you only got to where you are now because of your face” was a stab in the heart for Vil. He often sought out you or Rook for comfort. It came to the point where Vil frequently declined callbacks.

He continued, “No matter how much I talked to others about my role in the film or attempted to make more connections to those in the industry, they would always comment on my ensemble first. Sometimes they comment on how I look and nothing more.”

“So you feel invalidated for your efforts?”

“Yes, I feel like none of the work I put into getting where I am now. I feel like all I had to do was look pretty and everything will be handed to me… just like Neige. I want to be as pretty as him. I want to be as popular as him. I want to be recognized for my skills and get casted for the best roles. Not superficial ones. I want… I want....”

You embraced him as he choked on his own words.

“This is hypocritical since it’s coming from me, but you should never compare yourself or your efforts or progress to anyone else. You are enough as you are, at your own pace.”

His arms engulfed you. He kissed you, intertwining his tongue with yours.

“I’m sorry,” Vil said, pulling away. 

“I’m sorry too.”

“What did I tell you about saying sorry for something that’s out of your control?”

“But you’re apologizing too,” you laughed.

He snorted.

“But I do feel guilty for leaving you alone though. Maybe I could have said something for your sake. I feel even worse since it was your birthday.”

“We’re both pathetic in that regard.”

You scooped water onto Vil’s head. He did the same for you. You looked him into the eyes before averting your gaze. They were as intense as ever.

“I accept your apology though. In turn, you should accept mine.”

“I can’t. Sorry, Vil. You told me that I should never apologize for how I feel. Neither should you.”

“But I don’t have anxi–”

“You don’t have to have anxiety or anything to have a bad mental health day. You don’t have to have anxiety or anything to feel insecure or worthless. Those feelings are valid for anyone”

“You do have a point there,” Vil said as he tousled his hair.

“I have something for you. It may not be your birthday anymore,” you glanced at the clock, “but we haven’t slept yet so in my mind the day isn’t over yet.”

“What kind of logic is that?”

“Does it still feel like a ninth of April to you?”

“Yes, but technically it’s not.”

“Think of it as a feeling then,” you said and climbed out of the tub.

Vil assisted you in the process and got towels for you both. He languidly dried your hair.  His touch was soft like a ghost’s embosom. You could barely feel his touch. Then, he waltzed over to his dresser and gave you one of his silk pajama tops. While he was getting dressed, you grabbed your gift for him, sitting on the edge of the mattress waiting for him.

Shortly after, he plopped down on the bed. The pillows bounced on impact. You held the gift bag over his chest. He looked up at you then at the bag. Sitting up, he opened it.

“Well?”

Your lover tore through the tissue paper, revealing a small box wrapped in brown wrapping paper, red ribbon and twine. His eyes sparkled like a child on Christmas Day.

He read the present tag aloud: “‘To my darling: Vil Schoenheit. Happy birthday.’”

He undid the bow, careful not to ruin the label. He found the edges of the wrapping paper and picked off the tape piece by piece and discarded it on the ground. It fell with grace. Vil lifted the lid of the box.

“A book?”

“Open it.”

Granted, you were more nervous than he was. Would he like it? Today was not his day. You hoped to make him feel better. If he didn’t like it in the slightest, you wouldn’t know how to feel. You wanted to see him smile. It was his birthday. He did not deserve to feel insecure because of soirée guests. He did not deserve to feel so small when he was your world. In fact, he deserved the world for all that he was. He worked too hard not to. His efforts deserved to be paid off. Perhaps not every day, but for his birthday, he should have. It was his day.

Vil obliged, turning to the title page.

“Eighteen things I love about you,” he read.

You leaned over his shoulder.

“Did you honestly write an essay about your love for me?”

“No,” you said, burying your head into the crook of his neck, “Just look.”

“I jest, Fairest.”

Vil licked his finger and turned the page.

“Ah. A scrapbook? Let’s see… ‘Number one: I love how—”

You put a hand over his mouth, “It’s embarrassing if you read it out loud.”

“I think it’s endearing. Besides, I live for your flushed face.”

You whined and he let out a laugh.

“I’ll spare you. I’ll only read the first one aloud.”

“That’s fair,” you mumbled.

“I hope it is. Anyhow… ‘Number one: I love how you carry yourself with utmost respect. I love how you know your worth. I love how angry you are when you are undermined– because you know you are worth more than what the current situation offers. Your confidence is contagious as it inspires me to acknowledge my own worth, to be bolder and seek opportunities that are on par to my own capabilities.’”

He paused.

“What?” you asked.

“I like how you included a photo of us as freshman potatoes,” he said, running his fingers over the image as if he was wiping away dust.

“You always were always like a star to me, ever since we first met. It was hard to start off this scrapbook without referencing that.”

You twirled the ends of your hair.

“I’m glad that you see me in such a way.”

His voice was so soft, inaudible even.

“Vil?”

No response. He flipped the book to page two. Then to page three and so forth. He was still. His chest did not rise and fall each breath. He didn’t even blink. He stopped at the last page. It read: “I love you. You as a whole– the person you present to the crowd and the person you present to a select few. I love you for every flaw and insecurity. I love and accept you in the same way you love and accept me and more. I promise to love you forevermore– no shunning, no judging, just staying by your side and watching you grow into a person I fall in love with more and more every day.”

He pushed you down onto the bed and kissed you, dropping the book onto the ground.

“V-Vil…”

A sense of déjà vu washed over you.

He was vulnerable. He knew, you knew. His lips were quivering and his eyes were glossy. But did he like it? You tried so hard not to say that you liked him because of his looks. That was a touchy subject for him. Did that last one come off as too cheesy? You were told you were quite sappy on top of having an ability with words but still…

“What are you doing writing a bunch of wedding vows, you sweet potato?” Vil muttered as he cuddled you.

“I didn’t mean for it to come off like that. We’re barely a month into this relationship so that’s out of the question. I’m pretty sure we’re still in our honeymoon phase too. But that’s how I feel right now. So… What if I wrote a bunch of wedding vows to you? What of it?”

You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Hopefully, he didn’t find your sudden confession cringe-worthy.

“I never said it was bad... I feel the same.”

He let the last part of his sentence trail off into silence.

“Do you feel better now?”

Was that out of place? Did that kill the mood? What if you soured his mood?

“Much better, thank you. I appreciate it and… I love you too. I know I don’t say it a lot, but I think you know that already.”

“I do.”

He peppered your face with kisses. Some were on your lips, Others were on your cheeks and forehead and occasionally trailed down your jawline.

“I also have something else for you,” you spoke up, pushing him off of you so you could grab another bag that you left by the foot of his bed.

“You spoil me, Fairest.”

“It’s not much. Just a cake I made for you.”

“A whole cake?”

“A cupcake, I mean. I know you’re not one for sweets.”

“And you left it in my room with no refrigeration.”

You pointed to the ice pack. He nodded. You pulled out a cake box, propping it open on Vil’s hands and told him to hold still. You placed a candle in the center and lit with a little spark of fire magic.

“Make a wish~”

“What am I? Twelve?”

“You have to make a wish.”

“Fine,” he said as he blew out the taper, “I wish to be with you for as long as possible.”

“You can’t say your wish out loud. It won’t come true!”

“Do you have any intention of separating from me?”

“N-No.”

“I don’t see why my wish won’t come true then,” Vil said as he cut the cupcake in half, handing you a piece.

“I guess you’re right about that.”

“Careful. If you get crumbs on my bed, you’re sleeping in the spare room.”

“...Understood.”

[ Present Day, Pomefiore Hallway ]

One moment he was dolling you up, the next he was wrapping a blindfold around your eyes and led you down the hallway to god knows where. You were still walking straight so you only assumed that you were still in the Pomefiore dormitories. Unless you walked through a mirror. Or maybe you simply had a terrible sense of direction. Whatever the case was, it did not change the fact that you were trembling.

“Vil. Where are you taking me?”

He exhaled. You could hear his chest heave.

“Darling, are you scared?”

Like how you could read him like an open book, he knew you like the back of his hand. You nodded and you felt him undo the blindfold. He held the ribbon in his hand and yours in the other. You looked into his eyes for comfort. He was wearing a single French braid. It was nostalgic. It was like you were first years again. He wasn’t wearing a school uniform, but it was enough to stir up fond memories. Instead, Vil wore a casual ensemble with a kimono-esque silhouette. He wore a white dress shirt with a pair of shapeless, high-waisted black dress pants. A cardigan with an ornate pattern accentuated the look, He wasn’t wearing the barrette you made him for his sixteenth birthday either, but you felt nostalgic regardless.

“I still need you to close your eyes for me though,” he said, putting the hand with the ribbon over your eyes, “I know you’re scared, but please hold on for a little longer.”

You nodded and closed your eyes. You felt his hand leaving your face, but the other was holding yours tightly, guiding you to your destination.

“Fairest, are your eyes actually closed?” Vil asked, breaking the silence.

“Y-Yes.”

You had been walking for a few minutes now. Where was he taking you?

“Vil, do you know what today is?”

No response.

“Vil… You’re scaring me.”

“We’re almost there, don't worry.”

Would it hurt to trust him for a little bit? You trailed behind him aimlessly. Your steps lagged behind his.

“You ready?” he asked, cupping his lanky fingers over your eyes.

You nodded. Whatever could it be? Lacking sight made Anxiety rattle against your skull. Was Vil going to push you off a cliff? Send you to your doom? No, no, no. He wouldn’t. That was too extreme, (y/n). Calm down.

He lifted his fingers off of your eyes, whispering a faint “happy birthday” to you. You gasped. Pomefiore lounge decorated with streamers and balloons– color coordinated to match both the dorm’s interior as well as your favorite colors. Rose petals were sprinkled on the ground. You heard Vil step away from you. You jumped as you heard something pop and turned around to find the source. Before you could react, a swarm of confetti went your way followed by a loud “surprise!”

You blinked twice, pulling bits of paper out of your hair..  You stepped forward and spun your heel. Were you dreaming?

“Hey, are you crying? I forbid you from crying. Your mascara is going to smear. Stop touching your face,” Vil scolded, running to your side, whipping out a handkerchief to pat your tears dry.

He had no confetti on his person. He was pristine.

“Vil… it’s wonderful. Thank you. I’m so glad you didn’t forget.”

“How could I forget? You must give me more credit, Fairest. I may not have the time to be with you every day, but I’m not cruel as to forgot your birthday,” he huffed, pulling you into a hug.

He was right. He could have never forgotten. Was he mad that you doubted him? He didn’t seem irritated. It wasn’t like him to forget such an important date. You’ll give him credit for being a good actor; he fooled you well. He ignored you for almost two weeks. Whenever you brought up your birthday, he brushed over it and changed the subject. You were on edge the entire time. A weight was lifted off your chest.

“I know you’re not one for parties, but I figured I’d go all out for a small group of people you are comfortable with. You’re seventeen now. Rejoice, my dear.”

You pecked his lips, “This is fine. Thank you so much.”

Snap!

“Cute~ Hashtag: Vil-Did-Not-Forget. Hashtag: (y/n)’s-Growth Record. Hashtag: (y/n)-And-Vil-Forever. Hashtag: Birthday. And posted! Happy birthday, (y/n)-chan~”

“Ah. Thank you, Cay-kun.”

“Did you have to do that?” your lover asked, hands on his hip.

“It’s fine, Vil.”

He nodded. You hoped he wouldn’t bicker too much with Leona as the upperclassman was lounging a bit too close to the throne for [Vil’s] comfort. You sighed as he went to the refreshments table.

“You’ve grown for much,” Cater said with crocodile tears, hugging you.

“I’m still the same height.”

“I didn’t mean that, silly.”

“What did you mean then?”

“Nothing, much. You just look happier. Anyways, here’s your present. Continue to blossom, m’kay?”

You took the gift: “Alright?”

“Cater. Mind your manners. You’re being rude. According to the–,” a voice called.

“I don’t think I am, right, (y/n)? Tell Riddle for me~” he pouted.

His eyes widened as the complexion of Heartslabyul’s prefect grew as red as his hair. 

“Hey now. Let’s not fight,” Trey, the vice prefect, hurried over to pat Riddle’s back.

You sighed, “There’s nothing to worry about, Riddle.”

You could have sworn you saw a vein deflate on his forehead as he mumbled something about the rules. He handed you a bouquet of roses.

“Happy birthday, (y/n).”

“Let’s take a Heartslabyul selfie to celebrate! Say cheese!”

No one said cheese. The flash flickered before your eyes as you held the flowers close to your nose. Riddle’s eyebrows were scrunched together. He was socially awkward in that aspect.

“Hashtag: Heartsla…”

Cater’s words faded. Since when have you been comfortable taking pictures with him. It was nice. You felt pretty today. Was it because Vil dolled you up to a T? You hugged the bouquet closer to your chest as you walked towards the refreshments table.

“Oi. Herbivore. Watch the tail,” an all too familiar voice groaned.

“Good afternoon to you too, Leona.”

“Here’s your present.”

He handed you a small box and he waved you goodbye. Was he not going to stay? You watched his back get smaller and smaller as he walked out of the Pomefiore Lounge. He wasn’t big on parties either. That was alright.

You continued the refreshments, stopping occasionally and accumulating presents here and there, engaging in idle chatter. Soon, your arms were full of trinkets and parcels. You panted as you set the gifts onto a spare table.

“You’re quite the attraction,” Vil said, sipping on a glass of apple cider.

“I don’t really think I’m–”

“Own it for a day, will you? You look absolutely divine.”

“Thank you, Vil.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “My pleasure, Fairest.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland oneshot #twst oneshot #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #fave #self indulgence #happy birthday to meeee

[seasonsofeverlark]

Love Light

Author: @rosegardeninwinter​

Prompt: Christmas baking! [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T for some subtly implied married shenanigans 

Summary: Katniss, Peeta, and Prim do some snowy day baking. The fourth installment in the Snowstorm Universe, approximately two months after Hearthsong (and, though the characters don’t know this, in my mind it is set on Christmas day). You don’t need to have read the Snowstorm Universe to get the basics of this AU, which are that Prim won the 74th Games, and Peeta and Katniss fell in love, courted, and are now married. 

Author’s Note: Special thank you to @captainseaweedbrains​ who acted as my lovely beta on this sugary fluff-fest! Enjoy!  Word Count: ~ 1500 words

____________

The heat from the wood stove makes the windows fog, blurring the pale violet dawn behind our curtains, as my lips trail back up my husband’s body to make a home against his throat, feeling his pulse coming down from its rapid peak. 

“Good morning,” I say innocently, tapping my fingers in a meaningless pitter-patter against his chest. 

Peeta exhales a raspberry. “It is now.” 

I laugh. Nip at his neck and get a gentle swat on my hip for my trouble. “Give me a second and I’ll return the favor,” he says, but I yawn and shake my head. 

“Later,” I say. “I was promised gingerbread last night.” 

“That you were,” he says, a bit dazedly, “and you’ll have it.” 

I sigh and tuck my nose against his neck, breathing in his scent. His fingers lightly trace my arm, resting across his chest in a loose embrace. It’s not usual for us to stay in bed like this. Most days, I’m up and out running errands for my mother, or helping Prim make charity baskets for the people who will accept her generosity. Peeta frosts the cakes for his father’s bakery, and makes cookies to go in the baskets. Prim’s winnings mean neither of us have to work, but it’s not in my nature to be idle. Making the charity baskets is the least I can do to help those less well off than we are. 

“Okay, woman,” Peeta says at last. “You’ll have to let me up if you want that gingerbread.” 

“Hmm,” I say, nestling my nose further into his neck. I smile against his skin, then kiss his shoulder. “If you insist.” 

“I didn’t,” he laughs, but swings himself out of our bed anyway. He pulls on his pajama pants and shimmies into a sweater. I bite my lip, admiring his broad shoulders and back, before they disappear behind the thick fabric. He gets a match from atop the stove to light the lone candles in each of our two windowsills. 

“You’re sure I can’t open a window?” he asks, hand already on the latch. “It’s burning up in here.” 

This is one of those compromises and arguments we’ve had to resolve as we get used to living as a couple. Peeta, having grown up sharing one room with his brothers, wants to leave the windows open, even in winter. I spent the early years of my life stopping the cracks in our windows up with old gloves and bits from the rag bag, and I hate the cold. But I’m cozy with his residual heat trapped under our quilt, so I nod. 

Peeta pops the latch and opens the window a sliver. The curtains and the candle flame flicker in a breeze, but the candle doesn’t go out. My husband peers onto the street below. 

“It’s snowing,” he says as he comes back to the bedside. “I bet it started last night. It’s like someone dropped a bag of sugar over everything. Come with me,” he adds. “I bake much better when I have company.” 

I smile and prop myself up on my elbows to receive a quick peck on my lips and promise that I’ll join him in a minute. He leaves. His footsteps, never very quiet, thunk down the stairs and I smirk as I stretch my arms above my head, curl my toes. I could go back to dozing, but I won’t pretend I don’t like to sit and watch my husband work. I get up, wash my face, and braid my hair down my back. The stockings my mother made for my wedding go up to my knees, and a warm shawl goes over my shoulders. I shut the door to our room behind me and let my hand trail the bannister as I tiptoe downstairs. Chances are, my mother isn’t awake. She has the most patients in December and January, when illness and hunger are their worst. She needs her rest. 

There is a soft conversation coming from the kitchen. I pause in the doorway, leaning against the green trim. My sister bends over a handwritten recipe book as Peeta sets out his baking supplies: bowls, measuring cups, spoons. My heart warms at the sight, as it always does. The cold season isn’t easy on Prim. The end of the year brings the Victory Tour to our district. For Prim, that means bad memories and nightmares. Peeta knows about them. The last time she couldn’t sleep, it was my husband who discovered her crying in the living room when he got up at four in the morning to put on a starter for bread. She’d fallen back asleep against his shoulder on the couch, and I’d fallen more in love with him than I thought was possible when I found them later. Peeta fits so perfectly into our home, I don’t know how we managed before him.

“Ooh, ‘cinnamon pull-apart bread,’” Prim is saying, tapping the page with her metal finger. “That sounds amazing.” 

“It is,” Peeta agrees. “Even better with apples, when we could get them. We could make it tomorrow if you want. How much white vinegar for the gingerbread?” 

Prim flips forward a few pages. “Um — two tablespoons.” She looks up at me. “Good morning.” 

I wrap my arm around her as I come over to see the recipe book. “How can I help?” I ask. 

“Ask your baker,” Prim laughs. “I only know I’m on kettle duty.” She nods to where the kettle is hung over the hearth, warming up. 

“Katniss, if you’ll take these.” Peeta sets three glass jars marked “syrup” “apple mash” and “molasses” in front of me, along with a wooden bowl and stirring spoon. He kisses my temple. “I can handle the spices and flour.” 

The three of us set to work in the quiet, cozy morning. The only sounds are those of opening jars, stirring spoons, the fire cracking, and Prim reading measurements to us. The sun continues to rise, and snow continues to float down under a pale purple sky. 

I bring the jar of molasses up to my nose and breathe in the heady scent. It’s only thanks to Prim that we can afford such expensive things, and we try not to use them often for ourselves, but today I add an extra splash of maple syrup to the wet ingredients in my bowl. I hear my husband groan when he sees me do it. 

“It’s the Everdeen sweet tooth,” Prim laughs, going to fetch the whistling kettle and add the hot water to my mix. “Can’t be helped. Especially not with three of us in the house.” 

“Apparently not,” Peeta says, grinning. 

I hop up to sit on the counter as he takes my bowl and slowly stirs in the dry ingredients, making a thin, brown batter. We haven’t even put it in the oven yet and it smells good enough to just drink up. 

“Almost done,” Peeta says, picking up a measuring spoon and smiling like he’s a little boy again. “This is Granny’s recipe, so there’s one last thing.” 

“What’s that?” 

Peeta twirls the spoon between his fingers thoughtfully. “She always said to add one spoonful of being grateful, even if there wasn’t much to be grateful for.” He goes pink around the nose and ears. “I mean, we don’t have to,” he says. “It was just something we did as kids.” 

“No,” I say. “I — I think that’s a beautiful idea, Peeta.” It sounds like something my father would do, something Peeta would teach our children, if we lived in a world safe enough to have them. 

He gives me a look glowing with what my father would call love light, and strokes my stockinged leg. “Thank you,” he says. “I can start.” He pretends to scoop something out of the air. “One spoonful … for sunrises.” 

Then it’s Prim’s turn. She holds the spoon up in the candlelight, the glimmer reflecting on the shiny surface, and smiles. “One spoonful … for a warm fire.” 

I don’t know what I want to say. I have an abundance of things to be grateful for, in spite of where we live. I have a roof over my head and warm clothes. I have gingerbread and stockings, violet sunrises and snowfall — and I have hope. I’m not even sure of what, but with my husband and my sister beside me, I have it all the same. 

“One spoonful … for having spoonfuls, ” I say, and I trust they understand what I mean. 

I don’t know if the spoonfuls of being grateful do anything to make the batter taste better, but I wouldn’t put it past Jenny Ann Mellark. And when, an hour or so later, I’m laughing as her grandson kisses sticky gingerbread crumbs from my fingers, while my sister giggles and pretends to hide from us behind her mug of warm milk, I decide I’m pretty sure they do. 

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #rosegardeninwinter #submission #prompt

[twoidiotwriters1]

June, 1976 (WITT One-Shot)

A/N: If you want to remain in the taglist pls interact with this one-shot even if you haven’t read book 4-5 yet. A like or a comment is fine, the people who don’t want to continue reading obvsly do not interact and I’ll delete from the taglist :) -Danny

Words: 2,590

Series’ Masterlist

Emily was tired, but she'd spent all day overthinking and she was done, it was time to grow up.

She could hear Lily Evans' voice ushering Severus Snape away, he'd been coming around for several hours during the day trying to apologize, but he'd finally crossed a line.

"It's not your fault, you know?"

Matthew's voice caught her attention, he'd stopped at the foot of the stairs, one hand propped on the wall.

"Snape and Evans have been fighting for months now, I think it's because of what he's been doing with the Slytherins... you know, the cult stuff."

Emily averted her gaze to the fireplace.

"I know..."

Matthew hesitated, he'd promised himself that he wouldn't go back to being Emily's therapist, but something was different this time, it wasn't her usual kind of sulking.

"Are you okay?"

She looked at him over her shoulder and frowned.

"I'm not the one who got called 'mudblood' by a close friend."

"No, you weren't," He admitted. "Which is why it's so strange to see you all sad."

"I'm not sad."

"Is this about James?"

He didn't want to know, but alas, he'd asked.

"No," She made a face. "I don't think I care about him that way anymore."

"It's easier said than done," Matthew crossed his arms, his shoulder now leaning on the archway of the stairs.

"What do you want, Ruddy?" Emily groaned.

"I don't want anything from you," The boy replied. "But I have the feeling that you need to talk."

"I do," She said. "Not with you, though."

Matt nodded, he sighed.

"Good luck, then, have a good night."

"'Night."

Emily watched him disappear up the stairs, she didn't know why, but the memory of his burning gaze before he kissed her came back then, his intense determination as he held her closer... That moment Emily had found herself unable to move away, to say no. She wished she had his courage to just do stuff even when he was intimidated by them, she needed that kind of bravery tonight.

Lily Evans entered the tower two minutes later, Emily stood up abruptly and the redhead came to a halt.

For a moment none of them spoke, then Lily's face showed tons of fatigue.

"What now? Is it your turn to call me a stuck-up bore because I didn't agree to go out with Potter?"

Emily shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Can we talk?" She asked shyly. "I promise it's not a trick... I'm sorry."

Emily's behaviour towards her was usually hostile, tonight her voice was gentle, and even a little afraid.

"You're sorry?"

"I don't expect you to believe me," Emily continued, lowering her gaze. "I know you and Snape were close — I don't understand how can you like him... listen I suck at apologies, can't you just say it's alright so we can go to bed?"

Lily crossed her arms, standing straighter.

"No, I think I want you to try harder."

Emily groaned, she sat down heavily and started to think her words carefully, Lily inched closer.

"Boys can be cruel when they're not thinking — Anyone, really... I've been brutal myself — Matthew and I almost stopped being friends a few months ago, because I don't like talking about my feelings," She laughed dryly. "I don't know what is it about today that it just... I don't want to be a tormentor my whole life, let alone to someone who is... tolerable. I'm sorry for making your life a living hell these past few years."

Lily sat down, although she kept the seat between them empty to keep some distance.

"You didn't make my life a living hell," She replied. "I... can admit you're a bit clever... even likeable — that last match when you threw Lewis a bludger after he called you a midget... it was kind of funny."

"The boys walked me everywhere that week, they thought Ernest was going to try and get back at me," Emily bit her lip, but she was now smiling. "I mean, I lived in fear for days! Thinking he would spike my drink at some point with poison or something... Until Matthew cornered him outside D.A.D.A. class one day, poor Lewis... he looked so small in comparison..."

"Anyone looks small next to Matthew, he's a giant," Lily grinned. "Well, if it's any consolation, I was planning on murdering you in a much classier manner than poison, but since you've apologized, I guess I won't have to kill you after all."

Emily snorted, her eyes lingered on Lily, who looked like she'd been crying for most of the day, and yet still had enough energy to sit down and talk with the girl she'd detested for the last four years.

"Why are you being nice?" She asked in annoyance. "I mean I'm glad you're kind of accepting my apology, but I thought you'd be a bit colder, walking away before I could even finish..."

"What kind of person do you think I am?" Lily raised a brow, with the orange light coming from the fireplace her green eyes looked far more intense than usual. "If I'm honest, you should thank Remus... he's tried to convince me that you lot are far better than you look..."

Emily sighed, when she was young she'd do mischief for fun, but now that she was older, and considering all the weird stuff that was happening outside the school, she was starting to think that maybe her group of friends were indeed changing for the best.

"I'm going to be honest with you too, Evans," The girl took a deep breath. "Being the only girl in my friend group is turning out to be pure torture. I'm in desperate need of a girlfriend."

Lily's mouth twitched a bit, but she didn't laugh.

"What makes you think I want to be your friend?"

"Oh, I don't think you want to," She raised a brow. "But maybe if we're on good terms I'd be able to ask you for a tampon without having to swallow my pride first."

Lily did laugh at this, she shook her head. "Holy Merlin, Sultens, you're loopy."

"You would be too if you were seated next to Sirius every day!" She paused. "So... are you willing to make peace?"

Lily examined her carefully, four long years of quarrels sat between them, but a lifetime of friendship could be ahead if Emily was truly sorry. She was a nice girl, and really smart too, she was annoying only when she was taunting Severus, and he was no longer her friend.

Lily stretched out her hand.

"Very well, but if you go back the deal is over and we'll be less than strangers, understood?"

"Sure."

She retreated her hand before Emily could grab it.

"Hang on — this is not Potter's idea, right? You're not trying to be my friend just so I date him later?"

"Lily, if anything I hope you and James never date," Emily snickered. "Nothing personal, you're just way too good for him."

"...Alright."

They shook hands, she'd meant what she said about it not being personal. James was a boy, a very silly one at that, and even though they were really close friends, Emily was no longer a blind supporter of his doings.

Funnily enough, this seemed to be related to Matthew, she couldn't stop thinking about that kiss! Merlin, he was a good kisser...

She shook the thought away, now was not the time for nonsense.

"I'm very honoured to be your acquaintance, Evans," Emily grinned.

"Call me Lily. Only Professors call me Evans... and Potter, but you know I hate that."

"Got it, Lils."

July 1996

"...I don't think this is right," Mel tilted her head. "Brownies are mean to be brown... not pitch-black."

"You burned them," Harry was standing behind them with his arms crossed, clearly upset.

"How could you burn them, Erick? They were in there for five minutes!"

"Are you sure..." Erick stabbed the mixture with a knife and made a face. "Ugh — they're still liquid in the middle!"

"How the fuck did you do this?"

"I thought it would work just the same if I doubled the heat and put less time," Erick sulked. "Ovens are weird."

"This is why we told you to stay out of it," Harry replied. "You don't know how muggle stuff work."

"I do know!"

"Then why did you burn the brownies?"

"Don't fight," Mel intervened, grabbing the platter and throwing its contents away. "Oh well, at least we ruined my birthday cake and not someone else's..."

"That's not okay," Harry frowned. "You should have a proper cake."

Mel looked at him and grinned. "I'll eat yours, then."

"How's everything going in here?" Emily walked in, behind her Lupin followed.

"Uncle Lu!" Mel rushed over to his side and hugged him, the man chuckled. "You came!"

"Well, hadn't been around for your birthday in a long time, I thought you'd like it," He said, lovingly patting her back.

"I do," She beamed. "We kind of ruined the cake, though, so we should buy doughnuts or something."

"It's a good thing I brought this, then," Lupin lifted his bag and placed it on the table, inside there was a beautifully adorned red velvet cake.

"You just saved my birthday!"

Harry and Erick shared a moody expression and grumbled complaints, Lupin laughed.

"The kids insisted on doing the cakes this year," Emily explained. "I told them it was not an easy job, but they insisted."

"Mel and I have done this before, Erick was the one who wanted to be in charge when he can't even make tea without magic," Harry glared at him.

"Muggles stuff are too complicated, alright?" He huffed.

"I don't mind," Mel said without paying attention to them, she was still beyond happy with her uncle's presence. "I wanted to give my mum a break, Leggie's been a bit hard to handle lately..."

"Is he?" Lupin looked at the little boy Emily was holding. "Is he ill?"

"No, he just cries a lot," The woman sighed. "Wakes us up every night."

"I thought that forcing my mother to bake when she's clearly too tired to be doing anything apart from feeding a baby was a crime," Mel stated. "So I took care of it."

"Then Flint messed it up," Harry taunted.

"And then you fixed it, Uncle Moony," The girl smiled. "So there's no harm done, right boys?"

She looked over her shoulder, raising a brow as if urging them to stop bickering before they embarrassed her in front of Lupin. Both mumbled their agreement, not quite meeting her eyes.

"Lovely," Mel looked back at the adults. "Who wants lunch?"

Mel and Erick were in the kitchen talking in hurried whispers, she appeared to be upset, the young man too. Emily and Remus were in the drawing-room, Harry was upstairs changing Reg's diaper.

"Do you know why they're arguing?" Remus asked, staring at the pair.

"Dumbledore came by this morning before breakfast," Emily sighed, leaning her head back on the couch. "Talked about this mission he had for Erick — you know how eager to help that boy is... so of course the old man came and put his offer on a silver platter, and Mel won't let Erick go on his own, so being the generous soul Dumbledore is," She said sarcastically, "He said she could go too if she wanted to."

"Really?" Remus frowned. "Well... he's been giving her lessons for years, Mily, perhaps he knows she can handle it."

"I don't care," She said bluntly. "That's my daughter, my daughter. Matt's daughter. How can he continue to risk my family's life like it's nothing?"

"You know Matthew did all he that because he wanted to, Dumbledore had nothing to do with his decisions."

"I know," Emily took a deep breath. "But he's got a lot to do with Mel's... she idolizes him."

"You think so?" The man looked over his shoulder again, staring at his goddaughter.

"I don't see why else she'd be so keen to follow his orders..."

"Maybe because she feels guilty?" Remus offered. "After what happened in the ministry..."

Emily pressed her lips together, she didn't want to talk about that.

"That's not her fault and she knows it. I told her it wasn't."

"You weren't there," He said gravely. "She went out of control. I had never seen anything like it, her magic was dark— I mean that literally. All the spells she did came out pitch-black. Dumbledore was the only one who could put a stop to it."

Emily's eyes grew worried, she looked over her shoulder as well and her gaze landed on Mel.

"You think it could be the same thing that Ariana Dumbledore had? That disease?"

"No one knows what happened to her," Remus said. "Not even Matthew knew, and he was part of the family... but it could be. Maybe Dumbledore knows something we don't, maybe this will help her... perhaps she needs this."

Emily stayed silent for a moment, then she groaned.

"I hate that we're always meant to trust him blindly."

"He's lived a hundred years, he might be wiser than all of us, don't you think?"

The woman scoffed, she looked ahead, deep in thought.

"A hundred years... Matthew couldn't even make it to twenty-one! James and Lily barely did... Sirius spent twelve years in Azkaban — But at least we all knew how the war looked like then, Remus. We fought for years... my daughter just turned sixteen, she still goes to school!"

"And yet she's already done her fair amount of fighting," The man raised a brow. "We didn't have the experiences she's gone through when we were her age. I stand with Dumbledore, she can do this."

"I'm not saying she can't," Emily grabbed the empty plates to take them to the kitchen. "I'm saying she shouldn't have to sacrifice her youth. Dumbledore asks for too much, I'm sure he's got someone else that could help him with the mission, but he's obsessed with making Mel his perfect copy."

Remus didn't try to argue back, little could convince Emily at this point, she'd never been a fan of Dumbledore, and after Matt's death it was no secret that she openly disliked him, but she still followed his orders, because she knew Dumbledore was the only chance they had to win this war.

Mel and Erick entered the room, neither of them angry, which made Remus think they had reached an agreement.

"I should leave," The man stood up. "Leon's been quiet, maybe Harry managed to make him sleep."

"Or maybe he's just playing with him," Emily stood up as well. "Really, I never thought Harry would get so attached to a baby..."

"I'll miss you, Uncle Lu, I hope to see you soon," Mel said, her eyes avoiding to look into Erick's direction.

"Me too, little Em," Remus hugged her tightly, he whispered in her ear. "Be good to your mother, alright?"

Mel looked at him with confusion, but she nodded anyway.

"So?" Emily crossed her arms. "What are you going to do?"

The young witch stared at her mother, Remus knew that expression. It was true and very strange, how she could have her dad's gaze even though her eyes were exactly like her mother's, but he knew that look, he'd seen it in Matt the last time they had spoken. Mel was done being a kid.

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @wlwmaximoff @reverse-hxlland @omiwashere @t-rexs-world @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @dielgonacoffee​ @thelastpyle @hamiltonwc

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #hp hidden moments #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

[moved-danganronpamess]

Mod Rantaro’s introduction! 🌸

🌺💖 Howdy hey, my little buttercup baby! This is Mod Rantaro, here to bring you some warm, fluffy love! I’m super honored and excited to be working with all of the wonderful mods on this blog, and I hope you’ll enjoy my content! 💖🌺

I use she/they pronouns and I’m asexual and demiromantic! I’m also a minor who’s into art, baking, witchcraft (the good kind, don’t worry!) video games, and, of course, writing! 

Now, enough about me. Onto my rules! (,,^▽^,,)

Mod Rantaro’s rules:

I WON’T DO:

More than 5 characters. If you want to request more than five, you can always put them in another ask!

Anything for V3, or the anime(s). While I do know about most of the characters, I don’t think I understand any of them well enough to write for them. This may change in the future though!

Anything romantic involving the Warriors of Hope. I’d be happy to write platonic or familial stuff for them though!

I won’t be writing for Despair!Junko, Hifumi, T*rut*ru, H*ji, Mukuro and Izuru. I apologize if anyone likes these characters, but they personally either make me incredibly uncomfortable or I barely know anything about them.

Character x Character. I’m not that good with those, I’m sorry aa-

Of course, stuff like inc*st, p*dophilia, r*pe, all that, unless it’s protecting someone or preventing a situation of that sort from happening.

Angst. While I do enjoy tugging at heartstrings sometimes, I want my work to make you, my dear, feel warm and loved, because you are!

Extremely heavy topics (g*re, m*rd*r, s**c*de, etc).

N*FW (as in smut/explicit content). I’m a minor, and asexual, as previously mentioned, so it’s an uncomfortable topic for me. Big props to people who can write that!

Y*ndere, maybe something that’s pretty mild, but nothing to do with k*dn*pp*ng, manipulation, gaslighting, etc.

Cheating (unless it’s a character comforting a reader who was cheated on, or vise versa)

Pregnancy or babies. Again, something I am uncomfortable with. I could write parenting headcanons though (as in what kind of parent they would be)!

I WILL DO:

I write for Trigger Happy Havoc, Goodbye Despair and Ultra Despair Girls!

Any and all genders/pronouns and sexualities! We’re all inclusive, my dear buttercup baby, and you’re 100% valid, no matter what! 💖

Headcanons, scenarios, short one-shots (those may take a bit longer though), AUs and matchups!

Fluff! Fluff is my specialty, buttercup! From kisses, to hugs, to cuddles, I’ll be sure to try and make your heart swarm!

Domestic stuff!! I’m a huge sucker for those!

Hurt-comfort! It could be comforting someone after they’ve lost a loved one, treating someone’s wounds, etc. As long as it ends happily, I’ll be sure to provide!

Platonic/familial stuff! Not everyone needs romance to be loved!

Poly relationships!

Serious topics (mental illnesses, disorders, injuries, disabilities, etc). I want to bring as much positivity as I can while I write these, though! I’ll do my best to research these topics thoroughly, and please let me know if I get anything wrong so I can fix it! I apologize in advance if that happens!

I’m always down to chat, buttercup! Maybe about your passions, how things are going for you, anything you’d like to share with me! I’ll be super happy to listen, so ramble all you want, my dear!

Don’t be afraid to ask for advice or vent to me, alright? I want to help you and I want to be there for you, and don’t ever think I would ignore or be annoyed by you! You’re loved and appreciated here, so don’t ever forget that!

Thank you for reading my introduction! Drink plenty of water, take any meds you may need to take, maybe eat some fruit or candy, and please stay safe! Lots of love from me, my buttercup baby! 💖

#mod rantaro petals #rules #introduction

[batz]

I know you talked abt it a while back,, but I'm sad and it make me happy so I was wondering if you had any more "bubby and coomer are like father figures to tommy" hcs??

- originally bubby and coomer only really babysat tommy like. once a week at Most, usually when gman himself couldn't keep an eye on him. but tommy took an Instant liking to bubby and coomer and more oftrn than not would just kinda hang around them whenever he could! bubby would complain, even if he DID like tommy (he just complains abt everything rlly), but coomer always welcomed tommy 2 hang out w them. it seemed like tommy ws just kinda lonely after all.

- the hanging out becomes more of a constant when gman ends up kiiinda becoming more. absent. hes a rlly busy dude and so tommy is more often than that left alone (dw he loves tomy v much still! hes just a v busy multidimensional business man) so there r many times where they end up looking after tommy fr days on end, bc his dad was just. Nowhere To Be Seen. tommy doesnt seem to mind much, but coomer n bubby definitely have their issues w it (as in, they both wanna beat gman up abt it DHDJDH). theyr more than happy 2 look after tommy tho!!! lots of movie nightz and fun Science Experimentz and shenanigans...

- coomer always wanted kids, but he never really ended up having any. it makes him a little sad sometimes, but he doesn't dwell on it! just how life works out sometimes. so when tommy starts sticking around a lot more, coomer instantly takes him under his wing. like ok well if your Real Dad isnt going to stick around I'll be ur Secondary dad!!! so will doctor bubby!!! (bubbys response 2 this being 'no i wont :/') coomer cares abt tommy a WHOLE bunch.

- bubby is a lot more an aloof stoic caregiver type. he doesnt DENY that he cares abt tommy ofc, hes just kind of a bastard abt it. he DOES have his soft moments tho. like if tommy passes out on th couch while watchin cartoonz bubby will kinda jus prop a pillow under his head and put a blanket on him. soft moment. bubby doesn't really like kids, at least he SAYS that hes never actually met many kids, since theyre not rlly allowed in black mesa. but he does rlly care abt tommy.

- bubby and tommy initially bond over legos. tommy LOVES legos and bubby is like yeah no these tiny colorful blocks r stupid as hell but ill humor you and build some stuff and then whoops bubby now also loves lego moments. bubby ends up 3d printing more types of legos for more intricate builds and him and tommy kinda go all out with shit like initially they were just building little rocket ships or cars and a month later they're recreating a miniature scale new york that u can walk thru. (YEARS later when minecraft is released tommy n bubby def have their own server full of intricate redstone creations) anyway YEAH bonding moments...

- tommy wants to learn to bake and coomer is like hmm ok! :) i dont know how to bake but lets TRY it!!! and its just... absolute disaster in the beginning. just a mess!!! the cookie dough somehow liquified in the oven and melted thru the cookie sheet. tommy is honestly really bummed out... he wanted 2 make monster cookies (cookies w m&ms in them YUM) but it was a failure and he just. feels so sad abt it :(. u kno how it is u set out to do something SPECIFIC and it ends in failure, it sucks!!! so coomer and tommy end up driving outta black mesa and into town to grab some monster cookies frm a local grocery store... tommy is glad he got cookie but is still bummed out. anyway that night coomer literally goes out of his way 2 learn how to bake so then he can teach tommy how 2 make some gotdam homemade MONSTER COOKIES. (i just lov th hc that coomer can bake rlly well and decided to make it even cuter by making it tht coomer initially learned how just 2 make tommy feel bettr dhddhhd)

- theyre really loving father figures but still not gr8 role models like a lot of coomers advice involves punching and a lot of bubbys advice involves shooting stuff w Gun. coomer still likes 2 drink radioactive sludge and jump off rlly rlly high up ledges for funsies (hes got super legs its ok!) and bubby likes lighting things on fire and causing general mayhem. if anything they ARE good role models bc tommy sees them do this shit and is like Hm I Will Not Do That:). examples of things u SHOULDN'T do hdjdhdjdh

#long post #frank.txt #gman loves his son v muvh and thats why he works CONSTANTLY .he wants his son 2 have a good life n go 2 college n stuff!:) #but bc hes often absent coomer n bubby take the role of fathr figure and they're pretty good at it! but also simultaneously NOT good at it #they are very loving n care abt tommy but also they are both the embodiment of chaos #but yeah thats why they treat tommy Like That in the series. 'we love our little tommy!'...they care him:) #well bubby says that stuff bc he knows it annoys tommy bc its patronizing but U Kno VDSJSHDJD #he still cares fhsjdhdk

[heartbreakgrill]

Circles; Harry Styles

a/n: welcome to a new mini-series! Probably wont be more than 3 parts, but we’ll see! I watched This is Us and got major inspiration. Enjoy!

description: in which your visit the bakery you frequented as a child and run into an old face to stir up forgotten flirtations.

It was a bitterly cold day in Holmes Chapel, the wind whipping wildly across the fields and through the small town streets. You were dressed for the weather, peacoat collar flicked upwards to protect your neck from the chill. Sure, you probably looked like a psychopath with your eyes and part of your forehead the only bits of skin visible to any passerby. But, you didn’t care.

You were used to the cold weather, having just flown home from London, where it was already pouring buckets of freezing rain. At least here the air was dry. However normalized cold weather was, however, your body was obviously still affected thanks to being a warm-blooded mammal with thin layers of skin, easily frost bitten and frozen.

You licked your lips, having gone chapped from the chill, as you turned a street corner. Up ahead was your favorite bakery, one you frequented a lot before you moved to London for university. It had been two years since youd been home, having left as soon as you graduated secondary school. Of course, a certain someone had worked there whenever it began to be your favorite place, but after he left, it was simply because of the sweet elderly women and the delicious treats.

Now, you were back in town for two weeks, on winter break, before heading over to New York to visit a friend from university. You had been aching for a chocolate chip muffin from your favorite bakers for nearly two years now. When you walked in, the smell of the baked goods made your knees weak. A grin indented your face as you began to take off your scarf, earmuffs, hat, and mittens.

Sharon, the loveliest of them all, spotted you from her spot behind the counter, where she was counting cash. “Oh, my Lord! [Y/N]?!”

You stuffed your things into either pocket of your coat, feeling the warmth of the store when the door shut softly. “Hiya!” You waved as you stepped towards the glass displays.

“Laurie! Sue! [Y/N]’s here!” She rounded the counter, arms open for you. She was much shorter than you, so you bent at the waist slightly to hug her shoulders. It was the same routine with Laurie and Sue. They gushed over you, your hair, you smile, your height!

“You look so grown! So old! My heart!” Sue twirled a lock of your hair around her fingers, eyeing the color. “Did you dye it?”

“No, Sue, dont worry,” you sat at your table, in the back by the window. “It’s just damp because I got a shower this morning.”

“Oh,” Sue nodded firmly.

They took seats around you, ready to question you all about your life for the past two years. Laurie began with, “How’s uni?”

You smiled, reminiscing the good times youd made in London, “So wonderful. I absolutely love the city. Its busy and it rains a lot, but I love it.”

“Have you made any friends?” Sharon held lightly to your hand, her wrinkled skin soft and warm against your frozen fingers. “I know you expressed your concern with that whenever you left us.”

“Yeah, actually,” you squeezed, “I’m here for two weeks then heading over to New York to visit her. She was my roommate my first year, and now were renting an apartment together.”

“Oh, lovely,” Sue commented.

This continued for a few minutes, the questions and answers rolling back and forth between the four of you like waves. That was until a loud beep and holler came from the kitchen area. Sue stood quickly, muttering someone’s name and shuffling back to the kitchen.

“You hire somebody else?” It was your turn to ask, giggling lightly at her silly run.

Laurie shook her head, “No, love, it’s Harry.”

You blushed deeply, the name like a trigger to set off leftover butterflies from pubsecent you. “What?”

Sharon flinched, throwing her hands up, “Oh! Of course! We forgot to tell you!”

Laurie sighed, “Oh, yes! Harry’s here, love! He has a break from tour and he decided to visit us! Imagine, us being prioritized by a superstar!”

Sharon set a hand over her heart, smiling so sweetly, you wondered if the baked goods were seasoned with sugar or her love. “Whatta sweetheart.”

Your hands became clammy, and you removed them from the table to run them down your jeans. Laurie stood, noticing you running your hands through your hair and over your face. “Pretty,” she winked before moving to the counter, “How’s a vanilla hot cocoa and muffin sound, love?”

“G-good,” you choked, eyes flickering between her, Sharon, and the door that led to the kitchen.

Sue’s voice came into the room, louder as she came into view. “I’m sure you two would like to get acquainted again. Consider it a ten minute break like how you used to! When you’d insist I let you go when she came in. Aw!”

She grinned over at you, your eyes moving from hers to- Harry. Taller, handsome, older, curlier hair that was more controlled than it used to be. His face noticeably flushed, pupils dilated from the light- you- and his lips quirked open. You grinned, facial features experiencing the same flirts.

You stood from your chair, feeling the girl’s eyes on you although they tried to make themselves look busy. He took a few steps towards you, fingers raking through his dark brown curls.

“Wow,” he breathed, eyes widening once he realized he voiced his thoughts. “I mean, uh, hi?”

“Hey,” you chomped onto your bottom lip, withholding giggles at his maneurisms. Your hands stretched out in front of you, unsure of whether you should hug him or shake hands. You waved, “How are you?”

“I’m...okay,” he hesitated, and as your eyes let themselves flicker over his face, you noticed the bags under his eyes. “You?”

“Yeah, okay, um,” you stepped to the side and gestured to your table, “wanna sit? Catch up?”

“Sure, yeah, apparently I have a break, so,” Harry tugged his apron over his neck and balled it up. He sat down across from you as Laurie placed your muffin and drink down in front of you.

You shakily grabbed the fork, nervous under his watch, “So, how’s the superstar life?”

He chuckled, “Oh! Can’t I just be Harry for a day.”

You knew his joke held underlying meaning, so you shrugged and chided, “I never said I was a fan. Just curious as to how it’s going.”

“So, you’re not a fan?” Harry propped an elbow on the table and cradled his chin in it.

You swallowed bits of the muffin, “I dont listen often. I know your singles, of course, and that one- uh, what’s it called, ‘Same Mistakes.” Gotta admit I cried over a boy to that song once.”

“Ah, so there’s boys in your life?” Harry quirked a brow.

You blushed lightly, taking a chance as you held eye contact, “Not presently, no. But, over the past few years, yes, Ive seen a few lads.”

“Are London boys better than what we’ve got to offer?” He continued.

“Nah, I prefer homegrown boys,” you giggled before asking, “Are there any girls chasing after your heart?”

“Oh, millions,” he urged a laugh from you. “But, like you said, I’m single as of right now.”

You sipped some of your cocoa, face scrunching when your tongue faced the immense heat, “Ah. Uh, sorry-“

Harry giggled at the expression on your face, causing you to grin in return. He bit his lip and leaned back in his chair, “How long are you in town for?”

“Two weeks, you?”

“The same.”

“Nice,” you nodded. “So, since we both have a lot of time on our hands, do you maybe wanna-?”

“Lunch tomorrow? We always such a blossoming friendship within these walls, but never really saw each other outside of ‘em. I never liked it,” Harry admitted.

You pursed your lips, thinking back to your high school years, “Well, you were pretty popular, Harry. The cute, curly-headed boy who could sing, had nice teeth, and baked? Gosh, you were like the boy who killed girls.”

He chortled at the reference, “Cute, huh? You were pretty popular. Straight-A’s, sickly sweet, a gorgeous smile even with your braces and awfully done eyeliner.”

“Harry Styles, are you backhandedly flirting with me?” You pressed a hand to your chest in mock shock, “Just because youre famous doesnt mean your suddenly able to walk all over me!”

“I’m just glad youre finally able to call out my flirting.” He glanced at the watch on his wrist and noticed his ten-minutes were up. Of course, he could have stayed, but where’s the drama in that? “Ill swing by at noon to get you. See ya.”

Your mouth fell open in genuine shock as he turned into the kitchen. “Finally able...? What?”

“Shut your mouth, you’ll catch flies,” Sharon slid into the seat across from you.

Laurie stood behind her, “Two years, sweetie, two years of relentless flirting and neither of you ever made a move.”

“If something doesnt happen within the next two weeks, I might just drop dead from exhaustion, love,” Sue admitted, swinging a dish towel over her shoulder.

“Well, I guess I better get home and find an outfit.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #this is us #harry 1d #one direction #one direction imagines #harry styles fluff

[detectivecarlosreyes]

Only the pure in heart can make a good soup

Ao3

Day 1: “Are you warm enough?” + fluff -  Athena asks Buck to check on May when she stops answering her phone after staying home from school with the stomach flu that had been going around.

@evanbuckleyweek

One thing Buck didn’t expect on his day off was getting a call from Athena. He’d just finished a load of washing and had the now clean pile tipped it out on his bed to be folded when the call came through.

He wedges the phone between his ear and shoulder as he goes about folding each item and stacking them in their specific piles to be put away in the right drawer. “Athena! This is a surprise, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

“Hey there Buckaroo. I was actually wondering if you could do me a favour, if you’re not busy.” He surveys what was left of his clothes.

“Nope not busy at all, what do you need?” Buck moves the phone to his hand as he settles on the end of his bed, giving Athena his undivided attention.

“May stayed home sick from school today and I was going to swing by at lunchtime to check on her, but I’ve been held up with an incident on the other side of town. Would you mind checking on her, she hasn’t answered her phone in the last few hours.”

“Yeah, of course, I can do that.”

“Normally I wouldn’t ask but Bobby has gone to the station to sort out a backlog of paperwork that he missed while he was sick, and Michael has gone on a 3-day weekend away with his new beau and as you know everyone else is out of commission with the flu.”

Yeah, he did know, it was something that was going around at the moment, a 24- hour stomach bug. It started with one of the guys at the station who passed it onto Bobby who then passed it onto most of the team, except him and Athena, who went down all at once. It wouldn’t surprise him if May was struck down with the same thing.

Hearing the concern in her voice, Buck gets up and plan of action already forming in his head, “Don’t worry about it ‘Thena, I’ll drop by now and I’ll let you know how she is.”

“Thank you Buck, I’ve got to go but I’ll talk to you later,” she was gone after that and Buck was on the move, collecting his shoes from his room before heading to the kitchen.

Pulling open the fridge, he gathers what was left of the chicken soup batch he’d made the night Bobby had fallen ill and thanked his foresight to make a large enough batch to deliver to the rest of the team the morning when they went down too.

It was a patented recipe that his grandmother swore by that was both nourishing and easy on the stomach lest it be unsettled, and in all his years of using it, it hadn’t steered him wrong yet.

Throwing on his shoes, Buck gathers everything, grabbing one last thing from the fridge as an afterthought, and heads out for the nice, short drive that it takes to get to the Grant-Nash household. He easily finds the spare key that he knew was carefully hidden in the front garden.

Stepping inside, Buck heads to the kitchen to drop everything off before seeking out May who he assumed was probably in her bedroom, trying to sleep off the sickness. Finding the bedroom door closed, he knocks gently and announces his presence out of deference to her privacy.

Hearing what he thinks is the sound of her stirring, Buck opens the door a crack, “May? You awake?”

“…Buck? What are you doing here?” Swinging the door wider, he finds her lying on her side buried under her blanket and looking half-awake, squinting at the door in confusion.

“Your mom asked me to check on you when you weren’t answering your phone.”

Seeing a slight flush of her cheeks Buck steps inside and crouches at her bedside, touching the back of his hand to her forehead and frowns when he feels what he thinks might be a low-grade fever radiating from it.

“I’m guessing you probably have what Bobby had the other day, how are you feeling?” He asks as he looks down at the thankfully empty bucket sitting beside the head of the bed. He sits back on his heels, giving her some room as she props herself up on her pillows considering the question.

“I can’t tell if I feel hungry or still feel like my stomach is still upset. Breakfast didn’t stay down for long, it came back up not long after mom left.” She ends up answering with a grimace, wrapping an arm around her belly.

“I brought some soup. How about I just warm up a little bit and we see how we go.” He offers and gets a considering nod in response. Buck gives her a pleased smile and heads back down to the kitchen to warm the soup in a small saucepan.

He puts a slice of bread in the toaster before turning his attention to his phone, letting Athena know how things were. He moves easily around the kitchen, finding what he needs and plates everything up on a tray to take up to May. Before he has the chance to bring to food to her, he’s surprised, however, to hear her coming down the stairs.

“Is that the same soup you made for Bobby? It smells good.” She says, appearing around the corner, looking more alert and dressed snugly in a thick looking hoodie and track pants.

“Yep, grandma’s secret recipe. Why don’t you take a seat on the couch and I’ll bring it over to you,” Buck answers over his shoulder as he picks up the tray.  

He brings it over to the living area and set it down on the coffee table before passing the bowl to May. “Want to watch something together?”

“You’re staying?” she asked, confused.

Buck shrugs and takes a seat next to her on the couch, picking up the remote, “Yeah, I have nowhere else to be today and I don’t see a better way to spend my day than keeping you company.”

He pauses realising that he might be overstepping, “…If you don’t mind that is.”

May smiles at him, “I wouldn’t mind some company.”

Buck grins back at her before turning his attention back to the tv, “So, what would you like to watch.”

They end up settling on The Great British Bake-off which neither of them had watched. While they watch, Buck tries to subtly pay attention to how much May ends up eating, hoping that she gets at least some nutrition after losing her breakfast, and finds himself pleased to find that she managed at least half the bowl and a few bites of toast.

Almost an hour had passed, and they had just started on the next episode when May got up abruptly, rushing out of the room in the direction of the bathroom. He follows in concern and finds her kneeling by the toilet bowl, throwing up what she’d just eaten.

He goes to fetch a glass of water before returning and joining her in the bathroom. He squats beside her and rubs her back comfortingly until the heaving subsides before offering the glass. She takes it gratefully and washes out her mouth before getting up and moving gingerly back to the couch.

Buck diverts to the kitchen, getting the sports drink he remembered last minute to bring before re-joining her on the couch and offers the bottle, gently reminding her to keep up the fluids.

“Thanks,” May says with a small smile before resting her head on his shoulder with a frustrated sigh, “Guess my stomach wasn’t ready for food yet.”

Buck gives her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, “We can always try again later.”

Feeling her shiver against him, Buck pulls the throw from the back of the couch and May tucks her feet up.

“Are you warm enough?” He asks and May nods into his shoulder.

They both fall quiet after that, tuning back into the show even though they’d already missed half the episode but neither really minding. They slowly get back into it by the end of the episode, commenting on what they think the judges will say about the dishes.

And that how the rest of their afternoon went, building up their own running commentary on the show, throwing in their own opinions and laughing at each other’s criticisms. At some point Harry joins them, having been dropped off from school from the neighbouring carpool.

That’s what Athena walks in to find when she gets home from work, the three of them looking at home with each other as her children quietly bickered with Buck as if they were siblings, over who they thought were the better bakers, and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of fondness over it.

Buck sticks around a little longer after Athena’s return, letting her know how the day went and confirming what she assumed May was sick with; And then he heads home, leaving behind the soup that he’d brought over and promising May that he’d try not to watch any more of the show without her.

The next day, however, he wakes to find himself flushed with a fever and with an intense need to throw up. It doesn’t take him much to put two and two together to know how he caught the bug. It doesn’t him bother though, feeling it was worth hanging out with May because it meant that he got to know her better and learned pretty quickly how easily they got along.

May must have found out from Bobby that he had called in sick because she sent him a number of British Bake-off memes which he saw after his second round of vomiting, making his day feel less awful. She explained that she was having another day from school to be sure that the virus had passed. 

The memes ended up sparking a day-long event with the two of them live blogging to each other what was left of the first season from the comfort of their own homes.

It was one of the best sick days he’s had in quite some time probably since he was a kid.

#if you didn't know the title is a Beethoven quote #ew2020 #evanweek2020 #jess writes #my fic #Evan Buckley #may grant #athena grant #Harry grant #sick fic #911 fic #userkourt #userkimmy

[greennightspider]

Unspoken (Hvitty Oneshot)

Author’s Note: I have a thing for cabins, can you tell?

Summary: You and Hvitserk are childhood friends and warrior allies. But as you grow older, things change. As a blacksmith’s daughter you don’t have time for romance. But what happens when an unknown admirer takes a very serious step? (R18+) SMUT 

Reader x Hvitserk

There is a custom, in Kattegat.

Not really a formal ritual, per se. But an unspoken tradition in Kattegat among men and women who were coming of age, one that had surfaced in recent years.

That is, if a boy wanted to make an honest woman of a girl, or if someone wanted to profess their love, they would take them to a cabin in the woods. It was a chance for someone to confess, a chance for someone to show that they were serious. And while there was no magic or superstition in the ritual, it was believed that people left that cabin changed.

Not that it mattered much to you, of course.

“Y/N! Did you hear that Brenna got asked to a cabin?”

You were busy placing all the new swords in your father’s workshop when Hanna had burst in with the news. “Just a minute!”

“I can’t believe she got asked before me!” Hanna complained.

You were on your tiptoes trying to hang a scabbard on one of the higher hooks, the morning sun slipping through the cracks in the word making it hard to see. Then all of a sudden you felt a presence behind you grab the scabbard and reach up with ease.

You swivelled and glared at your helper, who had one hand propped up against the wall, one hand on his hip as sported a devilish grin.

“Morning little troll.”

Hvisterk’s smile quickly turned into a grimace as you gave him a quick jab to the stomach.

“A thank you would be nice.” He groaned as you walked past.

“That’s what you get.” You humphed, not looking back. Hvitserk knew you couldn’t handle it when he mentioned your height. As kids when you had first started to grow into adults, you almost pummelled him when you realized he was taller than you. It was a reminder that you were changing, that strength you so craved came more naturally to him than to you.

“Naw Y/N, you’re always so mean to Hvitserk.” Hanna drawled.

“And yet, he always comes running back to me, doesn’t he?” You smirked.

You felt a heavy arm curve around your neck. “Well that is what best friends do, isn’t that right?”

Looking up at Hvitserk’s face you couldn’t help but laugh. You two had been best friends since you had squared up with him the first time your family had come to Kattegat. Squabbling, bickering, the teasing and the fighting were all part and parcel of what you two were.

“Well, as I was sayiiiiiiiiing,” Hanna drawled out dramatically. “Brenna has been asked to a cabin!” She squealed excitedly, gripping your arm with such intensity that it even made Hvitserk retreat a tad.

You furrowed your brow as you all walked through town. “Brenna… baking bread Brenna? By who?”

“I bet its Arvid.” Hvitserk scoffed. “The boy finds any excuse to visit their stall, he has more buns than he knows what to do with.”

You and Hanna burst out laughing. “Well its about time he asked her.” You scoffed. “The poor girl can’t read hints to save her life.”

Hanna nodded in agreement, while Hvitserk only looked to the side.

“Have you ever thought about these things, dear Y/N?” Hanna looked up inquisitively, her the sudden intimacy of the question leaving you flustered.

“I uh, I-I haven’t had the time,” you chuckled nervously, the blush from your face painfully clear to both of your closest friends. “It’s not like I have much appeal.”

But of course you had thought about it. While you were more of a lover than a fighter, that didn’t mean you didn’t want to be desired. It was true, most of your time was devoted to helping your father and his forges, as well as training with the very tools you helped craft. Romantic endeavours were few and far between. Emphasis on the few.

“Oh hush, you shouldn’t think ill of yourself.” Hanna waving her hand back and forth. “I know for a fact that there are many young men who would jump at the chance to court you.” Hanna said loudly, sparing a side-eye at Hvitserk behind your back, smiling at the obvious clench in his jaw. “I’m surprised someone hasn’t tossed you over their shoulder already.”

“Oh.. really?” You tucked your hair behind your ear unconsciously.

Hvitserk then whipped his head towards you at the unmistakeable curiosity in your voice, the noticeable blush in your cheeks.

“I think we better get to training, right Y/N?” Hvitserk interrupted, with a grin that was more toothy than normal. Not waiting for you to answer he grabbed your hand, almost dragging you behind.

“Bye Hanna!” You struggled to wave back, as Hanna just watched with a smug grin.

—————————————————————————————–

The training grounds were where you were most at peace. You and Hvitserk were already known to be ferocious training partners, already proving that your bark was worse than your bite. Which is why many gave you two a wide berth as soon as you arrived.

Looking back at Hvitserk amongst the other men, you sharpened your sword far more than was needed. Hvitserk was always popular, known for his wit and cheek and a few daring pranks.  You on the other hand were respected for your knowledge and training prowess. Often you were approached for advice on weapons and wielding, almost as much as your father was. You and Hvitserk were known as the pride of your generation.

Practicing a few swings, you tried to get what Hanna had said out of your mind, not noticing the way Hvitserk watched you concentrate. Without a second thought he made his way to you, unsheathing his own sword, his demeanor instantly turning serious. “Are you ready?”

As you prepared your stance you tried to quiet your mind. Neither of you wasted any time, with metal clashing against metal, letting your moves be guided by instinct. When Hvitserk managed to corner you against a tree you bared your teeth and grunted at him, the prince returning a low growl of his own.

With a grunt you kicked against the trunk, the prince stumbling yet grinning at your ferocity. You whipped the braids out of your eyes, and reminded yourself that in the heat of battle, there was no time for boys or silly crushes. As Hvitserk spun away from your lunges, and your sweat crowned your brow you let your practice remind you that you were a warrior. You wanted to lose yourself in the adrenaline of the fight. To keep telling yourself not to hope.

Until one fateful day when Hanna crashed through your door. Again.

“Y/N!!! I HAVE NEEEEEWS!”

The force of your friend’s arrival caused you to fall off the bed in a heap of furs, face down on the floor.

“Is Odin in town?” You groaned as you tried to steady yourself, but Hanna was already at your side shaking your shoulders into oblivion.

“Guesswhohasaninvitationtoacabinguessguessguess!”

“Um, you?”

“No. YOU.”

Her two words instantly sobered you and you snapped your head up. “….What?”

“Yes! A cabin, two nights from now when the moon is half full.”

Still on the floor of your bedroom, your brain reached for the most probable answer. “You’re kidding.”

Hanna’s face fell a tad. “No, I am not kidding you’ve been courted by an admirer Y/N! Isn’t this exciting?!” Hanna hugged you to her chest.

“Uh well, it would be if I could breathe.” You answered, muffled by your friend’s bosom.

“I tooooold you that you were a catch! Don’t worry, I’ll help you get ready just leave it to me!” Hanna grinned, already running to your wardrobe and pulling out everything that her fingers touched. “That bastard won’t know what hit him.”

“You know who it is?” Your head whipped around.

You saw Hanna freeze. “Yes, but he has requested that it be a secret until the day and you know the rules.” Hanna said matter-of-factly, holding up a dress to your collarbone, purposely not meeting your eyes.

“Hanna.” You gripped your friend’s hand firmly. “Do you think…are they right for me?” you bit your lip, shy of asking what was really in your mind.

Hanna looked into your worried eyes, softening. “Oh Y/N. I know that he would go to the ends of the earth for you. And I wouldn’t have even agreed to pass it on if I didn’t think they were good for you. Remember you can always refuse them if you want. But if he messes this up, I will personally drown him in the fjord.”

“Maybe Hvitserk will help you out.” You said jokingly.

“Oh I’m sure he’ll have his work cut out.” Hanna drawled as she started to comb your hair. “That boy won’t know what hit him.”

————————————————————————————————–

You rose and poked the fire for the fifth time in a row.

You sat down again, smoothing your skirt for the hundredth time that hour.

Nervous was an understatement. Not even your last summer raid had you as jittery as you were now. You didn’t even have an inkling of who it could be, only that your closest friends wouldn’t tell you a thing. 

And even though you had seen Hanna every day, you had seen neither hair nor hide of Hvitserk. To which you assumed that it had to be one of this brothers or close friends, and as such was sulking because he would lose his training partner. “What a brat.” You muttered.

Your eyes travelled around the cabin. It was modest, with a fireplace in the middle of the room, a half screen shielding the bed from the door when it opened, and on the opposite side a simple table by a latched window that looked out onto the path and the fields below. But the intricate carvings on the walls, the quality of furs, and the ample stock of food by the table hinted to you that this person was at the very least well off. Lost in your own thoughts you paced as the sun died down, the faint pitter patter of rain thrumming in the countryside.

When you heard the door open you almost jumped, the closing creak sounding more final than ever. You heard boots clack on the floor, the unfurling of a long woollen cloak.

You turned slowly to greet your secret admirer. This unknown devotee who wished to pledge themselves to you. The person had their back to you, removing their dampened shirt. Your eyes followed the shadows from the flames, curling around the etchings on his back which climbed over his shoulders. And when Hivtserk turned around to meet you, your heart dropped from your stomach to the floor.

“Hvitserk?”

The prince walked decisively across the room, hanging his shirt by the fireplace. “Did you wait long?”

“No.” Your voice a meagre whisper.

You saw his shoulders tighten as he chuckled ominously. “Why so timid? The great Y/N not afraid of anything.”

His laugh did nothing to put you at ease. “Hvitserk… if.. if this is a cruel joke then it is in poor taste.”

In an instant he closed the distance between you, grabbing your wrist and holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger. And in his you saw intensity you had only witnessed on the battlefield. “You think I would joke about this?”

“I don’t know what to think,” you said breathlessly, not being able to ignore the way his eyes drifted to your berry stained lips or the way his eyes raked the dress that clung lusciously against your figure. “We’re friends.”

Hvitserk then backed you up until your rear hit the table, cornering you. “You know we’re more than that.”

Like a skittish prey you tried to brush off the bait he laid bare. “I’m friends with many guys.”

Hvitserk’s knuckles grew white gripping the table. “And do you think I would have let any of them touch you?”

The huskiness in his voice was pulling emotions out of your depths. Emotions you thought you had drowned in insecurities and loyalties and denial.

“I made it very clear to them that you were mine.”

The flames from the fireplace illuminated Hvitserk’s silhouette, while his features were shaded in the dark hue of the night as his shadow eclipsed you. “I want you, Y/N. You are my equal. We were made for each other.”

“But why?” Your voice growing stronger with the need to know. “Why now, why me?”

His voice became softer, almost bringing the lighter Hvitserk back to the surface as he caressed your fearful face. “You’ve always been by my side, never afraid to tell me when I’m wrong, never fearing to challenge me, a prince of Kattegat.” He snuck a quick breath in your hair that was intricately laden with red blooms and moaned. “It turns me on so much.”

With Hvitserk so close all you could smell is him. The scent of his skin, his voice so close to you, so possessive, you couldn’t even think straight. You were thankful he had pushed you against the table, your legs feeling like a newborn fawn’s.

“I saw the look in your eyes when Hanna asked you about the cabin. So now you’re here.” Hvitserk’s fingers brushed against your own. “Tell me you don’t feel the same.”

You swallowed thickly before you answered. “Hvitserk, you are a prince, a son of Ragnar. I-I-I am just a blacksmith’s daughter! Your mother would never allow this, they would say you should be with someone el-“

“Then push me away.” He all but commands. “We both know you could overpower me. Easily.” The goading in his voice almost sounding like he wanted you to do it.

He gave no heed to your conflicted gaze, whispering into your ear as he slowly drew himself even closer to you, gently pushing you so now you were sitting on the table with him in between your legs.

“I couldn’t give a damn what anyone thinks of us. But I want you to admit… that you want me.” The dark prince drew his toned arm up to draw faint lines up and down your dress sleeve with his fingers, feeling you shiver.

“I, Hvitserk-“

“Yes?” He drawled out slowly, pressing the lightest of kisses on your skin, trailing down your neck and to your shoulder. He spared a gaze, pleased to see your flustered face, the blush in your cheeks, your soft lips drawn apart with small breaths. Your body betraying what he already knew.

“Dammit Hvitserk.” You cursed him. You cursed his name. You cursed the boy who’s smile lit up your world. You cursed the friend you had fallen in love with. And when your eyes met, you were undone. 

“Damn you.”

You almost whimpered as you gave in, bringing Hvitserk’s face to collide with yours. You surrendered to your desire, devouring each other’s lips with heady passion. Your fingertips gripping the sides of his face while his hand clawed through your hair and pulled, the kiss only ending as you gasped for air.

“Fuck you.” You panted, but Hvitserk’s lustful grin only widened.

“If you insist.”

He pulled his forehead to yours, holding your face in his hands before kissing you again, but this time the kiss was tender, as if he was savouring the very moment savouring you. His kisses started to trail down your neck once again, his hands tracing the back of your dress as your fingers caressed his shoulder blades. “Hvitserk.” You moaned, each kiss becoming more and more drawn out.

The Kattegat prince growled at his name on your lips. “So, do I take that as a yes?”

“What do you think.” You bit your lip, pushing yourself into his arms once again, walking him backwards until you both toppled onto the bed.

“I never knew you saw me this way.” Your voice a heady whisper.

“How could I not.” Hvitserk growled, his hand drawing up your thigh. “I had to hide my arousal every time you wanted to wrestle.”

Hvitserk licked his lips at the sight of you underneath him. He knew Hanna had donned you in the one dress that had him dreaming about you since last Yule; a luscious red dress with a skirt split and slits in both sleeves, his eyes not ignoring the way it so teasingly tied at the front, giving him a glimpse of what was underneath. He had almost spat out his mead when he saw you walk into the hall, and so did half his brothers.

“I never knew you were so dirty, my prince.” You chuckled shifted so that his hand grabbed your ass, squeezing and kneading the soft plump flesh there. He moaned and buried his head in your chest, the prince then proceeding to untie the cords with his teeth.

“When you would pin me down I would almost hope you would ravish me right then and there.”

Your eyes then flickered open, a sudden idea popping into your head. “Like this?”

At once you locked his leg with yours and thrust your hips so that you had him flat on his back on the furs. You felt him grind himself against you and grip his hands on the headboard. “Just like that.” He growled as his member cock throbbed in approval.

“Good to know.” You licked your lips you watched Hvitserk writhe underneath you as you found his hard member and grinded against him slowly. You reminisced at how Hvitserk had grown into a man, and you had tried everything to not see it. Now your hands traced the faint lines across his hardened torso and toward his tattoos, his hands now moving under your skirt to your thighs. “What else have you been dreaming about I wonder?” You smirked.

At once you felt him grip the edges of your dress and bring them up around your head, instantly leaving you bare. He threw the dress to the side and kissed you, drawing his hands up the sides of your body.

You shuffled so that you could undo the laces of his trousers, Hvitserk moving swiftly to undress himself and to have you in his arms once again. When you felt him press against your already wet sex you shivered, Hvitserk cooing and caressing you as he tried to steady himself at your entrance.

Hvitserk swore as he entered you, kissing you as he engorged himself in your folds. You gasped as you looked down to where you were joined, Hvitserk’s eyes already dark with lust. You steadied yourself on his torso as you moved here and there, getting comfortable with the sensation. But it soon turned to bouncing, your gasps turning into heavy moans as you rode him.

“That’s it,” He growled. “Take me, fuck take all of me Y/N.” Hvitserk’s hands held your thighs as you thrusted yourself on his cock, your pillowed lips bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

“Hvitserk I’m close!” You yelped, as you grinded your pussy hard on his folds, taking as much of him as you could. The sensation had you reeling, not able to think of anything other than having more. More. More.

Hvitserk slammed your ass on his hips as he spilled his release into you, thrusting unabatedly until you were full of his cum. Eventually you both collapsed, you not being able to move from Hvitserk’s chest. “You cum a lot.” You sighed, to which Hvitserk burst out laughing.

“Our first time together and that’s all you have to say?”

You traced the ink on his chest. “Well, would it be weird to say that I love you.”

“No, not weird at all.” He said, kissing your forehead. “I love you too my little troll.”

You proceeded to then try and punch him in the ribs, but when Hvitserk felt you shiver, he grabbed what furs he could to cover you both. You smiled at his very best attempts not to move you from his chest and once they were on, he dove his hand under the covers, leaving his hand to rest on your back.

“This may be a strange question.” You murmured. “But…. you wouldn’t know anything about the time Kade came back with a broken nose last Yule, would you?”

Instantly you felt Hvitserk’s hand tense up, and you lifted your head. “You didn’t.”

Hvitserk averted his eyes with nothing short of a pout. “He made out with you before I could.”

“You jerk! He was nice and I was unbound!” You laughed and playfully punched him on his chest before he caught both hands.

“Well, now you’re not and that’s that.” He huffed.

You tried to wiggle free but couldn’t, glaring at him with a grin you couldn’t hold back. “I guess I am.” You smiled, as you dipped to kiss your new lover once more.

—————————————————————————————————–

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[jornthur]

“Unshaken” Chapter 9

Originally posted: May 11, 2020

Arthur Morgan x Reader, Slow-Burn Romance

(Art specially requested/Credit: @tylerzart​)

Summary: You save a mysterious man who is dying on a mountain. Finding out he has Tuberculosis, you use your knowledge and skills with herbs and natural remedies to save him from death and help nurse him back to health. As he slowly starts to recover, you can’t help but wonder: Who is this man? Why had you found him the way that you did, beaten and ill? Only time, patience … and perhaps love … will tell.

•••••

It was well past midnight, and the crickets were now singing their sweet familiar melody for everyone and everything to hear. The stars above were bright and colorful in the sky, reds and greens mixing with blues and purples. The full moon provided plenty of soft blue light across the landscape, the canopies of the trees casting shadows on the ground from the moonlight.

The small night wind felt cool against your skin as you sat near the stream in a small chair, hunched over a small metal tub as you scrubbed one of Austin’s shirts against the washboard. All the while you hummed to yourself lightly, as if you were adding your own musical notes to the crickets’ song.

Finally you reached over to grab the last piece of clothing that you needed to wash, which was Arthur’s blue long-sleeve shirt. The fabric was extremely worn and weathered, dark dirt stains marked in several areas, especially in the front where two large stains on either side were plain as day.

Truthfully you’d been taking your time washing the clothes, unable to help but worry what the next day was going to possibly bring. You weren’t even sure if you were even going to be able to sleep tonight with such troubling thoughts racing through your mind.

You shook your head as you began scrubbing Arthur’s shirt, soaking it in the soapy water as you ran it across the washboard. You scrubbed the cloth hard, trying to wash the dirt stains on the front of the blue shirt, but no matter how hard you tried they refused to come off, and you couldn’t help but wonder how long they’d been there — what they were from? But you weren’t going to ask, that was just none of your business.

All you could do was tell yourself that everything would be alright, and you had to trust both of them that they were going to be safe. You had no idea why you were worried so much, knowing that Austin left on his own all the time only to come back safe and sound.

But this felt different somehow … You knew that Arthur was still sick, both physically and slightly mentally, and that fact alone had you feeling on edge. Austin had never brought anyone along on his hunting trips, and the only times you ever rode out with him was to study and search for new herbs, though those trips were few and far between.

That last thought suddenly brought another: What would have happened if you hadn’t decided to travel with Austin that night? Arthur would have … You flinched, refusing to think about such a horrible thought a second longer.

He was here, alive … safe, and that was all that mattered now.

Finally finished with washing all of the clothes, you stood up and walked over to the clothesline by the garden, getting to work on hanging up all the wet garments onto the wires. The wind was quite strong tonight, so there was no doubt they would be dry and ready by morning.

Minutes later you were clipping the last piece of clothing to the line, and you turned and picked up the now empty bin, propping it on one of the outer walls of the cabin. Next you went over to the tub, emptying the soapy water onto the rocks near the stream, then came back and propped it next to the other bin.

You wiped your hands on your jeans, pleased that the time-consuming chore was now completed. No doubt Austin and Arthur were going to be happy having fresh clean clothes for their trip.

At some point you knew that Arthur was going to need new sets of clothes, but that would require a two-day trip to the nearest small town that had a clothes shop, and you wanted him to be able to travel with you so that he could decide on getting whatever he wanted for himself. You had plenty of money stashed away in a lockbox inside the back of one of your desk drawers, something your father had insisted on giving to you before you’d left, but you’d never really needed it since you and your brother had lived mostly off the land and with what you’d taken from home all those years ago.

You would’ve lended Arthur your brother’s clothes, but the man was so much larger than Austin, his limbs much thicker, and his body much taller by nearly half a foot. Until the time came to make that journey to town, all you could do for now was keep washing the clothes he had.

You rubbed at your eyes as you stepped up onto the porch and approached the front door. It had been a couple hours since you’d left the cabin to work on the laundry, so there was no doubt that Austin and Arthur were both well asleep by now. Opening the door as quietly as possible, you stepped into the sitting room and shut it softly behind you.

As you made your way silently past the couch to head to your bedroom, you heard a small deep groan. You looked over toward the couch, but you couldn’t see Arthur since the large piece of furniture was facing away from you, the backrest obstructing your view of him entirely.

You considered leaving him be, but then there was another groan, this one sounding much more harsh, as if he were in some kind of pain.

Suddenly worried, you headed over, making your way around the couch so you could see Arthur fully.

His face was tight, his brows drawn down, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace. His arms and legs twisted underneath the blanket that covered him, as if he were trying to fight some kind of invisible force that had taken a hold of him.

Then he cried out at that moment, a name passing his lips.

“John!”

The rough sound made you flinch. There was so much anguish in that single cry, so much pain built up into one single name.

What on Earth was he possibly dreaming about?

Who was John?

What could possibly cause such a tormented sound to come from his throat?

Unable to help yourself, you approached the side of the couch, kneeling at his side so that you could reach out and touch his shoulder softly.

His struggles seemed to slow slightly then, his body’s tension suddenly easing as if it somehow found comfort through your touch. The reaction amazed you.

However, his face was still tight with pain, as if his mind were still being tortured in some way.

Not knowing what else to do, you started to hum lightly, singing the tune of a lullaby your mother had once sung to you as a child right before bed. The familiar melody went through you like warm water, and suddenly you felt yourself getting lost in the soft notes, your own body going loose as you ran your hand up and down Arthur’s shoulder in gentle strokes.

Moments passed, and over the course of the song, Arthur’s face started to soften, the small wrinkles in his forehead and around his eyes slowly beginning to disappear once more as his entire face began to gradually relax.

Eventually, you found yourself bringing your hand up from his shoulder to his face, gently stroking his brow and cheek. A part of you couldn’t believe you were doing this, that you would dare take it this far, but the rest of you didn’t care at that moment.

You only cared about comforting Arthur in any way that you could.

You began to sing the lyrics as you ran your fingers over the smooth skin of his cheekbone, traveling them down through the rough patch of his trimmed beard. The bristles felt so rough and soft at the same time, the short brown hairs slightly curling around the tips of your fingernails.

The color of his skin had been returning over the last couple weeks, filling up once more and replacing the terrible dark and sunken spots with the full healthy flush he’d no doubt had before the disease had tried to steal him away from this world. As a result, his body was beginning to glow more and more with each passing day.

You had to admit, the sight of him slowly but surely returning back to normal pleased you immensely, feeling extremely grateful to the sun and stars that he’d actually made it.

After several long moments into the lullaby, Arthur’s entire body was finally and completely relaxed, his face having gone completely soft, the hard lines and wrinkles now gone from his handsome features.

You smiled down at him, pleased that he finally seemed at peace.

Before you thought any better of it, you stroked a few loose chestnut strands from his forehead, tucking them back as you leaned over and laid a gentle kiss on his forehead, finishing the lullaby with one final verse.

“Now, it’s time to rest.”

•••••

The next morning

Arthur woke up to the delicious smell of cooked eggs and fresh-baked pastries, the intoxicating smell invading his nostrils and his senses in the most pleasant way possible. Opening his eyes, he let out a long yawn as he stretched out his limbs, causing the blanket that had been twisted around his torso to fall to the floor.

He sat up, throwing his legs over to place his feet on the cold wood of the floor. Sitting forward, he placed his elbows on his knees as he lifted his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes.

Another mysterious dream, another day on this earth.

“Good mornin’, Arthur!” A voice sounded from behind him, and he turned to see Y/N walking out of the kitchen with a plate full of food in her hands. Today she was wearing a weathered white blouse with faded blue jeans and black boots, her hair tied into an adorable bun. She brought the plate over and placed it on the nightstand next to him. “Did you sleep well?”

Arthur smiled as he rubbed at one of his eyes with the back of his knuckles, “Surprisingly, I did.” He admitted, his voice hoarse from sleep, “Very well, in fact.” He lifted his arms to his sides, stretching them out as he rolled his shoulders and bent back his spine. There was a soft crack, and the feeling instantly loosened the tightness in his lower body. He let out a deep, satisfied sigh as he lowered his arms.

He looked over at the plate of food. “That for me?”

She smiled down at him. “Yes, it’s fried eggs with biscuits. Also, I layered the biscuits with honey. I thought that maybe I could make it a little more interesting for you this mornin’.”

He grinned at her flushed expression, “Is that right?” He reached out and grabbed the plate in one hand, taking the fork with the other. He cut off a piece of the honeyed biscuit and placed it in his mouth. The taste exploded on his tongue, warm and sweet, the texture and flavor of the biscuit all but damn perfect. He chewed, savoring the fluffy bite before he swallowed. “This is good, you make this yourself?” He asked, taking a bite from the fried eggs.

Y/N smiled and nodded, “Made it from scratch. The hens gave us some good batches this mornin’ and I used the goats’ milk that was leftover from last night to mix up with some of the flour and sugar.” She looked down at her lap, her lips raising in a small smile as she tucked a loose strand behind her ear. “I’m glad to hear you slept well.”

Arthur looked up from his plate, turning to look at her as he noticed the odd tone in her voice. A slight blush had appeared in her cheeks, and he wondered what the hell that was about?

•••••

You couldn’t help the warm blush creep into your face.

When Arthur said that he’d had a nice sleep, you were extremely grateful to hear those words. You’d hated to see his struggles while he’d slept, and to know that your lullaby had helped him to relax meant so much.

You wouldn’t tell him what you did, though, why would you? That would no doubt just cause an awkward situation between the two of you, so you decided it was best to keep quiet about that, at least for now. What would be the point in bringing it up, anyways?

Another thought occurred then, and you recalled Arthur crying out that single name in his sleep last night.

John.

You couldn’t help but wonder what his dream might have been about, who or what had caused him so much pain that he would struggle so much in his sleep. Who was John? What memories did Arthur hold in his mind about this person? Had this man been an enemy? A friend? Family?

You wanted so badly to ask him, but you weren’t quite sure you should, unwilling to risk raising any more pain than he was already going through. No matter how curious you were, it was probably best to leave it alone for now.

But that name … there was no doubt it was going to stick in your head for quite a while, no matter how hard you would try to forget it. Curiosity just might kill this cat.

You watched as Arthur finished the last bite of the honeyed biscuit and placed the empty plate on the nightstand. “Thanks for that, Y/N. That was delicious.” His compliment on your food made you smile as he leaned back on the couch.

Against your better judgement, you allowed yourself to take in his form. Red somehow brought out the coloring in his skin even more, the weathered and scarred parts of him giving away the rough life he’d no doubt led.

The silence in the room seemed to stretch on forever, and you couldn’t help but worry about the day ahead. “Arthur?”

He turned his head to look at you, those sapphire-emerald eyes gazing into yours as he lifted a brow, “Hm?”

You lowered your eyes, unable to concentrate on what you needed to say when those eyes of his seemed to burn right through you. “So … you and Austin are leaving today.” You stated it as fact, but you couldn’t help the worry laced in your tone, and he seemed to pick up on it.

Those thick brows lowered, and the corner of his lips lifted into a small smile. “Don’t you worry about that now,” he said, his voice soft, his deep drawl somehow soothing your troubled nerves. “I ain’t gonna let you brother do anything stupid.”

His words had you letting out a small laugh, but then you absorbed their meaning. “It’s not him I’m worried about, Arthur.” You admitted. His smile faltered at that, and you blushed. “I’m sorry, I don’t doubt your skills or anything like that. I just don’t want somethin’ bad happening to you.”

A few seconds passed, and then he nodded, “I understand that, Y/N. But don’t fret none, you hear? We ain’t gonna be doing nothin’ more than tracking, I’ll make sure of that. If we come across any trouble I’m sure your brother will take care of it just fine.”

He said that last sentence as if you didn’t remember how clearly skilled Arthur was with a gun? The memory of him shooting that jackrabbit in the bushes with so little effort ran through your mind again, and Arthur must’ve been able to tell what you were thinking, because he let out a deep laugh, throwing his head back against the back of the couch. Once his mirth faded, he lifted his head back up to look at you again, “We’’ll be alright, honey.”

You couldn’t help but give a small smile. Your worry did seem a little silly, even though you couldn’t really help it. “So what exactly are you planning to do today?” You asked.

Arthur gave a final chuckle and let out a sigh, turning his head to meet your gaze, “You mean with Austin, right?”

You nodded.

“Well,” he sat up, stretching his legs as he lifted his arms and rolled his shoulders once more. “You said we can’t go no more than two miles from here, but that should be plenty of ground to give your brother a chance to learn a few important things about huntin’.” He scratched his neck with the back of his thumb, “Can’t really believe your brother even asked me at all.”

You couldn’t help another short laugh escape, and you covered your mouth with your palm as Arthur looked at you again. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I know. I’m not laughing at you, but you’re right.” You lowered your hand back down to your lap, “Austin has a lot of pride, so it no doubt took him a lot to swallow it in order to ask you.”

Arthur huffed, “Yeah, well, I did offer first. Ain’t no turnin’ back now.”

You gave a small nod, “He’s never been the best at huntin’, let alone handling a rifle or bow. It’s why it takes him so long whenever he goes out on his trips.”

He narrowed his eyes, as if he were in deep thought. “Does he travel very far? While he’s huntin’?”

You thought about that for a moment. “I don’t think so. I’ve never really thought about that so I never asked, but he always returns within a few hours.”

Arthur gave a small nod, running his fingers through his chestnut-brown hair. “Well, it’s real important when you go huntin’ that you travel far to really quiet areas, far away from any loud noises or signs of civilization. Animals don’t really like living too close to us, especially anything large like deer. When you’re out in the wild, there’s much more chance of findin’ and killin’ what you need.”

You couldn’t help but look at him quizzically then, wondering how he knew all this, especially when things like general stores existed. What did he mean by ‘out in the wild’? Again, what kind of life had he lived? “Exactly how much huntin’ have you done, Arthur?” You asked, unable to hold back the awe in your tone.

He let out a small chuckle, a smile stretching his lips as he rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “Enough. Hopefully your brother is a quick learner. I ain’t a man with much patience when it comes to teachin’, I figure.”

His attempt at humor had you smiling again. Was he, though? You couldn’t help but imagine him trying to teach your brother anything. Austin was never known to be a good student. Every time you had ever tried to teach him something about herbs or gardening, he was never a good listener. Then again, you probably couldn’t blame him for not being interested in plants, big bad man that he was.

A picture played out in your head, and you laughed inwardly when you thought of Austin giving Arthur a hard time as he tried to teach him something, anything. “I’m pretty sure you could get him to listen, Arthur.” You teased, referring to his intimidating nature. You were rewarded with another handsome grin and deep laugh.

“As long as your brother ain’t that much of an idiot, he’ll be just fine.” He teased back. You joined in his laughter, and the two of you sat there for a while afterwards, lost in your own thoughts.

A few minutes passed, and finally you stood to your feet. “All the clothes finished drying on the clothesline this morning, I folded yours and placed them in the wash room for you when you’re ready to change.” You said, gesturing with a pointed finger towards the small hallway.

He gave you a grateful nod, “Thanks, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, Arthur.” You said with a smile as you reached around him to grab the empty plate. Heading into the kitchen you got started on cleaning up the mess leftover from cleaning. It took about fifteen minutes to clean, clear, and toss everything, so when you came back into the living room Arthur was gone. You looked around and saw him through the window sitting on the porch swing, wearing his normal clothes

He appeared to be lost in thought: His head was turned away, his gaze looking over towards the stream. It was another clear and beautiful day, so the sun shined brightly across the landscape, the water and lush flora reflecting the sparkling light.

You studied his features through the glass, and you couldn’t help but notice the pain that clearly showed on his face now.

Since he didn’t know you were there, you figured, he wasn’t bothering to hide his emotions, no doubt thinking about his past again. As you watched him, his eyes were narrowed, his brows lowered in a hard grimace as he lifted a hand to rub it across his face, letting out a hard sigh.

You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking about. Was he thinking if his past? His future? Austin’s words rang in your head at that moment, “Arthur’s probably not going to stay with us forever.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, unwilling to dwell on that terrible thought. You didn’t want to think about Arthur leaving. For some reason, it was just completely unbearable to imagine him no longer being here. Even though he barely knew you, and you barely knew him, it was a feeling you couldn’t explain. A feeling of loss, of sadness. To lose him, it would be like losing a piece of your heart. But why?

You shook your head to clear the thought, forcing your lips to lift in a smile as you stepped outside onto the porch to join him. “Hey, Arthur,” you said, trying to sound cheerful, “You alright?”

He turned his head to look at you, and the raw emotion that was displayed there earlier seemed to fade away as he looked at you. “Hey there, honey, you ready for the day now?”

You noticed he hadn’t really answered you question, but you decided to let it go as you walked over to the one of the wooden beams and leaned onto it, facing Arthur as you crossed your arms over your chest. “Sure am, but I’m still worried about you and Austin, of course.” Arthur glared teasingly at you, his eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to say something, but you held your hand up. “Don’t even try,” you said with a small laugh, “nothing you say is going to make me feel better until you guys are back here safe and sound.”

He let out a deep chuckle, those eyes of his now sparkling with amusement, “If you say so.”

A long moment passed, and you sighed, “So just tracking. Right, Arthur?”

The big man let out another laugh, “You’re too much, you know that?” Arthur lifted a hand to scratch at his chin, “You just said I can’t say nothin’ to make you feel better.”

You rolled your eyes, more to yourself than at him, “I know.”

Then you looked closer, noticing he was scratching those small scars on his chin, and you couldn’t help but display your curiosity. “How did you get those? The scars.”

His fingers stilled, and he ran his thumb over the thick healed tissue, “You mean these?”

You nodded.

Arthur smiled, leaning back against the porch swing, “Can’t say I remember, it’s been so many years. But, I think you can say I got it in a huntin’ accident.”

You narrowed your eyes, and you couldn’t help the sourness that laced your tone, “Really, Arthur?”

He let out another laugh, clearly entertained at your reaction. “It was long ago, Y/N, I was young and stupid.”

“And you aren’t still?” You couldn’t help but ask, and your words made him laugh even harder.

“I guess you’re right.” He rubbed his throat, his fingers pressing into the skin, “You wouldn’t happen to have a … well, a cigarette, would you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him again. “Arthur, I’m sorry, but the last thing you need right now is a cigarette.” You couldn’t help the worry you felt display on your face, letting your brows draw down in a somber expression, “Your body doesn’t need that right now. Especially your lungs, they still have a lot of healing to do.”

He rubbed at his chest, lowering his gaze to the wooden boards of the porch. “If you say so.” He sounded disappointed, but he didn’t seem to have the energy to argue with you, as if he knew you were right, his health was more important at this time than a simple smoke. “I’ll never understand how you did it, honestly.” He said, taking in a large inhale as if he were still trying to absorb the fact that he could finally take deep breaths without damn well collapsing.

“I don’t think I ever told you this, but I had to stick a tube down your throat.”

It was meant to surprise him out of whatever dark state he was in, and indeed it did as he froze, his eyes suddenly widening, silence stretching between you two. You were looking to shock him with that sudden fact being thrown out, an attempt to distract him from whatever misery he was feeling.

“You did what?” His deep voice raised at the last word, nearly cracking. His astonishment more than clear on his face, those thick brows of his raised til the wrinkles on his forehead were displayed.

“Well,” you said, dragging out the word with a slight tease in your tone in an effort to lighten the mood. “When we took you in, I had to wash your lungs out, so to speak.”

He squinted, as if he thought he hadn’t heard you right. “The hell?” He muttered, his voice sounded raspy as if he could barely use it to speak.

Your attempt at distracting him from his dark thoughts had worked, and you continued, “By the time we brought you here, I knew what you had. So the next thing I had to do was use a certain special tool.” You lifted your hands and held them far apart to give a better idea. “A long tube, it had to go in your throat so the medicine could wash through your lungs.”

He flinched, a groan escaping his throat as he dragged out his next words as if he were being tortured. “Please stop now.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle at his slightly uncomfortable reaction, he’d even lifted one of his big hands to shield his face from your gaze, “Well, it had to be done. It worked, didn’t it?” You teased.

He couldn’t help but return your smile, those rough lips lifting at the corners. Though his own didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “I know.” He admitted under his breath, then he let out a groan, “Just wish you hadn’t told me that bit.”

You grinned, almost letting out another burst of laughter. You decided to change the subject to ease up on him. “While you two are gone I’m gonna care for my garden for a while, do a few things that need to be done with some of the plants,” you turned your head to look out at the stream, “Then I’m thinking about trying some more of that fishing again.”

Arthur lifted his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “You sure you got the hang of that, then?” He asked, his expression lifting in amusement.

You shrugged. “Probably, but a little bit more practice never hurts, right?”

He let out a sharp huff. “Can’t argue with that,” Arthur agreed gruffly, acknowledging your statement with a single nod as he straightened on the swing, then he added, “Just make sure you don’t poke yourself again.”

You glared at him, but you couldn’t help another smile, “You just had to remind me of that, huh?”

He lifted those huge shoulders in a shrug, “You can say it’s a little revenge for teasing me, s’all.”

You nodded with another laugh. “Uh-huh, sure.”

At that moment, Austin came over from the stables, carrying an empty chicken feed sack. “Mornin’, fellers,” he said cheerfully as he draped the thick canvas cloth over the porch fence.

“Mornin’ to ya,” Arthur said, his deep drawl heavy and direct. His expression was now vacant, the earlier amused emotion gone from his face now, as if absolutely nothing had just been exchanged between the two of you.

His sudden somber attitude had you a little confused, and you didn’t know what to think of it. What had happened to the teasing man you had just spent the last several moments with? You turned to face your brother, brushing it aside for now “Morning, Austin. The animals all taken care of?”

“They should be all set for today.” He replied, brushing the dust and the dirt off his pants that he had gathered from the stables. “We’ll be borrowing Lily today, if that’s alright?”

You nodded, “That’s fine, I know you’ll take good care of her.”

“You ready to learn how to track then?” Arthur asked.

Austin smiled and gave a nod, “Absolutely, real excited to learn somethin’ new for once,” he confessed.

Arthur stood to his feet, “We should get started, then. Sun’s only up for so long,” he said.

Austin nodded in agreement, “Yeah, I’ll go get Lily. Would you mind carrying a few things over to the wagon while I attach her? They’re by the steps.” He said, pointing towards a large bag and a few other supplies.

“Sure,” Arthur said with a nod.

You couldn’t help but notice the way he said that word. ‘Shoah.’

Your heart nearly skipped as you realized the moment of Arthur and Austin finally leaving was fast-approaching. The thought of soon being alone for the day was strange and uncomfortable, even though you still couldn’t explain why. You’d been alone for three years whenever Austin went out to hunt, but after having Arthur here for the last four weeks, it was hard to imagine living here otherwise, even for a single day. What was it about him that drew you him? That made you feel like you could no longer imagine being alone, especially without him?

“Let me help you, Arthur.” You said suddenly, shaking yourself out of your thoughts by heading over to the supplies and lifting a couple of the bags alone with a large jug of water.

“You don’t have to do that, Y/N,” Arthur said as he walked over and grabbed the larger bag, he threw it over his shoulder and reached out to try to take the rest of the bags from you.

You backed away, avoiding his big hands, “I know, but I want to,” you said firmly. And with that, you headed over to the wagon with the bag straps slung over your shoulders, carrying the large jug of water with both hands. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel Arthur’s gaze on you. Whether from surprise or something else, though, you couldn’t tell.

You walked over to the stables with Arthur following closely behind you, and after reaching the wagon you went around to the back and placed the supplies into it, Arthur joining in next to you as he set the large bag down along with the others. You turned to face him as you both stepped away from the wagon. The silence seemed to stretch on forever, and tension suddenly started to grow in the air between you.

Finally you couldn’t hold back any longer.

Turning off your mind before you could change it, you threw yourself forward, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, right before placing your lips directly onto his.

Warmth.

Arthur’s warmth, it was all you could feel, all you allowed yourself to feel in that moment. His lips were so soft and rough at the same time, and his large body was completely still under your touch. But after a short moment, you felt his arms wrap around you as he deepened the kiss, tilting his head to gain better access as you felt him breathe through his nose, the hot air hitting your cheek as he exhaled.

Honestly, a part of you had expected and feared that he would pull away, and you thanked the sun and stars above that he didn’t.

•••••

Arthur didn’t know how to react at first, her unexpected action having completely taken him by surprise.

But his surprise quickly faded as he absorbed Y/N’s touch and fell right into her embrace, allowing himself to wrap his arms around her smaller form as he lost himself into the kiss. Even though the intimate contact was the last thing he’d expected, he wasn’t about to allow such a sweet moment pass him by so quickly without taking advantage of it.

Lifting his hand to the back of her neck, he stroked the loose strands of her soft hair between his calloused fingers, relishing how silky they felt against his coarse skin. But the feeling he cared for most at this very moment was her remarkable lips. Damn, he’d missed the sweet taste of them against his own, and he didn’t hold back, savoring them even further as he opened his mouth to run his tongue along her delicious entrance.

She let out a soft moan, her lips parting from the sound and he took it another step further, pushing his tongue into her mouth. He met her tongue with his own, and he couldn’t help the deep groan that escaped his throat at the sweet sensation. What the hell was he doing, Arthur thought, feeling like an idiot having fallen for another woman all over again. Dammit, what was even the point? He knew deep down that he wasn’t worthy of having anyone love him, and he had no doubt in his mind that once Y/N found out about his past, who he’d been, she would instantly turn tail and run without a second thought.

He squeezed his eyes shut, chasing those dark thoughts away and distracting himself by running his burly hands down her body, engaging his mind in every way he could on the feeling of her heat beneath his touch. There was just something about Y/N that drew him to her, her sweet nature, her kind gestures, her delicate but tough behavior.

Arthur couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t feel the need to during this moment.

Y/N let out another low moan as she lifted a hand and ran her fingers through his thick hair, jousting her tongue with his own, pushing her body even tighter against his. He barely resisted the need to grind himself against her body, and she made a small hiss when he suddenly squeezed her hips hard, pulling her lips slightly away from his. “Arthur … ”

There it was. His name on her lips, said with such a deep passion and arousal that it nearly made Arthur want to take her then and there.

And if it wasn’t for her brother barging in, he damn well might have.

“Everythin’ all ready to go?”

Arthur jerked away from her lips with a deep growl, reluctantly pulling himself away and breaking the intimate embrace as Y/N stepped back as well, giving off the impression that they hadn’t actually just been kissing the daylights out of each other.

Austin came out of the stables leading Lily over to the wagon to strap her to the front of the coach. “She’s all set, sorry it took so long. Had to make sure she was fed and brushed for the long day ahead.” He explained as he began tightening the leather straps around the large horse’s body.

Arthur couldn’t help but glare at your brother, and he heard Y/N let out another small giggle, no doubt amused by his annoyed expression. “That’s fine, Austin.” She said, and she almost laughed even harder when Arthur shot that look directly at her. “I’m sorry, Arthur and I were just exchangin’ a few funny jokes.”

Arthur lifted a dark brow at her, entertained by how seamless her lie was.

“Oh?” Austin came over to them, crossing his arms over his chest as he gave off a large smile, “What was one of the jokes?”

For a heartbeat Arthur thought the brother was about to find them out, but Y/N beat him to the punch … so to speak. “Well, Arthur here just explained to me what a Ring Dang Doo is,” she stated flawlessy, as if it were absolute fact. She gave off a smile, humor glowing off her expression as she tucked a finger into her hair, curling at a few loose strands as if she were completely shy and embarrassed by the new knowledge. “I never could quite figure that out before.”

Austin’s eyes widened, then he narrowed them at Arthur. “Y’all mean the song?” He asked, his voice low, “Really, now?”

She rolled her eyes at her brother, “Oh, hush, Austin. I was the one who asked him.”

He looked back over at her and let out a sharp grunt, “Well, you shouldn’t be talking about such things, anyhow. Especially with another man.”

She stuck out her lower lip in a mocking pout. “Aww, but how was I supposed to know that’s what it meant?” She teased.

Austin let out a long sigh, leaning his head back to look up at the sky. “I guess,” he grudgingly agreed. “Just be a little bit more careful next time before you make us both die of embarrassment, you hear?” And with that he turned to the wagon and climbed into the driver’s seat, grabbing his worn cavalry hat from the small storage unit beneath the seat and placing it on his head.

“Oh, that reminds me!”  Y/N said, turning away to rush toward the cabin, shouting over her shoulder just before she headed in. “Wait there just a moment!”

A few moments passed, and Arthur could feel Austin’s quizzical gaze on him. Where was a damn lasso when he needed one?

Y/N came back outside and headed over with something in her hand. Arthur narrowed his eyes at what she was holding — a hat?

“Here,” she said, holding it out to him when she reached them.

Arthur stared down at it, and memories instantly came flooding back, even though he couldn’t explain why. It was some kind of worn black-leather cowboy hat, a cross between a Gambler and a Carrigan. A braided brown leather band was wrapped around it, and … a large owl feather was tucked securely into the braid.

The thing was beautiful, he had to admit, and it reminded him a lot of his father’s hat. The one he’d given to John before … well, before that whole shit-show had gone down.

“This was our grandfather’s before he passed.” Y/N explained as she held it out to him, and she looked down as she said her next words, a soft smile on her lips, though it didn’t even begin to reach her eyes. “He didn’t exactly lead the best life when he was alive, but — ” she shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, “Well, you could say he was a wanderer of sorts … Anyways, I never really had any plans on using it, so … ”

She lifted it up — and placed it directly on Arthur’s head.

The feeling of rough leather over the crown of his head again nearly had Arthur dazed, the sight of a dark wide brim shielding his eyes from the harsh light so familiar it was almost too much for his mind to bear. “Y/N, you didn’t have to — ”

She shook her head, “I insist. It’s just going to gather dust otherwise. You need somethin’ to protect your eyes from the sun, alright?” Her voice was firm, as if she were trying to convince both of them that this was really happening, then she let out a small laugh as she patted the top of the hat, “So if I hear you took it off, I will beat you myself, got it?” She said teasingly.

Arthur couldn’t help but let out a deep laugh at her attempt at humor. “Alright then, darlin’, if you say so.” With that, he reached up and tugged the brim down slightly, giving her the classic cowboy salute.

He was rewarded for his action with another beautiful smile. “You men are too much sometimes,” she tittered, then she reached out and grabbed his shoulder gently, turning him towards the wagon, “Now you two go and conquer the huntin’ grounds, before I change my mind.”

Arthur let her lead him to the other side of the coach, and he climbed up next to Austin.

Y/N smiled up at them as Austin cracked the reins, getting Lily to start moving forward. She waved as they started down the trail into the forest, and Austin and Arthur waved back.

“Please be safe!” She called out after them as they disappeared into the thick trees.

Arthur smiled to himself, lifting a hand to stroke the rough leathered brim of his new hat. A gift to him, from Y/N herself.

For some reason he couldn’t explain, he heard a soft lullaby play deep inside his mind as they travelled further and further away.

…..

The day is done, the time has come.

You battled hard, the war is won.

You did your worst, you tried your best …

… Now, it’s time to rest.

…..

•••••

— To Be Continued

#unshaken #chapter 9 #part 9 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #slow burn #romance #arthur morgan #fanfic #red dead fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #red dead #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption imagine

[fleckcmscott]

Another Year

Summary: Arthur’s birthday is coming up. Y/N wants nothing more than to make it great.

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 3,892

A/N: This request came from the one-of-a-kind, fabulous @sweet-nothings04​! Thank you for asking for this. I enjoyed writing it a lot! 

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open! Keep them coming!

Y/N hadn't realized how much she'd missed putting together birthday celebrations. Not until the unexpected serendipity of falling in love again. Her ex-husband had preferred not to make a big deal of them, had stated he hated getting older. (Considering he'd been in his twenties, she'd found that assertion silly.) As her father had slipped away, special events and gifts had gone by the wayside to focus on routines that wouldn't throw him off kilter. She'd been invited to her sister's and brother-in-law's parties but had only stayed for the hour or two she'd hired a sitter. And while she wasn't the most attentive aunt, she always ensured her nephews and nieces at least got a card and money for a treat.

From what she'd gathered, birthdays had never been an important facet of Arthur's life. That had become obvious upon learning his was 11/21/1946 by reading documents instead of from him. When she'd discovered he'd turned thirty-five and hadn't even told her. But unlike her ex, it wasn't because he didn't want them to be. It was due to neglect, isolation, and the inability to connect. As much sympathy as she had for Penny, for her own illnesses and suffering, for what had been done to her, the wounds she'd inflicted on her son hurt Y/N’s heart. There were so many lost years. She was determined to make-up for them by spoiling him.

The diner where Patricia and she often met for lunch was halfway between their two offices. A five- or six-minute walk for them both. Y/N arrived first. She sat at the white and gold Formica counter and perused the menu. (Though she'd already decided to get her usual pastrami on wheat, garlic pickle, and coleslaw.) Patricia strolled in as the waitress jotted down Y/N's order, and told the young lady she'd have whatever Y/N was having.

They caught up quickly. The Wayne Foundation case was going to have a preliminary hearing in three weeks. Y/N couldn't have rolled her eyes harder. ("Thank god I won't be there. They'd have to drag me off the stand.") Patricia listened with interest while Y/N went on about a dispute involving break violations at Ace Chemicals. And Patricia invited her to stop by the office soon, claiming Matt had realized he'd been stupid to let her quit. ("I'm sure he misses me being a pain in his ass.")

Y/N was picking at the crust of her sandwich when she changed the subject. “I need a favor.”

Patricia arched a brow at her. “Is this going to involve me lugging boxes of files to your apartment?”

“Only if you want the workout.” Chuckling, Y/N shook her head. “Arthur’s birthday is next Saturday. You bake the best cakes. If I’m left to my own devices, he’s going to get something out of a Universal Foods’ box.”

“Mine are out of a box. I just modify the directions and make my own frosting.” Patricia used the rest of her bread to sop up her coleslaw’s dressing. “How old did you say he’s going to be? Thirty-five?”

“Thirty-six.”

Swallowing her last bite, Patricia quirked up the corner of her lips. “I still owe you for running those supplies to the office when my foot was broken. What kind does he like?”

Y/N hugged her tight across the shoulders. After a short discussion, they decided on chocolate with vanilla cream frosting - a safe choice. It would be small, since it was only for the two of them. Arthur had a job the day before. That would allow her to take it home without him seeing. She’d just have to keep him away from the fridge the rest of the evening.

They talked about the other things Y/N had in-store for him, the reservation, the gifts. She giggled, pleased at having successfully hidden it all from him so far. “You’re putting a lot of work into this,” Patricia said. “What did you do last year?”

“I didn’t know about it last year. He didn’t mention it.” Though Patricia was already aware of some of Arthur’s past, Y/N had kept the details to a minimum. She tried to think of an elaboration, one that respected his privacy but was honest. She started in on her pickle. “With Penny being sick - with everything he was going through...”

Sipping her coffee, Patricia spun her stool to face Y/N fully. “You don’t need to say anymore. I remember. It was hard for you both.”

The empathy in Patricia’s gaze prompted a smile. And reminded Y/N how grateful she was for a friend who was frank but unjudgmental. “Back then, he thought needing or wanting anything from me was a bother. But he’s getting better at letting me love him.” Y/N put a hand on her chest. “And now he’ll never need to mention it. It’s locked in here for good.”

~~~~~

Yesterday had left Arthur in a funk. One that showed signs of adhering to his brain the way flies had stuck to the tape he’d had to hang from the ceiling of his old apartment every spring. He’d spent close to twelve hours dancing and waving a “Store Closing! Everything 50-70% off!” placard in front of Dave’s Pleasure Emporium in Gotham Square. (The city must really be fucked if its denizens’ finances were shitty enough that adult shops were shutting down.) It had been his least favorite gig in months. But the slow season was coming on, and the pay had been decent.

The dull ache in his lower spine, radiating to his hip, had made it harder than usual to sleep. And soreness was seeping from familiar spots to sinews he’d forgotten were there. Even the tips of his toes hurt. Two more ibuprofen tablets and acetaminophen went down easily. Carefully, not wanting to rouse her, he removed Y/N’s hand from his stomach, wincing as he shifted onto his left side to alleviate the pressure on his right.

Thirty-five was too old for this. While he loved performing for children, he should have made it as a comic by now. And he should have finished school. He’d be able to do more than be on his feet all day, then. Have more options. Opportunities...

Or maybe he simply shouldn’t have taken that particular job.

The ability to stop catastrophizing, adjust his way of thinking, was new. And rare. He made a mental note to write today’s accomplishment in his journal and share it at his next appointment. The therapist would be impressed with him. Dozing, he thought his funk might abate after all.

It could have been five or fifty minutes later when he felt the comforter being dragged down. Heard the zip of the shades being rolled up. But he was in that snug state between wakefulness and slumber and refused to react. Then there was a pinch on his chin, a light weight on his scalp. “What are you doing?” he mumbled gravelly.

“It’s someone’s special day today,” Y/N said.

Oh. That’s right. He was thirty-six now.

Squinting in the bright sunlight filtering through their sheer curtains, he propped himself on his forearm. She was half-reclined next to him, draped in a short, black nightdress. The one she found a tad tawdry but he liked. He rubbed his eyes, his forehead. Thin cardboard stopped him when he reached his hair. His fingers followed it, found it tapered into a point.

A party hat. She’d gotten him a party hat. He couldn’t hold back his snort.

In his line of work, birthdays were for kids. He’d stopped caring about his own as a teenager. Penny had seemingly been glad he was around. But she never remembered. Hell, he’d had to remind her of her own. But the last acknowledgment of it, the last one before meeting Y/N, had been by a teacher. He’d gotten an extra five minutes of recess and escaped punishment for inappropriate laughter for the day.

This was his first birthday with a person who saw and loved him. Understood who he was. Knew he was more than some image projected onto him. A person who appeared thrilled he existed and to be in his life. As a husband. Every sit-com and film he’d watched had clued him in: wives deemed them important. They hid gifts, cooked special meals, sneaked around arranging parties. There hadn’t been any sneaking on Y/N’s part, none that he could detect. He wondered what she could have planned.

The kneading of her thumb in the hollow of his hip, briefs slung too low as usual, gave him a good idea of her plan for this morning. The entangling of their legs confirmed it. “I got donuts. Coffee’s ready.”

“You, um-“ He cleared his throat, closed his eyes at the brush of her thigh against his length. Which was getting harder with each touch of her lips to the crook of his neck. “You didn’t make breakfast?”

“No.” Her chuckle was throaty, full of desire. “I wasn’t going to torture you with burnt eggs.” She was pulling at his biceps, trying to get him to settle over her. “Let’s work up your appetite, Mr. Fleck.”

But he flinched and halted her movements. The painkillers hadn't kicked in yet. His muscles burned. "We'll get to it later," he promised between languid, lingering kisses. The kind that made him feel safe. Loved. Famished for her. She guided him onto his stomach, stroked him affectionately. Breaths mingling, they chatted lazily until they both cooled off.

Once his stomach started rumbling, Y/N insisted they get up, despite his protestations that he wasn't hungry. That staying under the covers with her for hours would be fun. That they could eat in bed, crumbs be damned. His back would get worse if he continued laying like that, she told him. He needed to stretch and move. Although he grumbled, his experiences with injuries, whether from overwork, assholes, or sleeping on a couch most of his life, had taught him she was right.

Following a cigarette on the fire escape, he went to the kitchen, grabbed a mug, and did a double-take at the round table in the dining nook. He approached it in disbelief. He tensed as he ran his hand along the rectangular gifts and their shiny red paper. Squeezed the puffy, tan winter coat. Fingered the silver ribbon tied to the chair, dangling from an aluminum helium balloon. The lump in his throat forced a short laugh. But he didn't cover his mouth, not having to hide from her. He shook his head, wiping at the sudden wetness in his eyes. "All this is for me?" He did his best to sound normal.

"No. They're for my other husband, Carnival." She came behind him, hugged him around his torso and splayed her fingers on his chest. "You may have met him. Has a penchant for making balloon animals? Wears pants with the cutest patch on his bottom?" He grasped her forearm, held her tight to him as his shoulders shook with mirth.

It wasn't yet eight o'clock. And the day was already shaping up to be one of his favorites.

~~~~~

At the vanity on Arthur's side of the bed, Y/N was attempting to create the perfect oval eye with brown liner. The wide smile creeping onto her face wasn't making it easy. But it couldn't be helped. Everything had gone wonderfully so far. Had more than met her expectations. She hoped his had been met, too.

She'd been badgering him to get a winter coat since last Christmas. (His teeth had chattered almost the entire time they'd stood outside to watch Gotham's Christmas parade. The hot chocolate from a vendor hadn't done much good. A long bath had been necessary to finally warm him up.) The one she'd picked out fit him well, and he'd seemed to like it, hanging it by the door next to his tan jacket. And she'd known he was attached to his trusty, foil razor. But it was over fifteen years old, taped together, and on its way out. The new one had a rechargeable battery. He wouldn't be tethered to the outlet over the sink if he wanted to move around a bit.

The twitch of his nostrils, his hitched breath as he'd whispered, "Thank you," had compelled her to kneel next to his chair. The poignancy of his reaction had affected her keenly. Hollowed out her core and filled it with compassion and love. He'd frowned and wiped his nose with the back of his knuckles. "Sorry," he'd scoffed, glistening eyes darting to hers. "I don't mean to be weird."

"You're not, Arthur." She'd gently removed his black and red polka-dotted party hat, set it on the table. "You're being you."

After a quick lunch, they'd leisurely strolled arm-in-arm through the neighborhood, including a visit to the nearby park. Arthur had wanted to stop into the used record shop three or four blocks away. She'd caressed up and down his back, observing his content visage as he flipped through the LPs. It was lovely to see him treat himself to a couple without hesitating to worry about the cost for too long. At home, he'd settled on the floor by the record player and put them on. He must have been feeling better, because he'd kept his earlier promise: they'd made love on the carpet. Unhurried, sweet, and giggling like idiots.

The opening of the bathroom door broke her out of her reverie. She started blotting her darker-than-usual red lipstick with a tissue. "It was nice of Patricia to get me aftershave," he said.

She smoothed the lines of her champagne color, mid-length dress, adjusted its petal sleeves, then twisted around just as he entered the bedroom. Her movements halted. Would his handsomeness, his beauty, ever fail to stun her? Gaze roaming his slender form, she stared at him. He'd only worn his black and brown oxfords seldomly, saving them for special occasions. The wrinkled white socks didn't match his black pants, but they paired well with him.

It was the teal button-up, patterned with white circles of various opacities and sizes, that caused her to need a few seconds to process his remark. It'd hung in the corner of his old living room; she'd eyed it in their closet since he'd moved in. It was such a contrast to his usual conservative clothing. Quite unlike him, she'd assumed. But seeing him standing there in it, the way it complimented his lithe figure and brought out the light green of his irises, made him look a little less withdrawn, she realized she'd been mistaken.

"She thought it'd suit your new shaver." He gave a gentle hum in response, bashful smile appearing. Such gestures were unfamiliar to him. Eventually, they'd become such an integral part of his life he'd grow tired of them. Y/N would make sure of that. The idea prompted a grin and she stepped around the bed to approach him. "You look great. Are you ready?"

“Yeah.” The crook of his mouth, the furrow of his forehead alerted her to his nervousness. He rubbed the back of his neck, flitted his look to hers. “It sounds fancy.”

She kissed him soundly and he eased into her embrace. “You don’t have to impress me,” she said. “You already did that. Use whichever fork you want.”

The restaurant was in Gotham’s Little Italy district, only a block or two from Chinatown. Y/N had never been to Bamonte’s but her colleagues had given it good reviews. (One had said he and his wife went there every anniversary.) Arthur gaped when they went inside. She watched him survey the lavish, red curtains decorating the walls; the dim lanterns suspended from the ceiling; the faux-marble floor. Huffing, he turned to her, concern clear on his face. She grasped his elbow. “It’s all right. You belong here as much as anyone else.”

The maitre’d led them to a secluded table, behind its own drawn back drapes in the rear corner of the smoking section. Arthur traced the edges of the three lit, tulip-shaped votive holders. Caressed the cream color tablecloth as he sat in the fabric covered chair. An anxious chuckle left him and he smoothed his palm over his thigh. “I hope I don’t spill anything.”

Y/N assisted Arthur with the menu, explaining some of the more exotic-to-him dishes. He was interested in the antipasto, which wasn’t unexpected, since he always kept a jar of olives in the fridge. The gnocchi with tomatoes, spinach, fresh basil, and mozzarella was what he thought sounded best. She chose an old favorite, chicken in a mushroom and white wine sauce and a Caesar salad on the side. Arthur picked the least expensive Moscato on the wine list. When the bottle was opened and left on the table, he blinked at it, then shrugged and filled their glasses.

After a couple of sips, he crossed his legs and puffed on his cigarette. “I wrote a new joke. Well, I really just changed an old one.” He reached across the table to graze across the back of her hand. “Why didn’t the old man like having insomnia?”

Her eyelids fluttered, his gossamer touch setting her aflame. She ran her toes along his calf, his resulting twitch causing her to giggle in delight. “He wanted to sleep with his wife?”

Dark brows shot up in surprise, his eyes lighting up. Their fingers laced together. “How did you know?”

Leaning forward, she traced his crow's feet, prominent due to his beaming smile. Then her touch drifted to his jawline. “It was the first joke you ever told me," she murmured. "How could I forget?” Clutching her hand, he pressed a kiss to her wrist. He held her to his lips, hard enough to feel his teeth. And he grew quiet. “What is it?” she asked after a minute.

His eyelids shut. She could feel his pulse quicken together with hers. “I- I wanna sleep with you forever,” he breathed.

Out of anyone else’s mouth, she would have taken that to mean sex. From him, however, she knew it meant mountains more. Adoration welling in her chest, her fingertips weaved into his loose, chestnut curls. “You will.”

~~~~~

Once, in high school, Arthur had gotten a hold of some grass. It was supposed to induce giddiness and euphoria, make a person relax. God knows he could have used it back then; Penny had started declining and he’d had to learn to run a household. Plus, he’d thought at the time, it’d make him one of the guys. All the cool kids were doing it. Maybe he’d be able to connect with one and learn how to be popular. But all it had done was make him nauseous and paranoid. There hadn’t been one iota of the “high” he’d imagined. He’d thrown it out and never tried it again.

Now he wondered: was it possible to be high on a person? To be drunk on their presence? To feel their essence down to the cell? Necking on the sofa with Y/N, their coffee forgotten on the coffee table, he figured it must be. Enraptured, he wanted to capture her ragged breaths, take her into his lungs, make her a perpetual part of his being. Perhaps he’d stay happy naturally, then, like everyone else. Even if that didn’t work, she’d always be close.

Giggling, she pushed him off her and headed towards the kitchen. “Wait here. No peeking.”

Laughing softly, Arthur pushed his hair out of his face. She’d already gotten him gifts. Let him make love to her. Taken him to an eatery where he was totally out of place and managed to make it comfortable. What else could she possibly do? Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long. He eagerly followed at the call of his name.

The loveliest cake he’d ever seen was on the counter. Dark chocolate shavings embellished its round border. And it was the perfect size for the two of them. Y/N was rushing to light a mass of candles on it. “Quick, make a wish before wax drips onto the frosting.”

He mused for a moment. He no longer needed to pine for daydreams and delusions of companionship - he had Y/N. In spite of the icons his mother had had in every room of their apartment, he’d long ago stopped praying to what he suspected was nothing for his conditions and illnesses to go away. Then it occurred to him. Bending to blow out the candles, he wished for his innate comedic gifts to be recognized. To be validated as the stand-up he knew he was. And to provide for Y/N. To be what she needed. To make her happy.

Although he was grateful for Patricia’s thoughtfulness, and he knew Y/N’s baking wasn’t better than his own, part of him had wanted her to be the one who made the cake. But he tried to push that aside and appreciate it regardless. The slice she gave him was far too generous. He ate it all, anyway, because it was delicious. The sponge was fluffy. And the chocolate could actually be detected, instead of a vague, sugary flavor. The frosting tasted finer than that on the grocery store bakery cupcakes he’d sampled in the past.

As he was rinsing off the cutlery, Y/N saddled up beside him and held out a bright purple envelope, inscribed with “Happy Birthday!” in her pretty longhand. He leaned his hip against the counter as he grasped it, intentionally brushing his hand against hers. Gingerly, he lifted the flap and pulled out the card.

The cardstock was a vibrant gold and white. Two mugs, one green and labeled, “Yours,” one pink and labeled, “Mine” sat on sketched coasters. The shiny purple letters underneath proclaimed, “You get me. I get you.” Pressing his thin lips together, he opened it. And sighed when he read the rest: “Hope you know how happy that makes me.”

One of his wishes had already come true.

The elation coursing through his veins made him shudder. He nearly missed the stiff papers that fell from the envelope. Y/N retrieved them and gently placed them in his palm. A wide smile spread across his cheeks as he read aloud. “‘Gotham Pops presents A Night with Gershwin?’” He double-checked the date. “These are for New Year’s Eve.”

She nodded. “I snagged them as soon as they went on sale. They’re orchestra seats.” Then she squeezed him flush to her side, bumped her nose to his. “Don’t think I haven’t heard you sing to yourself in the tub.”

“Oh,” he chuckled, eyes tracing the diamond pattern of the grey, linoleum floor. “I thought I was quieter.”

“I’m glad you weren’t.” Enthusiastically, her lips pulled at his before she grinned up at him. “Did you have a happy birthday? Was it worth getting older?”

Arthur’s answer came without delay. “Yes.” There wasn’t a way to explain what it meant to him, to explain that she helped him feel good to be alive. How full his heart was. That she patched cracks in his soul he hadn’t known existed. He longed to do the same for her. He cupped her jaw on either side, guiding her to his mouth and rasping, “I don’t mind getting older with you.”

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @howdylilflower​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​ @fallenstarsabyss​ @gruffle1​ @octopus-plasma​ @tsukiakarinobara​ @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​ @jokerownsmysoul​

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

[the-mill-kat]

“Unshaken” Chapter 9

At long last! It’s finally here, y’all. I’m so so so sorry it took so long, my imagination’s gears ain’t turnin’ right! I hope this is to your liking. Your likes and comments are what keep me going, so thank you for all your love and support, partners. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

P.S. Seriously, partners, your feedback is so crucially important, it is the lifeblood to this story. So please, let me know your thoughts, alright? Don’t be shy!

Masterlist

[Drawing specially requested, art by @tylerzart​]

Summary: You save a mysterious man who is dying on a mountain. Finding out he has Tuberculosis, you use your knowledge and skills with herbs and natural remedies to save him from death and help nurse him back to health. As he slowly starts to recover, you can’t help but wonder: Who is this man? Why had you found him the way that you did, beaten and ill? Only time, patience … and perhaps love … will tell.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was well past midnight, and the crickets were now singing their sweet familiar melody for everyone and everything to hear. The stars above were bright and colorful in the sky, reds and greens mixing with blues and purples. The full moon provided plenty of soft blue light across the landscape, the canopies of the trees casting shadows on the ground from the moonlight.

The small night wind felt cool against your skin as you sat near the stream in a small chair, hunched over a small metal tub as you scrubbed one of Austin’s shirts against the washboard. All the while you hummed to yourself lightly, as if you were adding your own musical notes to the crickets’ song.

Finally you reached over to grab the last piece of clothing that you needed to wash, which was Arthur’s blue long-sleeve shirt. The fabric was extremely worn and weathered, dark dirt stains marked in several areas, especially in the front where two large stains on either side were plain as day.

Truthfully you’d been taking your time washing the clothes, unable to help but worry what the next day was going to possibly bring. You weren’t even sure if you were even going to be able to sleep tonight with such troubling thoughts racing through your mind.

You shook your head as you began scrubbing Arthur’s shirt, soaking it in the soapy water as you ran it across the washboard. You scrubbed the cloth hard, trying to wash the dirt stains on the front of the blue shirt, but no matter how hard you tried they refused to come off, and you couldn’t help but wonder how long they’d been there — what they were from? But you weren’t going to ask, that was just none of your business.

All you could do was tell yourself that everything would be alright, and you had to trust both of them that they were going to be safe. You had no idea why you were worried so much, knowing that Austin left on his own all the time only to come back safe and sound.

But this felt different somehow … You knew that Arthur was still sick, both physically and slightly mentally, and that fact alone had you feeling on edge. Austin had never brought anyone along on his hunting trips, and the only times you ever rode out with him was to study and search for new herbs, though those trips were few and far between.

That last thought suddenly brought another: What would have happened if you hadn’t decided to travel with Austin that night? Arthur would have … You flinched, refusing to think about such a horrible thought a second longer.

He was here, alive … safe, and that was all that mattered now.

Finally finished with washing all of the clothes, you stood up and walked over to the clothesline by the garden, getting to work on hanging up all the wet garments onto the wires. The wind was quite strong tonight, so there was no doubt they would be dry and ready by morning.

Minutes later you were clipping the last piece of clothing to the line, and you turned and picked up the now empty bin, propping it on one of the outer walls of the cabin. Next you went over to the tub, emptying the soapy water onto the rocks near the stream, then came back and propped it next to the other bin.

You wiped your hands on your jeans, pleased that the time-consuming chore was now completed. No doubt Austin and Arthur were going to be happy having fresh clean clothes for their trip.

At some point you knew that Arthur was going to need new sets of clothes, but that would require a two-day trip to the nearest small town that had a clothes shop, and you wanted him to be able to travel with you so that he could decide on getting whatever he wanted for himself. You had plenty of money stashed away in a lockbox inside the back of one of your desk drawers, something your father had insisted on giving to you before you’d left, but you’d never really needed it since you and your brother had lived mostly off the land and with what you’d taken from home all those years ago.

You would’ve lended Arthur your brother’s clothes, but the man was so much larger than Austin, his limbs much thicker, and his body much taller by nearly half a foot. Until the time came to make that journey to town, all you could do for now was keep washing the clothes he had.

You rubbed at your eyes as you stepped up onto the porch and approached the front door. It had been a couple hours since you’d left the cabin to work on the laundry, so there was no doubt that Austin and Arthur were both well asleep by now. Opening the door as quietly as possible, you stepped into the sitting room and shut it softly behind you.

As you made your way silently past the couch to head to your bedroom, you heard a small deep groan. You looked over toward the couch, but you couldn’t see Arthur since the large piece of furniture was facing away from you, the backrest obstructing your view of him entirely.

You considered leaving him be, but then there was another groan, this one sounding much more harsh, as if he were in some kind of pain.

Suddenly worried, you headed over, making your way around the couch so you could see Arthur fully.

His face was tight, his brows drawn down, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace. His arms and legs twisted underneath the blanket that covered him, as if he were trying to fight some kind of invisible force that had taken a hold of him.

Then he cried out at that moment, a name passing his lips.

“John!”

The rough sound made you flinch. There was so much anguish in that single cry, so much pain built up into one single name.

What on Earth was he possibly dreaming about?

Who was John?

What could possibly cause such a tormented sound to come from his throat?

Unable to help yourself, you approached the side of the couch, kneeling at his side so that you could reach out and touch his shoulder softly.

His struggles seemed to slow slightly then, his body’s tension suddenly easing as if it somehow found comfort through your touch. The reaction amazed you.

However, his face was still tight with pain, as if his mind were still being tortured in some way.

Not knowing what else to do, you started to hum lightly, singing the tune of a lullaby your mother had once sung to you as a child right before bed. The familiar melody went through you like warm water, and suddenly you felt yourself getting lost in the soft notes, your own body going loose as you ran your hand up and down Arthur’s shoulder in gentle strokes.

Moments passed, and over the course of the song, Arthur’s face started to soften, the small wrinkles in his forehead and around his eyes slowly beginning to disappear once more as his entire face began to gradually relax.

Eventually, you found yourself bringing your hand up from his shoulder to his face, gently stroking his brow and cheek. A part of you couldn’t believe you were doing this, that you would dare take it this far, but the rest of you didn’t care at that moment.

You only cared about comforting Arthur in any way that you could.

You began to sing the lyrics as you ran your fingers over the smooth skin of his cheekbone, traveling them down through the rough patch of his trimmed beard. The bristles felt so rough and soft at the same time, the short brown hairs slightly curling around the tips of your fingernails.

The color of his skin had been returning over the last couple weeks, filling up once more and replacing the terrible dark and sunken spots with the full healthy flush he’d no doubt had before the disease had tried to steal him away from this world. As a result, his body was beginning to glow more and more with each passing day.

You had to admit, the sight of him slowly but surely returning back to normal pleased you immensely, feeling extremely grateful to the sun and stars that he’d actually made it.

After several long moments into the lullaby, Arthur’s entire body was finally and completely relaxed, his face having gone completely soft, the hard lines and wrinkles now gone from his handsome features.

You smiled down at him, pleased that he finally seemed at peace.

Before you thought any better of it, you stroked a few loose chestnut strands from his forehead, tucking them back as you leaned over and laid a gentle kiss on his forehead, finishing the lullaby with one final verse.

“Now, it’s time to rest.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The next morning

Arthur woke up to the delicious smell of cooked eggs and fresh-baked pastries, the intoxicating smell invading his nostrils and his senses in the most pleasant way possible. Opening his eyes, he let out a long yawn as he stretched out his limbs, causing the blanket that had been twisted around his torso to fall to the floor.

He sat up, throwing his legs over to place his feet on the cold wood of the floor. Sitting forward, he placed his elbows on his knees as he lifted his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes.

Another mysterious dream, another day on this earth.

“Good mornin’, Arthur!” A voice sounded from behind him, and he turned to see Y/N walking out of the kitchen with a plate full of food in her hands. Today she was wearing a weathered white blouse with faded blue jeans and black boots, her hair tied into an adorable bun. She brought the plate over and placed it on the nightstand next to him. “Did you sleep well?”

Arthur smiled as he rubbed at one of his eyes with the back of his knuckles, “Surprisingly, I did.” He admitted, his voice hoarse from sleep, “Very well, in fact.” He lifted his arms to his sides, stretching them out as he rolled his shoulders and bent back his spine. There was a soft crack, and the feeling instantly loosened the tightness in his lower body. He let out a deep, satisfied sigh as he lowered his arms.

He looked over at the plate of food. “That for me?”

She smiled down at him. “Yes, it’s fried eggs with biscuits. Also, I layered the biscuits with honey. I thought that maybe I could make it a little more interesting for you this mornin’.”

He grinned at her flushed expression, “Is that right?” He reached out and grabbed the plate in one hand, taking the fork with the other. He cut off a piece of the honeyed biscuit and placed it in his mouth. The taste exploded on his tongue, warm and sweet, the texture and flavor of the biscuit all but damn perfect. He chewed, savoring the fluffy bite before he swallowed. “This is good, you make this yourself?” He asked, taking a bite from the fried eggs.

Y/N smiled and nodded, “Made it from scratch. The hens gave us some good batches this mornin’ and I used the goats’ milk that was leftover from last night to mix up with some of the flour and sugar.” She looked down at her lap, her lips raising in a small smile as she tucked a loose strand behind her ear. “I’m glad to hear you slept well.”

Arthur looked up from his plate, turning to look at her as he noticed the odd tone in her voice. A slight blush had appeared in her cheeks, and he wondered what the hell that was about?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You couldn’t help the warm blush creep into your face.

When Arthur said that he’d had a nice sleep, you were extremely grateful to hear those words. You’d hated to see his struggles while he’d slept, and to know that your lullaby had helped him to relax meant so much.

You wouldn’t tell him what you did, though, why would you? That would no doubt just cause an awkward situation between the two of you, so you decided it was best to keep quiet about that, at least for now. What would be the point in bringing it up, anyways?

Another thought occurred then, and you recalled Arthur crying out that single name in his sleep last night.

John.

You couldn’t help but wonder what his dream might have been about, who or what had caused him so much pain that he would struggle so much in his sleep. Who was John? What memories did Arthur hold in his mind about this person? Had this man been an enemy? A friend? Family?

You wanted so badly to ask him, but you weren’t quite sure you should, unwilling to risk raising any more pain than he was already going through. No matter how curious you were, it was probably best to leave it alone for now.

But that name … there was no doubt it was going to stick in your head for quite a while, no matter how hard you would try to forget it. Curiosity just might kill this cat.

You watched as Arthur finished the last bite of the honeyed biscuit and placed the empty plate on the nightstand. “Thanks for that, Y/N. That was delicious.” His compliment on your food made you smile as he leaned back on the couch.

Against your better judgement, you allowed yourself to take in his form. Red somehow brought out the coloring in his skin even more, the weathered and scarred parts of him giving away the rough life he’d no doubt led.

The silence in the room seemed to stretch on forever, and you couldn’t help but worry about the day ahead. “Arthur?”

He turned his head to look at you, those sapphire-emerald eyes gazing into yours as he lifted a brow, “Hm?”

You lowered your eyes, unable to concentrate on what you needed to say when those eyes of his seemed to burn right through you. “So … you and Austin are leaving today.” You stated it as fact, but you couldn’t help the worry laced in your tone, and he seemed to pick up on it.

Those thick brows lowered, and the corner of his lips lifted into a small smile. “Don’t you worry about that now,” he said, his voice soft, his deep drawl somehow soothing your troubled nerves. “I ain’t gonna let you brother do anything stupid.”

His words had you letting out a small laugh, but then you absorbed their meaning. “It’s not him I’m worried about, Arthur.” You admitted. His smile faltered at that, and you blushed. “I’m sorry, I don’t doubt your skills or anything like that. I just don’t want somethin’ bad happening to you.”

A few seconds passed, and then he nodded, “I understand that, Y/N. But don’t fret none, you hear? We ain’t gonna be doing nothin’ more than tracking, I’ll make sure of that. If we come across any trouble I’m sure your brother will take care of it just fine.”

He said that last sentence as if you didn’t remember how clearly skilled Arthur was with a gun? The memory of him shooting that jackrabbit in the bushes with so little effort ran through your mind again, and Arthur must’ve been able to tell what you were thinking, because he let out a deep laugh, throwing his head back against the back of the couch. Once his mirth faded, he lifted his head back up to look at you again, “We’’ll be alright, honey.”

You couldn’t help but give a small smile. Your worry did seem a little silly, even though you couldn’t really help it. “So what exactly are you planning to do today?” You asked.

Arthur gave a final chuckle and let out a sigh, turning his head to meet your gaze, “You mean with Austin, right?”

You nodded.

“Well,” he sat up, stretching his legs as he lifted his arms and rolled his shoulders once more. “You said we can’t go no more than two miles from here, but that should be plenty of ground to give your brother a chance to learn a few important things about huntin’.” He scratched his neck with the back of his thumb, “Can’t really believe your brother even asked me at all.”

You couldn’t help another short laugh escape, and you covered your mouth with your palm as Arthur looked at you again. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I know. I’m not laughing at you, but you’re right.” You lowered your hand back down to your lap, “Austin has a lot of pride, so it no doubt took him a lot to swallow it in order to ask you.”

Arthur huffed, “Yeah, well, I did offer first. Ain’t no turnin’ back now.”

You gave a small nod, “He’s never been the best at huntin’, let alone handling a rifle or bow. It’s why it takes him so long whenever he goes out on his trips.”

He narrowed his eyes, as if he were in deep thought. “Does he travel very far? While he’s huntin’?”

You thought about that for a moment. “I don’t think so. I’ve never really thought about that so I never asked, but he always returns within a few hours.”

Arthur gave a small nod, running his fingers through his chestnut-brown hair. “Well, it’s real important when you go huntin’ that you travel far to really quiet areas, far away from any loud noises or signs of civilization. Animals don’t really like living too close to us, especially anything large like deer. When you’re out in the wild, there’s much more chance of findin’ and killin’ what you need.”

You couldn’t help but look at him quizzically then, wondering how he knew all this, especially when things like general stores existed. What did he mean by ‘out in the wild’? Again, what kind of life had he lived? “Exactly how much huntin’ have you done, Arthur?” You asked, unable to hold back the awe in your tone.

He let out a small chuckle, a smile stretching his lips as he rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “Enough. Hopefully your brother is a quick learner. I ain’t a man with much patience when it comes to teachin’, I figure.”

His attempt at humor had you smiling again. Was he, though? You couldn’t help but imagine him trying to teach your brother anything. Austin was never known to be a good student. Every time you had ever tried to teach him something about herbs or gardening, he was never a good listener. Then again, you probably couldn’t blame him for not being interested in plants, big bad man that he was.

A picture played out in your head, and you laughed inwardly when you thought of Austin giving Arthur a hard time as he tried to teach him something, anything. “I’m pretty sure you could get him to listen, Arthur.” You teased, referring to his intimidating nature. You were rewarded with another handsome grin and deep laugh.

“As long as your brother ain’t that much of an idiot, he’ll be just fine.” He teased back. You joined in his laughter, and the two of you sat there for a while afterwards, lost in your own thoughts.

A few minutes passed, and finally you stood to your feet. “All the clothes finished drying on the clothesline this morning, I folded yours and placed them in the wash room for you when you’re ready to change.” You said, gesturing with a pointed finger towards the small hallway.

He gave you a grateful nod, “Thanks, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, Arthur.” You said with a smile as you reached around him to grab the empty plate. Heading into the kitchen you got started on cleaning up the mess leftover from cleaning. It took about fifteen minutes to clean, clear, and toss everything, so when you came back into the living room Arthur was gone. You looked around and saw him through the window sitting on the porch swing, wearing his normal clothes

He appeared to be lost in thought: His head was turned away, his gaze looking over towards the stream. It was another clear and beautiful day, so the sun shined brightly across the landscape, the water and lush flora reflecting the sparkling light.

You studied his features through the glass, and you couldn’t help but notice the pain that clearly showed on his face now.

Since he didn’t know you were there, you figured, he wasn’t bothering to hide his emotions, no doubt thinking about his past again. As you watched him, his eyes were narrowed, his brows lowered in a hard grimace as he lifted a hand to rub it across his face, letting out a hard sigh.

You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking about. Was he thinking if his past? His future? Austin’s words rang in your head at that moment, “Arthur’s probably not going to stay with us forever.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, unwilling to dwell on that terrible thought. You didn’t want to think about Arthur leaving. For some reason, it was just completely unbearable to imagine him no longer being here. Even though he barely knew you, and you barely knew him, it was a feeling you couldn’t explain. A feeling of loss, of sadness. To lose him, it would be like losing a piece of your heart. But why?

You shook your head to clear the thought, forcing your lips to lift in a smile as you stepped outside onto the porch to join him. “Hey, Arthur,” you said, trying to sound cheerful, “You alright?”

He turned his head to look at you, and the raw emotion that was displayed there earlier seemed to fade away as he looked at you. “Hey there, honey, you ready for the day now?”

You noticed he hadn’t really answered you question, but you decided to let it go as you walked over to the one of the wooden beams and leaned onto it, facing Arthur as you crossed your arms over your chest. “Sure am, but I’m still worried about you and Austin, of course.” Arthur glared teasingly at you, his eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to say something, but you held your hand up. “Don’t even try,” you said with a small laugh, “nothing you say is going to make me feel better until you guys are back here safe and sound.”

He let out a deep chuckle, those eyes of his now sparkling with amusement, “If you say so.”

A long moment passed, and you sighed, “So just tracking. Right, Arthur?”

The big man let out another laugh, “You’re too much, you know that?” Arthur lifted a hand to scratch at his chin, “You just said I can’t say nothin’ to make you feel better.”

You rolled your eyes, more to yourself than at him, “I know.”

Then you looked closer, noticing he was scratching those small scars on his chin, and you couldn’t help but display your curiosity. “How did you get those? The scars.”

His fingers stilled, and he ran his thumb over the thick healed tissue, “You mean these?”

You nodded.

Arthur smiled, leaning back against the porch swing, “Can’t say I remember, it’s been so many years. But, I think you can say I got it in a huntin’ accident.”

You narrowed your eyes, and you couldn’t help the sourness that laced your tone, “Really, Arthur?”

He let out another laugh, clearly entertained at your reaction. “It was long ago, Y/N, I was young and stupid.”

“And you aren’t still?” You couldn’t help but ask, and your words made him laugh even harder.

“I guess you’re right.” He rubbed his throat, his fingers pressing into the skin, “You wouldn’t happen to have a … well, a cigarette, would you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him again. “Arthur, I’m sorry, but the last thing you need right now is a cigarette.” You couldn’t help the worry you felt display on your face, letting your brows draw down in a somber expression, “Your body doesn’t need that right now. Especially your lungs, they still have a lot of healing to do.”

He rubbed at his chest, lowering his gaze to the wooden boards of the porch. “If you say so.” He sounded disappointed, but he didn’t seem to have the energy to argue with you, as if he knew you were right, his health was more important at this time than a simple smoke. “I’ll never understand how you did it, honestly.” He said, taking in a large inhale as if he were still trying to absorb the fact that he could finally take deep breaths without damn well collapsing.

“I don’t think I ever told you this, but I had to stick a tube down your throat.”

It was meant to surprise him out of whatever dark state he was in, and indeed it did as he froze, his eyes suddenly widening, silence stretching between you two. You were looking to shock him with that sudden fact being thrown out, an attempt to distract him from whatever misery he was feeling.

“You did what?” His deep voice raised at the last word, nearly cracking. His astonishment more than clear on his face, those thick brows of his raised til the wrinkles on his forehead were displayed.

“Well,” you said, dragging out the word with a slight tease in your tone in an effort to lighten the mood. “When we took you in, I had to wash your lungs out, so to speak.”

He squinted, as if he thought he hadn’t heard you right. “The hell?” He muttered, his voice sounded raspy as if he could barely use it to speak.

Your attempt at distracting him from his dark thoughts had worked, and you continued, “By the time we brought you here, I knew what you had. So the next thing I had to do was use a certain special tool.” You lifted your hands and held them far apart to give a better idea. “A long tube, it had to go in your throat so the medicine could wash through your lungs.”

He flinched, a groan escaping his throat as he dragged out his next words as if he were being tortured. “Please stop now.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle at his slightly uncomfortable reaction, he’d even lifted one of his big hands to shield his face from your gaze, “Well, it had to be done. It worked, didn’t it?” You teased.

He couldn’t help but return your smile, those rough lips lifting at the corners. Though his own didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “I know.” He admitted under his breath, then he let out a groan, “Just wish you hadn’t told me that bit.”

You grinned, almost letting out another burst of laughter. You decided to change the subject to ease up on him. “While you two are gone I’m gonna care for my garden for a while, do a few things that need to be done with some of the plants,” you turned your head to look out at the stream, “Then I’m thinking about trying some more of that fishing again.”

Arthur lifted his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “You sure you got the hang of that, then?” He asked, his expression lifting in amusement.

You shrugged. “Probably, but a little bit more practice never hurts, right?”

He let out a sharp huff. “Can’t argue with that,” Arthur agreed gruffly, acknowledging your statement with a single nod as he straightened on the swing, then he added, “Just make sure you don’t poke yourself again.”

You glared at him, but you couldn’t help another smile, “You just had to remind me of that, huh?”

He lifted those huge shoulders in a shrug, “You can say it’s a little revenge for teasing me, s’all.”

You nodded with another laugh. “Uh-huh, sure.”

At that moment, Austin came over from the stables, carrying an empty chicken feed sack. “Mornin’, fellers,” he said cheerfully as he draped the thick canvas cloth over the porch fence.

“Mornin’ to ya,” Arthur said, his deep drawl heavy and direct. His expression was now vacant, the earlier amused emotion gone from his face now, as if absolutely nothing had just been exchanged between the two of you.

His sudden somber attitude had you a little confused, and you didn’t know what to think of it. What had happened to the teasing man you had just spent the last several moments with? You turned to face your brother, brushing it aside for now “Morning, Austin. The animals all taken care of?”

“They should be all set for today.” He replied, brushing the dust and the dirt off his pants that he had gathered from the stables. “We’ll be borrowing Lily today, if that’s alright?”

You nodded, “That’s fine, I know you’ll take good care of her.”

“You ready to learn how to track then?” Arthur asked.

Austin smiled and gave a nod, “Absolutely, real excited to learn somethin’ new for once,” he confessed.

Arthur stood to his feet, “We should get started, then. Sun’s only up for so long,” he said.

Austin nodded in agreement, “Yeah, I’ll go get Lily. Would you mind carrying a few things over to the wagon while I attach her? They’re by the steps.” He said, pointing towards a large bag and a few other supplies.

“Sure,” Arthur said with a nod.

You couldn’t help but notice the way he said that word. ‘Shoah.’

Your heart nearly skipped as you realized the moment of Arthur and Austin finally leaving was fast-approaching. The thought of soon being alone for the day was strange and uncomfortable, even though you still couldn’t explain why. You’d been alone for three years whenever Austin went out to hunt, but after having Arthur here for the last four weeks, it was hard to imagine living here otherwise, even for a single day. What was it about him that drew you him? That made you feel like you could no longer imagine being alone, especially without him?

“Let me help you, Arthur.” You said suddenly, shaking yourself out of your thoughts by heading over to the supplies and lifting a couple of the bags alone with a large jug of water.

“You don’t have to do that, Y/N,” Arthur said as he walked over and grabbed the larger bag, he threw it over his shoulder and reached out to try to take the rest of the bags from you.

You backed away, avoiding his big hands, “I know, but I want to,” you said firmly. And with that, you headed over to the wagon with the bag straps slung over your shoulders, carrying the large jug of water with both hands. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel Arthur’s gaze on you. Whether from surprise or something else, though, you couldn’t tell.

You walked over to the stables with Arthur following closely behind you, and after reaching the wagon you went around to the back and placed the supplies into it, Arthur joining in next to you as he set the large bag down along with the others. You turned to face him as you both stepped away from the wagon. The silence seemed to stretch on forever, and tension suddenly started to grow in the air between you.

Finally you couldn’t hold back any longer.

Turning off your mind before you could change it, you threw yourself forward, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, right before placing your lips directly onto his.

Warmth.

Arthur’s warmth, it was all you could feel, all you allowed yourself to feel in that moment. His lips were so soft and rough at the same time, and his large body was completely still under your touch. But after a short moment, you felt his arms wrap around you as he deepened the kiss, tilting his head to gain better access as you felt him breathe through his nose, the hot air hitting your cheek as he exhaled.

Honestly, a part of you had expected and feared that he would pull away, and you thanked the sun and stars above that he didn’t.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Arthur didn’t know how to react at first, her unexpected action having completely taken him by surprise.

But his surprise quickly faded as he absorbed Y/N’s touch and fell right into her embrace, allowing himself to wrap his arms around her smaller form as he lost himself into the kiss. Even though the intimate contact was the last thing he’d expected, he wasn’t about to allow such a sweet moment pass him by so quickly without taking advantage of it.

Lifting his hand to the back of her neck, he stroked the loose strands of her soft hair between his calloused fingers, relishing how silky they felt against his coarse skin. But the feeling he cared for most at this very moment was her remarkable lips. Damn, he’d missed the sweet taste of them against his own, and he didn’t hold back, savoring them even further as he opened his mouth to run his tongue along her delicious entrance.

She let out a soft moan, her lips parting from the sound and he took it another step further, pushing his tongue into her mouth. He met her tongue with his own, and he couldn’t help the deep groan that escaped his throat at the sweet sensation. What the hell was he doing, Arthur thought, feeling like an idiot having fallen for another woman all over again. Dammit, what was even the point? He knew deep down that he wasn’t worthy of having anyone love him, and he had no doubt in his mind that once Y/N found out about his past, who he’d been, she would instantly turn tail and run without a second thought.

He squeezed his eyes shut, chasing those dark thoughts away and distracting himself by running his burly hands down her body, engaging his mind in every way he could on the feeling of her heat beneath his touch. There was just something about Y/N that drew him to her, her sweet nature, her kind gestures, her delicate but tough behavior.

Arthur couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t feel the need to during this moment.

Y/N let out another low moan as she lifted a hand and ran her fingers through his thick hair, jousting her tongue with his own, pushing her body even tighter against his. He barely resisted the need to grind himself against her body, and she made a small hiss when he suddenly squeezed her hips hard, pulling her lips slightly away from his. “Arthur … ”

There it was. His name on her lips, said with such a deep passion and arousal that it nearly made Arthur want to take her then and there.

And if it wasn’t for her brother barging in, he damn well might have.

“Everythin’ all ready to go?”

Arthur jerked away from her lips with a deep growl, reluctantly pulling himself away and breaking the intimate embrace as Y/N stepped back as well, giving off the impression that they hadn’t actually just been kissing the daylights out of each other.

Austin came out of the stables leading Lily over to the wagon to strap her to the front of the coach. “She’s all set, sorry it took so long. Had to make sure she was fed and brushed for the long day ahead.” He explained as he began tightening the leather straps around the large horse’s body.

Arthur couldn’t help but glare at your brother, and he heard Y/N let out another small giggle, no doubt amused by his annoyed expression. “That’s fine, Austin.” She said, and she almost laughed even harder when Arthur shot that look directly at her. “I’m sorry, Arthur and I were just exchangin’ a few funny jokes.”

Arthur lifted a dark brow at her, entertained by how seamless her lie was.

“Oh?” Austin came over to them, crossing his arms over his chest as he gave off a large smile, “What was one of the jokes?”

For a heartbeat Arthur thought the brother was about to find them out, but Y/N beat him to the punch … so to speak. “Well, Arthur here just explained to me what a Ring Dang Doo is,” she stated flawlessy, as if it were absolute fact. She gave off a smile, humor glowing off her expression as she tucked a finger into her hair, curling at a few loose strands as if she were completely shy and embarrassed by the new knowledge. “I never could quite figure that out before.”

Austin’s eyes widened, then he narrowed them at Arthur. “Y’all mean the song?” He asked, his voice low, “Really, now?”

She rolled her eyes at her brother, “Oh, hush, Austin. I was the one who asked him.”

He looked back over at her and let out a sharp grunt, “Well, you shouldn’t be talking about such things, anyhow. Especially with another man.”

She stuck out her lower lip in a mocking pout. “Aww, but how was I supposed to know that’s what it meant?” She teased.

Austin let out a long sigh, leaning his head back to look up at the sky. “I guess,” he grudgingly agreed. “Just be a little bit more careful next time before you make us both die of embarrassment, you hear?” And with that he turned to the wagon and climbed into the driver’s seat, grabbing his worn cavalry hat from the small storage unit beneath the seat and placing it on his head.

“Oh, that reminds me!”  Y/N said, turning away to rush toward the cabin, shouting over her shoulder just before she headed in. “Wait there just a moment!”

A few moments passed, and Arthur could feel Austin’s quizzical gaze on him. Where was a damn lasso when he needed one?

Y/N came back outside and headed over with something in her hand. Arthur narrowed his eyes at what she was holding — a hat?

“Here,” she said, holding it out to him when she reached them.

Arthur stared down at it, and memories instantly came flooding back, even though he couldn’t explain why. It was some kind of worn black-leather cowboy hat, a cross between a Gambler and a Carrigan. A braided brown leather band was wrapped around it, and … a large owl feather was tucked securely into the braid.

The thing was beautiful, he had to admit, and it reminded him a lot of his father’s hat. The one he’d given to John before … well, before that whole shit-show had gone down.

“This was our grandfather’s before he passed.” Y/N explained as she held it out to him, and she looked down as she said her next words, a soft smile on her lips, though it didn’t even begin to reach her eyes. “He didn’t exactly lead the best life when he was alive, but — ” she shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, “Well, you could say he was a wanderer of sorts ... Anyways, I never really had any plans on using it, so … ”

She lifted it up — and placed it directly on Arthur’s head.

The feeling of rough leather over the crown of his head again nearly had Arthur dazed, the sight of a dark wide brim shielding his eyes from the harsh light so familiar it was almost too much for his mind to bear. “Y/N, you didn’t have to — ”

She shook her head, “I insist. It’s just going to gather dust otherwise. You need somethin’ to protect your eyes from the sun, alright?” Her voice was firm, as if she were trying to convince both of them that this was really happening, then she let out a small laugh as she patted the top of the hat, “So if I hear you took it off, I will beat you myself, got it?” She said teasingly.

Arthur couldn’t help but let out a deep laugh at her attempt at humor. “Alright then, darlin’, if you say so.” With that, he reached up and tugged the brim down slightly, giving her the classic cowboy salute.

He was rewarded for his action with another beautiful smile. “You men are too much sometimes,” she tittered, then she reached out and grabbed his shoulder gently, turning him towards the wagon, “Now you two go and conquer the huntin’ grounds, before I change my mind.”

Arthur let her lead him to the other side of the coach, and he climbed up next to Austin.

Y/N smiled up at them as Austin cracked the reins, getting Lily to start moving forward. She waved as they started down the trail into the forest, and Austin and Arthur waved back.

“Please be safe!” She called out after them as they disappeared into the thick trees.

Arthur smiled to himself, lifting a hand to stroke the rough leathered brim of his new hat. A gift to him, from Y/N herself.

For some reason he couldn’t explain, he heard a soft lullaby play deep inside his mind as they travelled further and further away.

. . . . . 

The day is done, the time has come.

You battled hard, the war is won.

You did your worst, you tried your best …

… Now, it’s time to rest.

. . . . .

— To Be Continued

[Please let me know what you think, your feedback truly fuels this story!]

🐺❤️🦌

#unshaken #unshaken chapter 9 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x y/n #romance #slow burn #18+ #red dead fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #red dead #red dead redemption #arthur morgan #john marston #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 john #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 john marston #outlaw for life

[seasonsofeverlark]

Adventus Everlark

Author: @mandelion82

Prompt: Special request: Everlark celebrates Advent by focusing weekly on hope, peace, joy, and love. [submitted by @hutchhitched​]

Rating:  T (for suggestiveness and a trigger) 

Trigger Warning:  Mention of physical abuse.  

Author’s Note:  This story will have both religious (Catholic/Christian) and secular elements. This is part 1 of a 4-part ficlet series. To be continued on A03 at a later date. Thank you. I hope you enjoy!  

______________

If Katniss knew anything about her boyfriend, Peeta Mellark, she knew he loved this time of year‒the Christmas season.  He loved everything about it; he was practically giddy as a child over it, and he’d been eager to share his traditions with her for some time.  Truth be told, Katniss didn’t always understand or share Peeta’s excitement for this time of year, but she loved to see it, and she loved him for it. 

Having grown up in a Catholic household, Peeta celebrated Christmas in the traditional Catholic way‒with Mass, prayers, and the lighting of Advent candles.  Of course, there was always a Christmas tree, presents, a big dinner, and tons of baking‒Peeta was a baker, and came from a long line of bakers, so there had to be.  

The Everdeens, by contrast, weren’t expressly religious; although, they were open to the possibility of a greater power in the universe, and they would partake in the typical holiday activities around this time of year.  Katniss had gone along with those activities for years, even tried to replicate them for her beloved sister, Prim, after their father died and their mother suffered from a crushing depression, but she’d never gotten the joy out of it that Prim did.  

Or Peeta.  

Peeta was a lot like Prim.  Maybe that was part of the reason why she loved him so much.  The two were kindhearted as they came and fresh as raindrops, both giving, loving, and selfless individuals.  Too good for Katniss, in her opinion.  They even looked alike, with their light skin, pale blond hair, and blue eyes.  Honestly, Prim looked more like Peeta’s sibling than her own‒she with her olive skin tone and gray eyes.  

Another thing Prim and Peeta had in common was their faith.  Despite growing up in a secular home, Prim held strong beliefs, similar to Peeta’s.  

For Katniss, faith was a challenge.  It required a great deal of trust and devotion, things which she’d always struggled to give.  At least, that’s how she felt about it.  But Peeta said otherwise. Peeta always said he saw Katniss for who she truly was, even if she didn’t see it herself.  He said he saw a loving and compassionate woman, dedicated to caring for and providing for her entire family.  

She’d argued that it was because they were family.  It didn’t make her compassionate; it was just the way it was supposed to be.  Directly after, she’d felt awful for her statement.  Families were definitely not created equal when it came to love and affection, and Peeta was proof positive of this. 

When Peeta first told Katniss about some of his childhood experiences, particularly his mother’s physical abuse, she was furious.  She couldn’t understand how he could have anything to do with his family, let alone uphold their traditions as he did, and she wanted nothing to do with them, either.  

Katniss had put off meeting Peeta’s family for that very reason.  Quite frankly, she wasn’t sure how she’d stand being in the same room as his mother.  If she even looked at him wrong, Katniss was certain she’d go off the deep end.  

But Peeta assured her that his family wasn’t all bad, nor had his home life been.  In fact, he’d mentioned a lot of good memories with his brothers and his father.  And regarding their holiday traditions, those were the ones he held closest to his heart.  

Peeta was so good, almost too good. 

If anyone could be a religious prophet come to earth, it would be Peeta.  But maybe she put him on a pedestal because she loved him so much.

No, Peeta was not perfect, and sure, he did things to annoy her, like the time he jokingly called her pure.  She’d gotten huffy about it and refused to talk to him for about two days.  In hindsight, her reaction was a bit extreme, but they’d made up, and then some.

Besides, if anyone was pure, it was Peeta.  

Not that he was a saint; there were certainly things he…bent the rules on, such as them sleeping in the same bed before marriage.  She was glad for that one, because she hated not sleeping in his arms. 

And Peeta felt the same.  

One time, after a particularly nasty fight with his mother over what she suspected to be an ‘improper arrangement’ between them, Peeta had told Katniss, “I don’t care if she thinks it’s a sin.  Now that I’ve slept with you in my arms, it’s impossible not to.  I’m not going back.”

“Sometimes you do,” she’d said cheekily.  Considering they weren’t ‘officially’ living together, she did occasionally sleep at her place.  

“I know, but those times are unbearable,” he’d responded, leaning in for a soft peck.  “If I had to do it all the time,” he whispered against her lips, “what kind of life would that be?”

Katniss concurred.  

Of course, the whole sleeping together thing had started innocently, when they were still just best friends.  It all began with Katniss’s nightmares…  

One night, after an especially bad one, she’d called Peeta, who lived in the same building, hoping he’d talk her to sleep.  On a whim, she’d asked him to come over, and she’d asked him to stay.  He did. 

After that, they shared a bed frequently, and it was all very innocent.  But the more they slept together, the harder it became to fight temptation, especially after revealing their true feelings for one another. 

It was sort of a mutual confession, but Peeta had been hinting at how he felt for a long time.  Then one night, in bed, he’d asked her directly, “You love me.  Real or not real?”  This was a little game they played.  

Without hesitation, she’d answered, “Real.”   

This would be Katniss and Peeta’s first Christmas as an honest-to-goodness committed couple, and they were both thrilled.  Peeta usually went to his family’s for Christmas, but this year, he’d said that he wanted to spend it with just her.  

And they’d decided to celebrate Advent together by focusing on hope, peace, joy, and love.     

Week 1:  Hope 

On the first Sunday of Advent, which fell this year on November 29th, Peeta taught Katniss about the lighting of the Advent candles, and they lit the first candle on the wreath, one of the purple ones.  Peeta explained that it was called The Prophecy Candle and symbolized hope and God’s forgiveness of man’s sins.  They proceeded to light it every night, together, and Katniss even prayed with Peeta, or at least remained by his side, holding his hand.  

Her favorite activity during the Hope week so far was when they spent an entire evening wrapped up in each other on the couch under the blankets, eating junk food and talking about their hopes for the future, their own wishes and those for their loved ones and all humankind. 

At first, Katniss had been fearful about speaking some of her own because she didn’t like to think too far ahead.  To think ahead was to ultimately be disappointed, in her mind.  She was so afraid that if she spoke aloud what she hoped for, as with one of those elusive birthday wishes parents talked about, it would never happen, or be taken away.    

But Peeta reassured her.  

Something else Peeta had been doing for Advent, which he hadn’t expected her to do was fasting.  It wasn’t a complete fast; he was still eating, but he wasn’t eating between meals or having meat on Fridays or any sweets.  

First, we fast; then we feast, was what Peeta had told her, referring to the period of penance and preparation leading up to the Christmas celebration.  

Peeta was being really good about it, so good that she worried he might waste away to nothing at this rate. And she liked a little bulk on his body.  Healthy and strong like an ox, that’s the way she liked him. 

Of course, she wasn’t making things easy on him.  

Katniss imagined it must be difficult for him to bake up all kinds of treats for her this time of year and not eat any himself, so she’d offered to fast with him.  But Peeta refused, saying he enjoyed the act of baking, which she knew, and that he enjoyed serving her.  She also knew that.  And naturally, he had to bring up her cheese bun and Christmas cookie addictions.  

He was right, though.  

What could she do but thank him and kiss him, then prop her head between her hands and watch him bake? 

As creepy as it might sound, she loved watching him.  She enjoyed seeing the muscles of his forearms twitch and pulse when he whipped a mixture.  And she enjoyed watching his long, pale golden eyelashes flutter in concentration when she got close while he read over one of his recipes (also when he sketched or painted).  

Presently, Katniss was seated on the edge of the counter watching Peeta boil fudge in a saucepan.  God, she loved fudge.

Peeta was multitasking today, so he also had a batch of cookie dough laying in wait in a mixing bowl.  When he looked over and smiled at her, she smiled sweetly back.  And then, partly to freak him out and partly because she wanted it, she scooped a bit of dough onto the mixing spoon and brought it to her lips.

“Katniss!”  He tramped over and smacked her hand lightly like a child’s.  

“Hey, watch it,” she said, grinning.  She’d been asking for it, though.  She knew Peeta hated when she licked the raw cookie dough batter.  Something about salmonella.  Although, she’d done it as a kid and never got violently ill from it.  

“But this was one of my traditions.”  She cocked her head and licked the very tip of the spoon in a seductive manner, hoping it’d get to him.  

It didn’t.  

Peeta simply sighed.  “Fine, go on and eat it if you want to end up in the hospital.”

Poking her lip out at him, she put the spoon down in its bowl.  He smirked over at her, then returned to the oven to check on the fudge.  After a few seconds he turned back, spoon in hand.  “By the way, trying to entice me while I’m baking isn’t going to work.” 

“No?”  She was honestly surprised.  

“Nope.  You should know that when I bake, I go into a zone.  And as you’ve seen, I have some self-restraint.”  He smirked impishly.  “But nice try.” 

Katniss pressed her lips together.  

“Don’t get me wrong, though.  I’m gonna carry the image of you licking the spoon with me the rest of the day, minus the unsafe cookie dough, and later…I might have big plans for you.”  He winked at her. 

“You mean big, big, big, big plans?”  Katniss imitated Miss Trinket, their ‘eccentric’ (to put it mildly) neighbor with the wild, colorful wigs and affected accent.  

“Yes, very big plans.”  

“Can’t wait.”  She bit down on her lip and reached for the spoon again as if her hand was magnetized.  

“For all that is holy, please stop eating raw cookie dough!” Peeta exclaimed.   

“Okay, okay.”  Katniss dropped the spoon back in, the corner of her lip twitching.  “But you might need to give me something else to snack on.”

“Will do, sweetheart.” 

With that, he walked over purposefully, placed his hands on either side of her face, and captured her lips.  Sofly, but insistently his mouth moved across hers, sending a pulsing sensation straight down.   

“How’s that?” he asked as they broke apart.  

“Hmm…you think a lot of yourself, Mellark.” 

He raised a brow then kissed her again, longer and slower.  

“Better,” she said, slightly breathless.  He began feathering hot, wet kisses down her throat, and Katniss sighed.  

With a low growl, Peeta gripped her hips, causing her to let out a small squeal.  He tugged her closer to the edge of the counter, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her pelvis into his.  She could feel his excitement growing, and just when she was sure he was about to carry her off and take her upstairs, he disentangled himself.   

“That’s self-restraint,” said Peeta smugly.  

Katniss felt like whipping a ball of deadly cookie dough at his head like a snowball.  “Tease.”  She groaned, shoving his chest.  “Sadist.” 

“No, masochist, sweetheart.  Trust me, this is a lot harder for me than it is for you.”  Katniss chuckled, and he pecked her cheek.  

Just then, Katniss’s phone began to ring.  She fished it out and took a look.  “Oh, that’s Prim calling.”  She hopped off the counter and prepared to tap the green button.  “Hey, Peeta, what do you think about inviting Prim over for Christmas Eve?” 

“Sounds great.” 

“Okay, I’ll tell her.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #mandelion82 #submission #prompt