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magicman111 · 3 years

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A Moth to a Flame - Chapter Two

One month later

Sasha joylessly toyed with the Music Box, opening its lid like a yawning mouth.

Who’d have thunk it? She wondered to herself. This tacky little thing could cause so much calamity?

How ludicrously out of place she looked curled up on King Andrias’ enormous throne, almost like the little girl playing pretend in the driver’s seat of her parents’ car. You’d be forgiven for not knowing she’d just led the swiftest, easiest toppling of a government in this world’s history.

Big blue dummy locked up? Check. The city’s army surrendered? Check. Their toad army less than an hour away? Check. Dimension-skipping Macguffin firmly in their position? Double Check.

Not a bad day’s work for a 13-year-old.

Marcy’s oversized sparrow was tethered to the armrest by his leg. A prize she’d taken for herself so she could cruise around her new kingdom in style. She saw to it he wasn’t under any duress, and the fact he was neck deep in an industrial sized bag of bird feed told her he was plenty comfortable.

Sasha managed a tiny smile as she reached out to run her fingers through the thickness of his coat. She dunked her hand in the bag and offered him an open palm of seeds; he eyed for a moment or two before gingerly pecking at the mound.

Thank Frog no one was around to hear the ‘d’aww’ escape her lips.

Her grandmother was the one she had to thank for her secret admiration of birds. Old lady had been a birdwatcher who ‘treated’ her to regular weekend trips into the forest when she was younger. This was long before her discovery of malls and arcades. Sasha wouldn’t dare admit it to even herself back then, but the ones they spotted together on those dewy spring mornings were beautiful to behold in their natural habitat.

Herons may now be forever ruined for her, but Joe—she thought that was his name—was a mighty impressive specimen. Poor guy somehow found the strength to carry all seven of them to Newtopia, only to nosedive into the moat at the end of the flight.

Definitely had nothing to do with her asking Marcy if she could take the reins in the last stretch. She and Anne were kind enough not to draw attention to it, same as they did the day at summer camp when they discovered her crying into her pillow. They were awesome enough to go along with her story that it was only allergies. She knew she had a true pair of girlfriends that morning.

Thinking about them only soured her mood afresh. She sprinkled the rest of the feed back into the bag and slumped against the backrest, arms petulantly crossed.

Here she was in the crowning moment of her young life and she couldn’t have been more miserable.

Maybe because her friends should have been here to share in this, but no, they had to go and act all noble. What else should she have expected? She always was the only one in the group with the guts. Anne had to be dragged kicking and screaming to ditch school and join her and Marcy in celebrating her birthday. Was it any wonder she had to keep taking control of the situation?

More likely... it was because deep down she knew she didn’t really want this. She certainly believed she did after they dropped that gloryhound newt general down a waterfall and when they successfully rallied the Toad Lords after retrieving Barrel’s Warhammer. Things only started getting complicated when they needed free tickets into Newtopia in the form of her friends.

She hadn’t counted on realising just how much she missed her clumsy, klutzy Marcy. Neither how effectively she and Anne were still able to work together as a team in spite of all the unpleasantness that had transpired between them during their time here, of which there was plenty. The fact that Anne actively encouraged her in taking down that molten toad monster was the rancid cherry atop the sludge sundae. For a while back there, it looked like they might really turn a corner and start afresh. All three of them could have gone home like none of this ever happened. Except by then it was already too late.

What recourse did she have when the Plantars invited them for the world’s most awkward dinner party or when they brought the house down at the Battle of the Bands? Tell Grime and all the toads who’d invested their manpower and futures in her that sorry, she was getting cold feet? There was only one grizzly way that would end both for her and Grime and the best scenario she could imagine involved heads on pikes.

... It didn’t matter anymore. Her friends had picked their path, she’d picked hers. As her mom always said, ‘You make your bed, you lie in it’. Funny how in her short life, she’d heard that line far too many times already.

Once she figured out how the Box worked, she’d send both Anne and Marcy on their merry way and they’d never have to see each other ever again.

Everyone would get what they want.

Good thing then she’d sent her soldiers to ransack Marcy’s room for all her research about Anne’s fateful birthday gift. Girl was a pack rat. She kept notes for every exam and project they were assigned back home. The less said about her laptop jammed with files of anime fanfiction and theories the better.

Plus, it was a good way to try and distract herself.

They came back into the throne room hauling burlap sacks full of parchments and emptied their contents at Sasha’s feet.

Daaang, girl, you've been in the zone.

She scattered them over her lap and the ample free space on the seat. They actually weren’t that hard to follow; colour coordinated with plenty of cutesy kawaii diagrams. Trademark Marbles.

Apparently, it worked a lot like those puzzle boxes Marcy got as gifts from relatives in Hong Kong. All it took was knowing the right sequence of buttons and zip! You can go wherever you want in the cosmos. Just a matter of finding the code for Earth.

‘I’m done listening to you!

I’m done trusting you!’

Sasha scowled, trying to push the thoughts to the back of her mind where they belonged. She shuffled through a couple more pages until she found the one titled in glittery green and blue lettering, ‘HOME’.

Bingo.

‘You’re a horrible person!’

Ignore. Ignore.

Now all she had to do was jot it down on her palm and—

‘AND I AM DONE. BEING. FRIENDS WITH YOU!!’

She stopped. Her shoulders drooped. Then she just threw the page down on the floor and sunk into her seat further than she thought physically possible.

She normally didn’t consider herself that thin skinned a person, but man, that one hurt.

Traces of bitter tears creeped into her eyes.

What am I even doing anymore?

The sound of footsteps on crumpling paper and someone clearing their throat snapped her out of her self-pitying torpor. She fluttered her eyes dry to see Grime standing there awkwardly among the discarded parchments.

The diminutive, one-eyed former Toad Lord was hiding something behind his back. He actually looked pretty embarrassed about it too, which for a battle hardened war vet like Grime was actually kinda adorable in Sasha’s eyes.

“I, uhh, got you something,” he said, whipping out a long rectangular present wrapped in green paper and topped with a luscious red bow. “Had it made especially for this day.”

Now if there was one thing Sasha Waybright couldn’t say no to, it was a gift, especially from a trusted friend. They were the ultimate distraction from the blues and she couldn’t have been sitting upright and tearing into this one any quicker.

“Whaaat? Grimesy, you didn’t!” What she had pulled from the ravaged packaging wielded aloft her head made her gasp. “How’d you know I wanted to duel wield?!”

It was a brand new heron sword. An exquisite green second shortsword that would compliment Ol’ Pink perfectly.

She stared proudly into the smooth steel surface, admiring the craftsmanship. When she noticed the girl staring right back at her, however, her smirk vanished in an instant. The captain of the cheerleaders, the scarred swordswoman, the conqueror of Newtopia, whatever angle she looked at it, she didn’t like what she saw. Unbelievable as it may sound, even the joy of an awesome gift like this was not enough to make everything better.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like it? Oh dang it!” Grime slammed his forehead. “I didn’t get a gift receipt!”

“No no, it’s just...” Sasha weighed the blade against her ungloved palm. Talking about these kinds of things was never easy for her. “What if Anne’s right? What if I am a horrible person?”

Grime popped up like a whack-a-mole behind the armrest. “Who cares what she thinks?” he scoffed. “You and I are in charge now, and we get to do whatever we want!”

“That’s the thing... I’m not sure what I want anymore,” she admitted wearily.

For all his years of training at the finest academies, his brutal combat in the colosseum and tactical expertise earned through a lifetime of military service as his forebears before him, this one had Grime stumped. Needless to say, talking about one’s emotions wasn't exactly encouraged during their upbringing in toad culture, so naturally it wasn’t one of his strong suits. Just one of the many things he and Sasha had in common.

“Huh.”

Still, he was a pretty fast thinker and came up with a fairly good idea on the spot.

“Why don’t you help me redecorate this place?” he suggested, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Take your mind off it. Cuz this right here...” He gestured to the cluttered mess in which she’d surrounded herself. “This is definitely not—I’m sorry, can I help you?!”

Both of them turned their heads when it became impossible to ignore Joe’s cone-shaped beak lightly nipping at Grime’s cheek.

“He probably thinks your warts are seeds.”

“For the love of—I knew he was eyeing me up on the ride here! There! Get lost!” Grime scooped up a fistful of feed and flung it over the marble floor, but the winged beast persisted with pecking his face. “Stop it! MY HEAD IS NOT A FEEDER!!”

It took an exceptional effort of willpower for Sasha not to laugh at the sight of her old man being preyed upon by the family pet.

Wow, she thought. Her old man? Was that how she saw Grimesy now? Seriously?

Perhaps up to a point. Okay, considering the options she had for parental figures back home, it wasn’t exactly the highest bar to pass, but it still meant something. Anything.

Who would have guessed this would be how they’d end up, especially given how they started off with her as his prisoner? Sure, it may have taken her helping him and the whole tower not getting turned into heron feed for her to be upgraded to his lieutenant, but they really had come a long way since then. There was a lot more honor and heart to the cranky old toad than she first thought, back when she wrote him off just as another blowhard with power. Now he genuinely considered her his equal both as a friend and comrade in arms. For Sasha, the feeling was mutual. A first for her.

When all was said and done, who else did she have left besides him and vice versa?

What the heck? Let’s tear this place up.

Untethering Joe, she whistled a tweet-tweet and gave the rope a gentle tug to encourage him to follow on their ‘indoor walkies’.

A cursory surveillance of the throne room told her there was a lot of work to be done. If this toad regime was to last a thousand years, the correct decor was an important first step. Thankfully for them, she knew a thing or two about fashion. For starters, there were way too many soft blues and purples. Rust red from top to bottom! She preferred keeping the stained glass windows, but they’d need entirely new designs. Hers truly would naturally feature in most of them, one showcasing her and Grime caving that narwhal worm’s head in with the Warhammer being an absolute must. The snakes coiling the stone pillars weren’t a bad touch, if just a bit too elegant for the whole ‘proud warrior race’ vibe they were going for, but she could still work with them. Now as for the throne, they were gonna have to replace it with something much more imposing. There was that super violent dragon show she and her parents used to watch that had the huge throne made out of swords. She was sure she had a picture somewhere on her phone to use as a reference.

“I’m sorry, what the heck is this?!”

Sasha could only denounce what they were gawking at as the single biggest affrontement to tasteful decorating known to man or amphibian. Yes, worse than inflatable furniture, carpeted bathrooms, beaded curtains, glass block bathroom windows, ‘live, laugh, love’ quotes on walls, rustic hearts, mason jars and nautical accessories all combined under the same inland roof.

Tapestries had their rightful place in a palace’s interior design, but the one sweeping across a section of wall depicting a gentle hearted Andrias sitting down by a lake, surrounded by flowers and lilypads was nothing short of vomit-inducing. Gathered at his feet and scooped up in his protective arms were his wide-eyed, childlike subjects. Even the fish and a lobster were surfacing to bask in their king’s magnanimity. Here the oversized salamander was truly the loving patriarch of everything the light touched. The mawkish display could only be topped off with a rainbow streaking across the sky.

Grime felt his stomach roile. If he ever needed an example to demonstrate the difference between kitschy and downright tacky, this was it.

“Y-y-y-yikes!” he gagged. “This thing’s gotta go!”

Sasha didn’t need a second invite. Besides, what else was Joe going to use to line his nest?

A joint effort tore the offensive piece from its place and it tumbled to the floor in a heap.

Dead silence fell over the room.

Hidden beneath the tapestry was... a mural. Including such a decoration in a throne room was hardly surprising, yet it was what it contained that shocked both the human and toad, so much so that they had to take a moment to recover.

“Woah,” they gasped at once, before starting to analyse what they saw.

The mural was a chaotic collection of nightmarish images painted on a night blue wall. Wild red flames spewing out hordes of beasts and the wreckage of buildings. Mountains of skulls and bones belonging to frogs, toads and newts alike. A flying... spaceship? A castle? Whatever it was meant to be, it firied a white beam up at what was unmistakably the Music Box. Pink, green and blue lightning bolts crackled out of the Box. Mesmerising orange gemstones or, more terrifyingly, eyes leaped off the wall and burned themselves into their minds. The frightening focal point of this one-way ticket to the school therapist’s office? Rising out of the middle of the inferno was the silhouette of a red-eyed, goliath-sized beast, its claws reaching up covetously towards the Box that hung right above its crowned head.

It may as well have been lifted straight from the tattered dream journal of a madfrog.

Any ideas of redecorating the throne room were long gone. Even the revolution they were spearheading suddenly seemed millions of miles away in the face of what they’d just stumbled upon.

Peering her eyes slightly, Sasha was the first to put a face to the shadowy leviathan, and when she did, she had to swallow her heart back down into her chest.

“Is that the king?” she asked, mystified. “With the music box?”

Sweat ran down the side of Grime’s nonplussed face. “If it is… it’s a really good thing we stopped him.”

Neither of them said it aloud, but both understood the situation at once. All this time they thought they’d been playing flipwart while the king played bog jump. Oh, how wrong they’d been. It was beyond anything that even the Toad Lords discussed. They knew that they had to reconvene with them as soon as the armies had reached the gate.

She took a couple steps closer to reexamine the mural more thoroughly, missed details emerging now that the initial shock began to wear off. Circuit board markings—the same inside her dad’s outdated computer when she foolishly dared Marcy if she could take it apart—worked their way around the images, serving as some type of frame. Odd choice for a world that didn’t even have steam engines yet. She also picked up the three small geometric figures standing atop the Box’s lid. An artist she was not, but they looked pretty human-like in design.

But humans did not exist in Amphibia. The three of them were the first of their kind to ever set foot in this dimension.

Weren’t they?

Alarm bells were ringing louder than ever before. This Andrias guy had been playing Anne and Marcy for his own ends this whole time, all to get his mitts on the Music Box! What did he plan to do with it? Right now, she still couldn’t say, but it was all bad. Outside of a kickin’ rock band, fire and skulls together were never a good thing!

Even Joe’s feathers were puffing up anxiously against her back. Not turning away from the mural, she raised her hand and patted his risen crest.

“I know, big guy. I don’t like it either.”

Grime’s voice rang urgently in her ears, “Lieutenant! Get over here, quick!!”

Sasha had spun on her heels and sprinted down the room to find Grime standing the wreckage of what used to be a display of armour. He’d evidently acted on a hunch while she’d been preoccupied. Judging by his thunderstruck expression, he’d just discovered something far worse.

“What is iooooh boy!”

This new second mural reminded Sasha a lot of Egyptian hieroglyphs. If there was any room for doubt about the technicolor stick guys, there was none here. Standing tall against an indigo backdrop in a neat row were the outlines of human beings; long gangly appendages, stumpy noses and everything. Some were wearing hooded capes, others were decked out in suits of armour. The couple in the middle looked particularly regal. No prizes for guessing the little wooden box they were holding in their hands, cementing their authority as if it were the globus cruciger.

Faded inscriptions were engraved along the bottom. They were written in a more archaic amphibian dialect, but being a toad of higher education, Grime was able to give translating them a decent shot.

These great beings of magic and might

Travelled from beyond to serve the night

Bow before these children of man

Or know the wrath of the—

“... Wu Clan?” He cocked his one good eye up at her. “Iiiii’m not getting it.”

There it was. Floodlights flashed in Sasha’s head. All colour drained from her face. A million and one thoughts were now firing across her brain at once, threatening to send her into cerebral shutdown.

It was at that moment she knew she’d been played. They all had. She didn’t know whether to be absolutely furious, betrayed or impressed.

Why that conniving, devious little—

That's when they heard the BOOM outside the window.

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ageofevermore · 4 years

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Golden

summary → in which Harry doesn’t understand how he can possibly love such a small baby so painfully much.

word count → 1.7k

note → this might require a few deep breaths because oh lord, i really laid the fluff down thick.

add yourself to my taglist

When you and Harry had fallen pregnant it was unexpected. You had been talking about starting a family in the near future, but hadn't felt the need to fall in deep. You were aware of the problems you might face with natural conception, especially due to the stress of being employed by the entertainment industry, but just three days after your conversation, the both of you had gotten carried away in a moment of beautiful love.

You had been on birth control ever since your seventeenth birthday when your mother figured you might begin to explore your sexual desires. It was something she was quite open about, making it easier to tell her that you were seeing a green eyed wonder called, Harry.

It was just after a morning run through LA that you took a test. It was some cheap brand, an impulse buy after laying in bed worrying about your lack of protection weeks prior. You had been paranoid for days, your cycle abnormally long and lacking the usual symptoms of tension and muscle aches. Instead, you had full fledges cramps and headaches.

When the first test came back positive you almost fainted on the floor of your en-suite. Harry was just downstairs and heard the unusual commotion. You were usually light on your feet, a classically trained ballet dancer as a child. It was worrisome to find you doubled over on your hands and knees beside the tipped over nightstand. Harry had immediately rushed to your aid, collecting your frame in his hands and pressing soft kissing to your forehead until he could get your attention. Your eyes were dazed, hands balling into the fabric of his thick black jumper. You were completely beside yourself with joy.

"What's a'matter, moppet?" He mumbled against your forehead, pulling your legs over his lap so her could bring you closer. He softly pried your hands away from his jumper, kissing your clenched knuckles fervently. "Scaring me, love. What's got you so worked up?"

The thought of the positive pregnancy test in your palm brought on a new wave of tears. The tip of your nose trembled as you broke into a wide grin, breaking down completely into Harry's chest with gleefully shocked giggled. Harry didn't waste a minute, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling you closer to his chest. Your legs wrapped around him like a koala, but it only made this moment sweater for you. For now, you were the only one that knew about the growing baby making a home for itself inside of you. For years you had overlooked how special this moment would be.

"Pet." Harry cooed, bringing his fingers down your spine. The metal of his rings was cold when he lifted your shirt and tickled your back with scratches. "Gotta tell me what's got you so giddy."

Uncoordinatedly you smashed your lips against Harry's. Your teeth knocked against his harshly, but all you could manage was a smile that left his lips wet, "We're parents." Your whispered.

The end of your pregnancy was brutal, complete with unbearable braxton hicks and obscene swelling. You had been riddled with insomnia for weeks as well, and the throbbing in your fingers was brought on by the wedding band stuck between your knuckles that even elevation and heating pads couldn't help. Harry had done his absolute best to make you comfortable, but even his hour long foot rubs and 3am snack runs did little for you. None of that was relevant now, nor was the stitching holding your torn vagina together. Your baby, sweet Indie Anne Styles, was here. She was perfect, and she was finally before your eyes.

Her warm pink body was flush against your chest. Harry stood off to the side, tears blurring his vision as he took in the picture before him. His first true love was embracing their own little mini. He had no doubts that his little Indie was a product of the truest breed of young love. Indie, Harry wasn't so sure the big name fit her little body and button nose.

"Look at her, lovie." You sniffled, running your finger down her cheek. She had finally stopped wailing, settling into your warmth and letting herself fall asleep in your embrace. You were certain birth was tiring for babies, glad to see that your little love was resting up now and getting ready to experience the life you and Harry had shaped just for her. "She's perfect."

"Knew she would be, love." Harry came closer to the both of you, bending down to press a kiss to your sticky forehead. He loosely grabbed the newborns hand, chocking on a sob when she gripped his thumb. Her grip was tight for such a tiny human, and already Harry was sure he wouldn't be able to live every day with a heart so heavy with love.

Your husband was barely keeping himself together over your shoulder as he admired your daughter. You had gently coaxed a pacifier between her lips after watching her squirm, and the soft pink plastic only brought Harry a new wave of overwhelming love and protection. He never wanted anything to hurt his littlest love, his precious baby Indie.

"Thank you, pet." He cried into your crown, pressing gentle kissed to your hair and face at an uncomfortable angle. He didn't want to hurt you, but he needed to thank you for this moment. It was everything he had always dreamed of and so much more, "Thank you for her. Thank you."

It had taken Harry three weeks to call Indie her name, having a habit of referring to the newborn as 'his little angel'. You didn't mind the title, but hearing her name on the tip of his tongue made you weak. He had taken great to becoming a father, like you knew he would. You had never had any doubts about just how unconditionally Harry would love your little human. He was up with you during every feed, changing all the diapers until you were healed enough to bare standing at the change table for long stretches.

He bought only the best for his Indie too. Her nighttime routine was prepped with high end vegan moisturizers and ointments. Her diapers were made of organic, non toxic, vegan materials. He didn't care for prices, only quality. Harry was as relatively humble man. He never talked about wealth or thought it as anything valuable, but he also, despite what it seems, didn't splurge on high end products often. He had his limits and boundaries, but his money was used wisely and not thrown away on material. He refused to let Indie soak in a cheap diaper though, even when you assured him that most diapers were exceptionally made and there was no need to spend a few hundred dollars every month.

It didn't take long for Indie to form more defined features, one being her insanely bright blue eyes and thin strands of soft blonde hair. You weren't quite sure where your baby girl came from to be honest, seeing as your eyes weren't near the same shade of color as hers nor were Harry's. Her hair was ungodly as well. Almost like your favorite disney film, her locks were strikingly golden. It had only taken a month before you caught Harry above her crib, whispering a fond, "Good morning, golden girl."

Golden had been her name since that dewy spring morning. You couldn't see her as anything but, adoring the nickname Harry had brought upon the three of you. It was odd when you had family visiting and they would refer to your precious Golden as Indie.

It was just after two am when the shrill screams of your infant severed the sleep you and Harry were catching up on. His arm was thrown around your waist, and for a minute neither one of you moved. She was going through a growth spurt meaning the usually laid back baby you shared a house with was needy and desperate for her fathers attention and your satin milk. It was hard to give her what she wanted at times. You knew she was hungry, but she didn't want to leave Harry's arms.

That had happened just the other day. With the luck you were working on, you had forgotten to pack away another pre-made bottle. She was eating so frequently you hadn't had the need to pump, but that decision came back to bite you when she woke up from her nap hungry and only wanting her daddy. You both had eventually figured out a way to please her, but it had been frustrating and stressful on the three of you alike. It was safe to say you were always on top of bottles now.

When Harry finally did pull away from your warmth, he kissed your temple before feeling the room, not before you heard the last of his mutter, "I'm coming, Goldie."

You were sure your heart exploded in that moment. When you saw him again, this time with a squirmy baby impatiently suckling on the nipple of a pacifier, tears were gathering in your eyes. You smiled widely down at your little love, affectionately stroking her cheek. You settle her against your chest, wincing when she latches, but relaxing when her sucks become rhythmic and predictable.

In the darkness Harry couldn't make out your teary smile, instead just moving around the master and preparing another diaper for Goldie, having felt the wet one when he picked her up from the crib moments ago. He could hear you praising the baby for doing such a good job, promising that it was okay if she woke up every thirty minutes, but what caught him off guard was when you brushed your thumb over her cheek and whispered, "Look just as pretty as your Daddy, Goldie."

"Y'heard that, huh?" He stuttered. He knew you weren't too fond of the first few nicknames he had given Goldie, and he was almost fearful that you would reject his shortened version of Golden.

You rolled your eyes softly at his question, patting a patterned on your baby girl's diapered bottom as she nursed with sleepy eyes. "I think it's cute, fits her."

Harry smiled widely at the pair of you, the dim moonlight capturing the perfect moment in his memory. His love for you and Goldie somehow got deeper every day. He never wanted to leave this stripped down midnight moment. This perfectly golden moment.

#dad!harry #Harry Styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #fine line #fine line series #goldie styles #husband!harry #boyfriend!harry #best friend!harry

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whenimaunicorn · 3 years

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The Heart of Admiration - Part 8

Charles Vane x OFC

Turmoil leads to certain truths being confessed into the dark.

Words: 2246 Content: angst with a side of angst; contemplation of betrayal, unexpected fluff (is the slow burn finally catching?)

It’s approaching midnight, and Hope’s still pacing the deck. She’d already resolved she doesn’t give a whit about keeping up the ruse for Mr. Fellows anymore; tonight she’ll sleep in her rightful place among the crew. Now that she knows what awaits her in her captain’s quarters.

The only thing that’s stopping her from going down to her hammock right now is that she knows she won’t sleep. Too many thoughts are swirling in her head. All she can do is pace, and take measurements she doesn’t even need, and pace again.

Her worst fears realized. Hope feels sicker than she did when Charles Vane disbanded her crew, and she had to beg for her brother-in-law’s life to be spared. Sicker now, because at that time she hadn’t expected anything better from the fearsome brute. Everyone knew Captain Vane’s reputation, and that of his whole crew for that matter. When had she let herself believe that him, and Jack Rackham for that matter, were somehow more noble than any other of the black-hearted men that turned pirate?

She forces herself to take a breath. If she’s now maligning the entirety of her own profession, then certainly her emotions have taken away all rationality. And yet—had seducing her truly been his plan all along? And had Hope actually been falling for it?

Perhaps Stevens and the boys have it right. Something deep within her heart breaks to hear that thought, even if it is only resounding through the inside of her own skull. Avenge the Starling and run. There’s a certain justice to it. The bird flies the cage, but takes everything with her on the way out? Marvelous. Hope feels her heart turning as black as the inky waters look this night, and allows herself to sink into that feeling a little deeper. If they got free with it, they could easily run right back to Nassau. Certainly Eleanor Guthrie would give them haven after they crossed Charles Vane, merely on principle.

Hope feels her guts sicken even more.

Just a few hours ago, she’d been pondering what had felt like the very real possibility that she was in love with Captain Vane. Distraught that her feelings weren’t returned. Now all she can hear is that ugly edge in Jack’s voice as he taunted their captain to take her. They don’t see her any differently than the women back on shore, after all. Prizes to be captured, warm bodies to be used, the luckiest of whom could only hope to become a cherished object kept locked up and secreted away.

That would never be her. Hope simply would not allow it.

Should she go talk to Stevens? Her feet carry her to the ladder, and then away again. She remains furious, but she can’t yet commit to that course of action. There is a difference between capturing a prize on open waters, and stealing a treasure right under the noses of men that trust you. Hope had only supported the scheme that ended the Starling because they had truly planned to hold the cargo safe until a beneficial, fair negotiation had been reached. She would not want Vane to think her a liar, if she proved herself capable of turning around and doing just the thing he had accused her of.

And yet. What else is she to do? Carry on as if nothing had changed? This ache in her heart demands satisfaction. She could leave without causing any trouble; she could think of several other captains that would have her, but even that more reasonable thought leaves her feeling itchy. Slipping away without making some sort of statement just won’t do.

~*~

She’s on her way down to the berth deck, finally ready to set her swirling thoughts to rest, but she doesn’t get very far. Stevens is coming up the other way. She’s surprised; she thought this was his shift to sleep. His pace slows when he sees her, and his eyebrows raise in silent question.

She’s leaning toward conspiring with him, but she has not yet made up her mind. A bolt of panic flashes through her. If she speaks with him, her hesitancy will show, and she may ruin her chances of playing this situation in either direction. Might not be able to help him or stop him.

He’s almost reached her. His mouth opens to speak a greeting. Hope realizes they’re right in front of the door to the captain’s cabin. The one “Mrs. Vane” sleeps in too. To her own horror, Hope finds herself taking the coward’s way out, giving Stevens an apologetic smile and stepping right in through that door as if this was her intention all along.

Vane is sitting on his bed, half-undressed, because of course he is. But what is she to do, step right back out into the hallway again? She shuts the door quickly behind herself, then whirls to face her captain so that she does not look the coward.

They stare at each other for a long moment. What is she to say? She didn’t even plan to come in here. And she certainly can’t explain why she did. “I’d given up on seeing you tonight,” he rasps up at her. He eyes her and she says nothing and so he continues. “After you stormed away without giving me a chance to explain myself.”

“I still don’t want to hear it,” she growls. How could she know what words to trust, coming out of his mouth? She doesn’t want excuses. She doesn’t want this smoothed over with half-truths. She can’t bear to feel the crack in her heart widen.

His brows lift, then converge in an angry crease. “Then why did you come in.”

A good question, Hope. She’s not even certain why the sight of Stevens made her feel such panic in the first place. She had convinced herself up on deck of her new resolve, hadn’t she?

And now Vane is sitting here right before her, looking up with poorly-disguised pain in his eyes. In his eyes? He growls again before she can formulate an answer. “You’d better not tell me that you intend to berate me without hearing my side. That’s not how this is going to work.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

She tries to turn away, but when her captain makes a scoffing sound she can’t help but look back. “So you came in here, what, because ‘Mrs. Vane’ needs to go to bed?”

“It is late,” she says. Too early to step back out again, and risk Stevens wondering why she ducked in here in the first place. She settles for an easy lie. “I thought I’d find you already asleep.”

“The only time you’re content to rest beside me,” Vane says bitterly, looking away. “When I’m unconscious.”

Hope barks a laugh. Does he really think she’d climb into bed with him after what she overheard? “This time, I will gladly sleep on the floor.”

He flops back in the bed, turning on his side so all she can see is the broad expanse of his scarred back and his hair spilled across the pillow. “Suit yourself.”

She tries to. Pacing across the short space to her trunk, she sits down on it and takes her boots off. Noisily. She doesn’t want to talk, but she doesn’t want to let the man rest, either. He shifts positions when she all but hurls the second one onto the decking beside her, but that’s the only reaction she gets.

She looks around for anything soft to lie down upon, but it appears that the only blanket in the room is trapped underneath Vane’s inert form.

She’s not going to ask for it.

Instead, she puts out the light, loosens her belt, and lies down on her back, fully clothed, on the stretch of decking beside Vane’s bed. A porthole lets in a little moonlight, just enough to outline the hulking form of his shoulder above her. She closes her eyes, tells herself she doesn’t want to look at him. Now is the time for sleep.

Her mind won’t rest. Now that the man is right here, willing to talk to her, she can’t help but imagine what she might say to him were she inclined to let that conversation happen. A bird in a cage. That’s what Jack had called her. She’d certainly felt that way when she got here; has she been lying to herself since then? Getting comfortable with the crew, becoming friends with Anne, and even with Vane himself. Was all that just gilding on the bars?

He was willing to let you go, she tells herself. You just didn’t take it.

Still. The things she’d heard Jack say don’t sit right. We didn’t have to come down so hard on the Starling, he’d said. She’d been approaching them ‘round the corner, and of course her feet had slowed when she heard them talking about her, and her “value.” A part of her wishes she hadn’t. It hurt to know this side of the story. That the dismantling of the Starling had been her fault, that she’d inspired a lustful eye just waiting for an excuse to crack that ship and steal her like a prize. Jack’s words are burnt into her memory: You saw what you wanted, and got control of her.

Vane releases a heavy sigh above her, laced with the frustration of being unable to sleep.

It pisses Hope off. Why is she laying here blaming herself? Jack may have said it, and Vane may not have disagreed with it, but that doesn’t mean it’s true, that she’s responsible for this man’s brutish choices. She’s glad he’s still awake, glad he’s just as troubled as she; if anything he should be the most troubled. He’s not even offering to make any amends.

“The least you could do is give me that blanket,” she barks into the darkness above her.

She hears more than sees Vane roll in her direction. “The least you could do is let me speak.”

“Is this a negotiation? Withholding comfort until I consent to hear you out? Because if we’re talking, you are the one who is going to listen to me.”

“Fine.”

But Hope doesn’t know what to say. The silence stretches between them. As her eyes rove around in the dark, she realizes Vane is peering down off the side of the bed. The angle of the moonlight is likely illuminating her face more clearly than his. He’s just watching, and waiting. But she doesn’t know where to start.

“How much did you hear?” he asks softly. Is it defensive, or is he trying to give her a place to begin?

“Enough,” she barks back.

Vane sighs. “Jack—” he begins, but Hope cuts him off quick.

“You think you can blame this on Jack? I didn’t hear you disagreeing with him.”

“That’s not—”

“You said that I would talk first. I’m not going to lay here listening to you make excuses. The truth and a lie are so close, aren’t they? So close,” she seethes. “After all your talk about ‘liberating’ me from a crew that I was ‘too good for.’ I remember what you said, the last time this ship was likened to a cage around me.” She glares up at the beams of said ship, although she can barely see them in the dim. “You did it for me, yes, but not for my own good. And not for my skills, apparently, either. After all we’ve been through, the truth comes out. I am only here because you want to sleep with me.”

“I don’t want to sleep with you,” Vane grinds out through his teeth.

Hope is too surprised to interrupt him, this time. Even as the silence stretches out a little longer. She no longer knows what she wants him to say next. This morning she was disappointed at his lack of interest, and this evening she was enraged at the spectre of his lust. Which is it? What does she want from him?

“I want,” Vane says slowly, words rumbling even deeper than usual, like rocks deep in the earth grinding together, “to share my life with you. I want you with me every morning when I wake. I want to work with you, seize prizes with you, and sometimes even be the reason that you smile.” Every word is measured, thoughtful, and as true as the very roots of the earth. “That is more important to me than anything else. Anything.”

Hope wishes she could see his face better, as he confesses these words into the dark.

“So I hope that you can forget what you heard Jack say, because I already have everything that I want most.” Is that a stubborn set to his jaw? “And I would never want to lose it over the matter of lust. I was handling my feelings just fine before this,” he pauses, “and I will continue to do so, quietly, and respectfully. As you certainly must admit I have been doing so far. Do not let it trouble you.”

He stirs in the bed above her, and it takes her a moment to work out what he’s doing. His whole body lifts, and then settles, and then his arm extends silently down to her, proffering a fist full of the requested blanket.

In stunned silence, she takes it.

Next chapter

Taglist is open: @ladyhubris @summertimesadness101 @23orso @n3rdybird @bitchyikes @navigatrixnarrations

#charles vane x oc #charles vane imagine #black sails fanfic #captain vane #slow burn #charles vane x hope wickham #disaster pirates #the heart of admiration fic

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prettyterribleimagines · 3 years

Note

Sorry that is quite the question you're right. Could you please do yandere female phantom thieves + kasumi please?

No worries Ian, writing for my regulars is wht I do ^^ also, I will try to answer the asks there were made off of anonymous these next few days as well

Ann Takamaki

Ann is incredibly manipulative and will cause as much trouble and drama as possible to get her darling to comply with her demands and wishes. She is incredibly needy and insists on spending as much time as possible with them no matter the situation. She undoubtedly will use the tragic accident that happened to Shiho as a way to get leverage when confronted with her darling.

When with her S/O she is quite loving and dotting, always hugging and kissing them no matter how many people are around. She doesn't do this because she feels the need to show others they are together, she does it because nothing brings her as much joy as touching her darling.

Normally, no one would be able to notice how controlling Ann is, but once someone notices that Ann decides her darling's clothes, lunch and even when they get to have a snack or go to the bathroom it is impossible to unsee it.

Ann can get angry extremely angry out of nowhere from the slightest slip on her darling's part. She will never lay a finger on them with the intent of harming them in a fight but she will use her newfound liking for whips on them every night

Being a total freak when it comes to controlling her darling's everyday life she will insist on having them text her every hour if they ever have to stay too long apart. Failure on following her wishes and demands usually end with her creating horrible rumours around every circle of friends they have until they yield.

Makoto Nijima

Another control freak but the way she goes about it is undoubtedly different from how Ann does it. She will teach her darling how to behave properly even when she not around. She has so many rules and guidelines that it's almost impossible to follow them perfectly every day.

She doesn't do PDA and doesn't go spreading the news that she is in a relationship with them either, what they have together is their secret and their's alone. But it's also important to note that she will tell her sister about her their relationship and buy them a ring that they have to wear and clean every day to show their gratitude for her generous gift.

She can be extremely violent when she discovers that certain rules aren't being followed and perfectly as possible. She doesn't hold back when punching her S/O and with her strength, she will leave more than a few bruises everywhere. She doesn't take care of her darling after she is done either, it's a punishment after all if they wanted her to be gentle they should have obeyed.

She insists on having them study as hard as possible to have the highest grades in their class. She will make sure they study at least three hours every day even when they are on break. Studying is nothing more than discipline, and how would they possibly have the discipline to obey her if they aren't capable of being at the top of the class?

Needless to say, she will also decide what job they will have when they graduate from school. And so, after her darling graduates, they will work as a secretary for her, and they will have to work as hard as possible to avoid punishments inside or outside closed doors. If they let her down one too many times, she will fire her darling and make them stay inside their home all day every day.

Futaba Sakura

Being a professional hacker she is able to spy on her darling to her hearts content no matter how far away they are from her. She keeps an close eye on everything that she can pry into, bank transactions, conversations and even their online activity.

She doesn't have the courage to make herself known to them, even creating a fake account to interact with a normal post of theirs already feels way too intimate for her poor little heart to handle. She only watches, never having the bravery to reveal herself to the one she loves.

She absolutely hates every "friend" her darling has, they are little leeches that don't know how to treat her darling with the love and respect they deserve. She keeps an watchful eye on their interactions as to know who she needs to remove from their life.

She will contract someone to break into her darling's house to steal anything that they interact with, may it be a shirt or a hairbrush. Needless to say, she will go to great lengths to make sure her employee doesn't take anything other than the desired item or disturb the room.

She has actually never seen her darling in real life before, she wouldn't be able to handle the anticipation and intensity of such a grand event. All she is able to handle is pictures, videos and live feeds of them that she gets through webcams and cameras she hacks into.

Haru Okumura

As yanderes the others are manipulative, violent, remorseless and vicious but Haru is the only one that's actually deranged and has a warped view of the world (I could even write how her yandere palace would be if you guys want <3). She actually believes that her feelings for her darling are mutual and they carry out a normal day to day life

Haru views everything that she does to her darling as a scene from a romantic movie, never realizing the dark undertones she herself creates on every situation with her unhinged behaviour and maniacal actions. For example, everyday she has a tea break with her darling where they can settle down for a minute and enjoy each others company before returning to their busy lives, but this situation is way more sinister than it seems since Haru's partner is actually wearing a shock collar that is turned on everytime they fail to talk the way she wants them to.

The moment her obsession comes up she already inserts on her darling's life, doing her best to fit in perfectly on their circle of friends and family. To her, they have already been in love for years even if they had met that very day. The way she acts with others, no one ever suspects how twisted she can be towards her S/O

Even though she believes she is in a fairy tale, she will use every last connection she has and any money she can spare to have complete certainty that there is no way her darling can ever run away from her. She will have cameras installed on every room of their home, not to mention the 24h surveillance that bodyguards will keep on them every day.

Haru has a lot of money so she won't hesitate to use said money to buy toys that will help her darling stay in line, like handcuffs, ropes, shock collars and even hammers and knifes so she has something to use when they really act out of line. Needless to say, she will use all of those instruments with a sweet smile on her face, not even their ear piercing screams being able to pass through her delusion

Sumire Yoshizawa

She is another stalker, but she maintains an close proximity to her darling, always able to touch them if she extends her arm out but just away enough to stay undetected. She will get as much information she can about her darling and even the ones around them.

She leaves small ornaments on their table everyday, that's her way to make herself known, even if they end up thinking they were being misplaced by someone. Other than that, nothing would change on her darling's life. No friends would go missing, nothing would seem out of place and not even objects would dissapear out of nowhere.

Sumire wouldn't be able to bear losing her darling, and so she would do everything in her power to be as close to them as possible. She might even move out with them to other cities or even countries if it meant she won't have to be alone anymore.

Since her infatuation with that person grows and grows every day, inevitably, one day she will become so obsessed that just looking at them won't be enough, thats when she would reveal herself to them. Naturally, they won't even learn her name before Sumire's finds it's way into their throat, and after all that time, they can be together

#persona 5 #persona 5 royal #yandere #yandere hcs #imagine #hcs #female yandere #futaba sakura #ann takamaki #makoto nijima #haru okumura #sumire yoshizawa #phantom thief girls #phantom thieves #yandere phantom thieves

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selkiewife · 3 years

Note

For the commentary track meme!

Theon continues to carry Ice to executions as ten name days turn into eleven and then twelve. It is a great honor to squire for the Lord of Winterfell and Theon wants to make him proud. The others think it is an undeserved honor for the dirty Ironborn hostage ward. But he will show them that an Ironborn is as honorable as any Stark. He will smile like Dagmer to show them he is unafraid.

Mikken, the blacksmith, has told him that the Ice is forged from Valyrian steel, but it still feels as heavy as ordinary steel to Theon. Heavier, in truth. And as he trails behind the cold imposing form of Lord Stark on execution days, he wonders:

Who will carry Ice for him to his execution?

Mayhaps Robb? If he’s old enough… He hopes it won’t be Snow.

Will he have to carry it himself? Carry the sword to his own execution? That seems exceptionally cruel though, and Lord Stark is not an unkind man. He has even praised his skill with the bow and given him the rare smile once or twice.

Mayhaps he can persuade Lord Stark to drown him in the black pool in the Godswood instead of beheading him? The pool is freshwater, not salt. But it still might allow him to enter the Drowned God’s halls. Lord Stark already uses that pool to clean Ice, Theon has often spied him doing so after an execution. If Lord Stark drowns him, there will be no blood for him to clean from his sword or his hands.

The Greenlanders think that drowning is barbaric but the Ironborn know better. Drowning is horrible at first, but after a time, the waters calm and carry you as if you were safe inside your mother’s womb. And then you see your loved ones, calling you to the Drowned God’s halls, calling you home.

He resolves to ask Lord Stark to execute him by drowning if his father rebels again. Yet the words never seem to rise to his lips. Nor do his other questions for Lord Stark.

Questions like, what is the best way to place your head onto the block?

He notices that some men face the block head on, with their chins flush against the wood, so that the sword strikes the center of the back of their necks. But some turn their head to the side, with their ear against the block, so that the sword meets the side of the neck first. Why? Which is better? Many times he tries to ask Lord Stark, but the words won’t come.

One night he notices the stool in his room is shaped similar to the blocks used at the executions. He drops to his knees and pulls the stool toward him with trembling hands. But which way should he place his head? He tries both ways. First with his chin resting against the top of the stool. Then with his cheek resting against it. He reckons it is more comfortable the second way. He could almost pretend that he was drifting off to sleep.

@team-mom-wannabe asked about Don’t Lose Your Head from this meme

Ahhhh! Thank you so so much for sending this in!

Okay so this section (and really this whole fic lol) was the perfect unholy marriage between my angst about Theon having to grow up fearing that he may be executed at any point, and my own obsessive thoughts about death- and weirdly enough, death by beheading. (The rest is under the cut since it got long)

And I feel like I should tag @julie-slamdrews in this because she can attest to my obsession about beheadings lol. Ever since I was a child, executions like burning at the stake or beheadings fascinated and horrified me- so much that I would become fixated on them in an unhealthy way. And I dealt with this by acting out executions with my neighbor. So we would play, “Burned at the Stake” or “Guillotine.”

But getting back to Theon, this whole section of him carrying the sword and wanting to do a good job and make Ned proud vs. having these intrusive, obsessive thoughts about his own future execution was born out of my deep frustration that a lot of people still say that Theon was “adopted” by Ned. And I’ve said this before and I know I’lll have to say it again. But adoption should never end in decapitation. Seriously, what adoption do you know that would end in the adoptive parents killing their adopted kid if the birth parents did something wrong. Like???????????

And now look, I am not saying that Theon did not develop familial feelings with the Starks and they with him in some cases (such as Robb.) That is called just being human and trying to find humanity in a fucked up situation. But it doesn’t negate that it was a horrible situation for him to be in. And fearing death- fearing that your parents will not care enough about you to keep you safe (by not rebelling) or that the people you are growing up with would put you to death... That is a fucked up situation that is going to do a number on anyone.

And I know people say, “Well, that was just how it was back then, in medieval inspired Westeros.” And yeah that’s true. And with this section, I am kind of leaning into that idea. The normalization of fucked up things. In fact, Theon has normalized his situation to the extent that he is wondering about how to bring his concerns about his possible execution up to Ned in the most casual way possible.

I also wanted to show that it is completely possible that Ned made Theon carry the sword to make him feel special and to give him a special job. Which is heartbreaking in its own way. But, again, even though his intentions might have been good, it is still fucked up and it definitely fucked Theon up, whether he meant to or not.

The section where Theon wants to be drowned instead of beheaded is there to show that Theon really does come from a completely different culture than the north but also that he is already beginning to romanticize the culture he has been taken from. And also, Theon is already sort of trying to combine both cultures by desiring to be drowned in the Godswood pool. And then, this section also just shows Theon’s chaotic nature- that he truly believes Ned might think it’s a “win, win” to drown Theon since it would save him the messy clean up lol. I also personally could never imagine Ned drowning anyone lmao.

But there is a part of Theon that feels like he can’t actually ask theses questions. Partly because of how distant and stern Ned is and partly because Theon doesn’t really want to face this possibility himself- which is why Theon eventually turns to denial in order to not have to deal with these fears.

The part where Theon is wondering what is the best way to place his head on the block: This part comes directly from watching the Tudors and experiencing my brain melt over the fact that there were two ways beheadings happened on that show THAT WERE NOT EVER EXPLAINED lol.

After watching that show, I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out why some people held their head forward and some leaned their heads to the side to be executed. I was never able to find a good explanation, but a friend of mine mentioned that if you lay your head down so that the axe meets the side of your neck first, that would likely be an easier slice. I did notice that people were beheaded almost exclusively with the neck to the side in the later episodes of the Tudors. So maybe this was suppose to give a nod to the fact that the executioners of Tudor England eventually realized that this was a cleaner execution. This idea is also supported by the fact that the French swordsman wanted Anne Boleyn to be distracted so that she turned her head the right way for the cleanest cut. However, I never really found out if the way you hold your head on the block really matters. Theon didn’t really either though, since he couldn’t bring himself to ask so... it worked out lol.

The thing about Theon “rehearsing” his death was inspired by Catherine Howard who asked for the block to be brought to her cell the night before her execution so that she may know how to place herself upon it. But I also thought that would be such an incredibly Theon thing to do- to rehearse for his death and make sure everything was just so- so that people would say, “the lad died well,” afterwards. 💔

Thank you so so much for this ask! It was fun to try to explain what the hell I was thinking while writing this fic lol.

#theon greyjoy #theon fic #asoiaf fic #asoiaf #my fic #ask answered #team-mom-wannabe #tw decapitation #tw death #tw obsessive thoughts of death

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mikkomacko · 4 years

Text

Dear Daisy 7

Before Chapter Blurb

The Christmas tree Niall brought over last week lights up the living room in the early morning shade, the dark snow clouds outside leaving the house darker than usual. Daisy shakes off the snow on her boots and leaves them at the door, cold fingers clutching the letter she just retrieved from the mailbox. Harry’s neat writing has scribbled her name on the envelope, and the heart he placed next to it makes her tummy flutter. She hooks her nail under the seal, tearing it open and unfolding his letter with hopeful eyes.

Dear Daisy,

How's the weather back home? I hope it hasn't been too brutal on you. Remember that one winter it snowed so much everyone got trapped inside their homes? I don't think that'll happen but if the snow picks up too much please call my mum over or go stay with her. I really don't want you home alone during a snow storm. Funny that I told you not to worry about me but here I am fretting over the idea of a blizzard, aye?

Anyway, nothing has been set in stone for my Christmas plans yet, however, a buddy of mine is returning home for the holidays and he's heard word that I might be at home as well. No matter I promise you'll have the best Christmas, I'll do everything in my power to make sure. I'm sure my mum has told you but you're welcome to her annual Christmas party whether I'm there or not. Gemma will be there and she'll take care of you. Speaking of taking care of you, I've heard from a little birdie that you're thinking of using your own hard earned money for gifts this year. While I find that incredibly sweet, I can't allow it. Daisy, you know you can always use our money for anything. I also need to send gifts and it would really be much more simple if you just used the card and then signed my name as well. And if you don't agree with that, too bad. I've contacted my uncle and he's told the local shops to not accept cash from you. Yes, even all the way in France I'm taking care of you. Promised I would, didn't I?

The money you've got from working is yours Daisy. I honestly find it wonderful and inspiring that you've gone out and found work and are able to take care of yourself. I reckon more ladies in our town should be like you. I also reckon you take your earnings and buy something for yourself, something you've always wanted. I know you love reading, and I know Robin has got a couple could bookstores in mind. I'm sure he'd be happy to point you in the direction of them if that's something you'd like. Don't have much time for reading here so maybe you could read a couple good novels for me and then tell me all about them? It's the least you could do really considering that I'm playing knight in shining armor for you.

Hopefully next time we talk I'll have more news about Christmas for you, but remember that you're always in my thoughts. I see your eyes sparkle in the lights and tinsel around town. I see snowflakes melting on the apples of your cheeks and sticking to your eyelashes. I feel your hands when I warm up next to the fire. I feel the same joy you carry in the spirit of Christmas that surrounds me. In some ways I think you and I are a lot like winter. The bitter bite in the air and the soothing heat of cocoa. The hibernation of creatures, the death of plants, and the pureness and rebirth of snow. I could go on forever about you and I Daisy, but I think I'll save the rest of my affection for in person.

Happy holidays love,

The Harry Styles x

Daisy had never been so disappointed in her life. Not even when her family threw her out of the house and into the arms of Harry to be cared for. Maybe this is so much worse than being let down by her parents because Harry actually did care for her. She doesn't know what changed between the time she moved in and now, but something inside both her and Harry went from disgust to attraction. She can feel it her bones when she thinks of him. How much she aches for him, how much her lips miss saying his name. It's even present in their letters to each other. They're thoughtful of each other, loving towards one another. They've spent more time apart than they have married and yet she thinks they're more dedicated to each other than any other couple in this town.

Unable to hide her sadness over Harry still being overseas despite Christmas being a few days away, Daisy decided to not spend tonight with Anne. She'll be there for Christmas Eve, thinking of how Harry should be there too, so tonight is just time for her. She'd found a copy Pride and Prejudice a few days ago in the office downstairs, deciding to read it again as it's one of her favorite stories. Harry's probably read it before but she'll still write her thoughts on the book to him.

He's all she can think about as she curls up in his bed, the thick quilt his grandmother had made him wrapped around her shoulders. Bedside lamp still on, Daisy falls asleep wondering if she should tell Harry that he very much reminds her of Mr. Darcy. Of course that would make her Elizabeth and she really can't think of a more romantic representation of their affection for each other.

The spare key under the loose brick in the front hasn't been moved, though it is buried and frozen by snow. His car has been moved into the garage to be protected from the weather and the vibrant green of his front yard is now a white wonderland, lit up by multicolored lights. Harry can't help but hate how much has changed without him. He wasn't there to put up lights, wasn't there to winterize the grass, wasn't there to salt the sidewalk. Fearing what else might have changed while he was gone, particularly Daisy, Harry's hand trembles as he unlocks the front door.

He stays as quiet as can be as he moves into the house, dropping his bag by the closed door and re-locking it. His train ticket was a late departure, but he won't complain. Better to get home late than not at all. Peeling off his wet boots and coat, Harry drops them into a pile on the floor. The Christmas tree Niall had cut down for him is still gleaming in the living room, lighting the path towards Daisy's bedroom. Maybe Harry should go upstairs and change, wash away his time in France before he goes searching for his girl, but he's exhausted and aching for her. It's not until he's tiptoed down the hall and nudged her door open does it dawn on him that Daisy could be at his mother's house. He knows she's been sleeping there a lot and there'd be no reason for her to come home tonight because he didn't tell her that he was coming home.

Heart sinking lower into his stomach as he checks for her in every available spot downstairs, Harry dejectedly yanks on the plug of Christmas lights, bathing the house back into darkness. He's heading back to the door to put his boots and coat back on when he catches the sliver of yellow light coming down the staircase. Pushing himself up the stairs, his heart leaps back into his chest when he reaches the landing and finds his own bedroom door open. From here he can see his bedside table with the lamp still on and a lump under his blankets. She's here. Daisy's home and she's in his bed. On the side he sleeps on and everything.

Harry's quick to cut across the hallway, stepping into his bedroom. Lightly, he closes the distance between him and the bed. He can barely see Daisy from how she's wrapped herself up in his blankets, one arm hanging out with his copy of Pride and Prejudice sitting loosely in her palm. He perches his bum on the little space between her and the edge, carefully removing the book from her palm and placing it on his bedside table. Peeling back the blankets she's snuggled under, Harry's heart leaps when he finally her beautiful face. Still sleeping soundly, lips mushed into his pillow with the smallest bit of drool staining the side of her mouth. He desperately wants to just strip off his uniform and climb into bed with her in nothing but his pants, wants to feel her on his skin after so long of sleeping alone on an army cot, but he can't. He'd hate if she woke up and was uncomfortable, if he made her uncomfortable, so he silently returns to his feet and slips into the closet.

Remaining in the doorway, just so he can still be able to see Daisy, Harry leaves his uniform in a mess of green fabric on the floor and quickly slips into a set of pajamas. The wood floor is cold on his toes but he ignores it in favor of getting back to her as quickly as possible. Harry pauses, eyeing the side of the bed that's completely open for him but he doesn't want to sleep there. He wants to curl up on his side, lay his head on the same pillow Daisy's is on, share such an intimate space with her again because he surely took it for granted that night he left. He should've held her tighter, should've stayed awake longer just to have more time with her. He should've memorized how it felt to feel her hands on him and how she's the heaviest sleeper he's ever met. He just should've done more for her.

He's not going to waste anymore time.

Pulling back the blankets, enough to expose Daisy to the cooler air of the bedroom, Harry lies himself next to her. She remains as still as a statue, but he notices that as soon as his feet brush hers it's like she fully relaxes. As if she were having a bad dream or uncomfortable and his presence next to her has brought that fragile peace needed for a good nights sleep. His heart swells at the thought of her subconsciously needing him like he needs her, and it takes all his strength to reach over and turn out the light instead of throwing himself on top of her and kissing her until they suffocate. He reckons that'd be a great way to go but he's not ready for that. He's still got so much of himself to give and share with her.

Perhaps he was right when he told her the heart grows fonder with distance, because never in a million years would he imagine his eyes stinging with unshed tears as he wraps himself around Daisy, body fitting to hers like it belongs there.

Home.

Daisy's first reaction upon waking up to loud snores and a heavy weight around her middle was to poke her fingers into the strangers closed eyes and definitely knee him in the groin, and then hopefully be quick enough to get to the neighbors for help. That is until her bleary eyes focus on the face in front of her. His strong jaw, the frown that's always on his face, even when he sleeps, and the mess of curls on the pillow. His face is a little slimmer in the cheeks and his hair shorter (and a little greasy at the roots) but he's still handsome. He's still Harry.

Her vision blurs again, this time with tears on her waterline, and she reaches up to cup his jaw, afraid this is just part of a dream. "Harry?" She whispers, heart pounding on her chest. A little short cuts off his snores, pink lips smacking together and he wiggles further into the mattress before falling still again. It's really him. He's really home. He's somehow made it back to her and climbed into their bed at God knows what hour without even waking her. She can't help but mentally curse him, wishing she had known sovsge could've met him at the train station with hot tea. He must have been freezing when he got home last night. The least she could've done was gone to pick him up.

"Harry? Will you please wake up?"

Luckily for Daisy, he's a bit of light sleeper, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone being enough to peel his eyes open. He blinks twice, eyebrows pinching together as his sleepy eyes flicker over her face.

"I'm sleeping." He grumbles, eyes closing again but Daisy doesn't care if he's annoyed or mad at her for waking him. She missed him too much to care so she pushes him onto his back, throwing her body over his and worming her hands under his neck. Harry grunts under her weight, lifting his head to adjust the way she's holding him before falling back into the pillows with a soft sigh.

"What are you doing here? Why didn't you say anything you prick? You scared me to death!" His lips curl up at her words, obviously pleased at getting a rise out of her by not giving her all the information about him coming home.

"I scared ya?" He mumbles incredulously, "Came home to find your room empty, thought you'd somehow got frozen outside trying to sneak to my mum's and then I find ya in my bed? Scared me more, I reckon."

Daisy leans back, hoping to get another look at his beautiful eyes after so long of not seeing them but he's still pretending sleep when she looks down at his face. "How'd ya know I've been going to your mum's?"

She blows on him in attempt to annoy him enough to open his eyes, to just please look at her but he remains stubborn, squeezing them shut. "She wrote me." He answers simply, the thickness of his voice catching her off guard. Squinting curiously, she notices his Adam's apple bob nervously, and his teeth take in his bottom lip.

"Harry?" Daisy murmurs, releasing her right hand from it's spot under his neck to place it over his chest. She's shocked by how fast it's pounding, how his shoulders have tensed up. "Are you okay Harry?"

His nose scrunches, his eyes closing even tighter, features twisting as if he's in pain. He nods just once, a trembling breath leaving his flaring nostrils. Daisy doesn't know everything about Harry, not yet, but she knows that he's not okay. That he's holding something back and she's so worried that maybe he's hurt, that something happened in France and he's been sent home because he's injured, that a sudden knot lodges itself in her throat.

Her words are croaky and strained. "Can I see you Harry? Please?" She begs, trailing her hand up his collarbones to cup his jaw. "I haven't seen you in so long."

Silence. Not a word from him. Not even a shake or nod of his head. Harry remains twisted up, refusing to look at her, to speak to her.

"I miss you Harry. I miss you so much."

Her words push him over, his arms flying up to wrap around her and he sits up to hold her to his chest. She can't see him like this either but it doesn't matter because he's shaking and sniffling, the cries he was holding back finally breaking through. Daisy wraps her arms around his waist, her own eyes welling up with tears again at the sound of him whimpering.

"I miss you love. More than you'll ever know. Don't think I can go back now that I've got you again." Harry's rambling under his breath, soft sentiments of everything he missed, every little reminder of her that tormented him in France. She thinks he might be influenced by drowsiness but that doesn't stop her from pulling back enough to finally see his eyes. Even red rimmed and leaking, shining with longing and pain, they're the most breath taking color. They're eyes only meet for a moment before she's sealing her lips to his.

It's refreshing to feel his mouth again. Like warming up by the fire after making the wall home from the bakery. Like the sight of gooey chocolate chip cookies being broke in half, melted chocolate still connecting the two pieces. Like waking up to a fresh coat of snow in the morning, untouched by feet and vehicles and sleds. Like stockings resting over a fire. Like the silence that sits between them when he reads and she crochets.

Somewhere deep in her heart, it registers to Daisy that this is what home feels like.

Robin's a fairly short man, not that Daisy had noticed until Harry's standing next to him in the bakery, an old apron of the owners barely reaching his thighs. The knot in the back is the smallest possible knot she could tie because Harry's training has beefed him up quiet a bit and Robin's a very thin man. She doesn't know what it is, if it's the fact that it's so overwhelming to have him back again he just seems so much bigger than he used to, or if she somehow didn't notice how much he towers over everyone until now, but Daisy feels like a flower in the shadow of Big Ben next to him. It's both intimidating and soothing at the same time, but that's just Harry's brand she supposes.

"It's really not necessary for you to spend the day here." Robin repeats, digging through the orders for today. Daisy knows he's got a lot to bake today seeing as he closed for the holidays starting tomorrow and plenty of families need their baked goods for their celebrations. She promised to be here to help and even Harry's surprise drop in isn't going to ruin her word.

"Don't be silly Robin. We want to be here." Daisy assures, washing her hands so she can begin making the dough for the first order of dinner rolls. Harry looks a bit lost as Robin pins up the orders on the cork board and Daisy gets cooking. She's never seen Harry not completely own the whole room before and seeing him watching her curiously is oddly cute.

Robin puts Harry to work the counter and wrap up orders, much to his disliking seeing as he's not the socialist of butterflies, but he doesn't complain. Not even when Jacqueline Haverhill is utterly rude to him, glaring at him throughout the whole transaction. Daisy doesn't exactly know what Harry did to bother Jacqueline but she guesses it's probably something similar to his interaction with Mrs. Weathers.

As the day goes on, the orders get sent out, and a soft trickle of snow begins outside, Daisy notices that Harry's really good at wrapping the orders. He's precise about cutting the wrap and his bows of ribbons are perfect and the card with the order name is always written in a neat, slanted cursive. She can't help but imagine a Christmas Eve night in which her and Harry are both sat awake in the dead of the night, Harry wrapping gifts for a child that's asleep on the floor above them, scribbling their name on the gift tag and signing it from Santa Claus. He's got the perfect writing for that of the holiday icon. And then he'd hand the pretty package over for Daisy to place nicely under their tree.

Something in her stomach twists, realizing for the first time that she's imagined herself actually being a mother to his children. Of course she's thought about how good of a father he'd be, but she's never had such a vivid picture of the two of them parenting. It's such a shocking and sweet moment that she can't help but wipe the flour on her hands off on her apron, tentatively approaching Harry as he piles the two orders of cakes next to each other. He pauses when she walks over, mouth opening to question her but he doesn't get a chance to before she's pressing herself into his large chest, arms finding their way around his waist.

Harry freezes just for a moment, obviously caught off guard, but then he's wrapping his own arms around her shoulders and squeezing her a bit tighter. Daisy doesn't know what to say as reasoning for her suddenly wanting to hold him but Harry luckily doesn't question her. Maybe he's just as desperate for her as she is for him. Robin doesn't say anything to the two, simply smiling to himself as he watches Harry's eyes flutter close, resting his cheek on top of her head. Harry's not an affectionate person, most often he's rather cold, but he looks perfectly at home holding Daisy the way he is. Like he needs her to breathe.

"Hello hello!" Anne interrupts as she enters the bakery, Daisy opening her eyes just in time to see her brilliant smile drop into one of shock. Her gloved hands cup her mouth, eyes watering at the sight of Harry standing in the bakery when she'd been under the impression that he was still in France.

"Hello mum." Harry greets casually, lifting his head as Daisy pulls away. She catches the grin on his face, resembling the cat that got the canary as he moves around the counter. "How are ya?" He spreads his arms wide, blocky teeth sinking into plush lip. Anne visibly trembles, dropping her hands from her mouth to swing her handbag at him. Daisy giggles at Harry's flinch and the way his entire face scrunches into a childish pout.

"Oh you bugger!" Anne scolds wetly, smacking him one more time before finally accepting a hug from him. Daisy's chest expands with her growing heart at the image of Harry holding his wailing mother, stroking his fingers through his mother's dark hair while assuring her that he's fine. Like Daisy, she must have thought Harry is back due to injury or illness.

"Got home late last night mum, didn't want to wake you." He explains when she curses him for not stopping the minute he returned. "Didn't even wake Daisy. She came after me the same way too."

That same thickness that had taken over his voice this morning clouds his words, and the imagine of his tortured eyes makes Daisy nauseous. She distracts herself with wrapping up Anne's order of biscuits for the Christmas party tomorrow. Of course that doesn't stop her from listening in on the two, heart turning to mush at the sweet interaction between mother and son.

"I can't believe you're here Harry! And look how big and handsome you've gotten!"

"Was I not handsome before?" Harry's time is teasing but a quick glance at him and she can see the genuine curiosity in his slightly offended gaze.

"Of course you were ya goose! But you look awful proper with ya hair short and all." Anne continues to gush over him, fawning over the dusting of stubble on his jaw and how's he's too big for even the apron and how she better watch out or she'll have Goliath for a son. Daisy thinks it's a bit cheesy, Anne's compliments to him. Maybe a bit exaggerated too but then she catches the blush on Harry's cheeks and the boyish glint of pride in his green eyes, and she understands. Harry's a mumma's boy. He's eating up Anne's attention and fawning over him like a dog posing for treats.

Harry enjoys being doted on. Flattered. Babied even. There's something about that revelation that stirs in her stomach, warming her entire being.

Robin slides up next to Daisy, mixing bowl in the crook of his arm and whisking the batter in it. He nods towards Anne and Harry, a bashful smile on his face. "Don't charge her, alright?"

Daisy supposes it's because Robin's always known Harry's family, cares for them. And seeing the heart warming reunion between Anne and Harry, she's not surprised at all that he's dropped the charge. Robin's a nice man and he's got a soft spot for Harry, therefore having one for Harry's loved ones as well.

She looks back at him, biting back a smile when she sees him press a sweet kiss to the top of his mother's head, and she's so darn lucky to have a place in his life.

Soldiers wear their uniforms when they go out. At least that's what the ones in the pub do. Daisy thinks it's to pick up girls seeing as every available lady in town is eager to flatter a serving man, and all the ones in here do have a girl or two attached to them, stroking the collars of their jackets and praising the ribbons and metals pinned to them.

Harry removes his long army green coat, draping it over his arm before reaching to help Daisy our of her white one. He didn't wear his uniform and she's quite glad for it. Of course Harry would probably scare away any girl that came near him and she'd definitely enjoy seeing it but she doesn't want to see anyone try to get his attention anyway. She just got him back and she's not sharing at all.

"This way Daisy." Harry guides, a warm hand on the small of her back. Two of Harry's army friends, a man named Pip who he roomed with, and another named Oliver were also allowed home for a visit. Both men were from the same town and enjoyed Harry's company enough to offer a meet up halfway between their town and Daisy's and Harry's.

The table closest to the bar and furthest from the dance floor is where Harry's mates are sat, and just like him, they're not in uniform either. However, they do have women with them and Daisy guesses that that's the reason they're dressed down. They don't need to impress or brag because they've got birds.

"Aye Harry!" The tallest man cheers loudly through a slight slur, slamming his hand on the table next to his pint. The girl with him, a lanky and slim brunette halfheartedly shushes him but it falls on deaf ears as he scrambles from his seat to greet Harry.

They exchange hugs, Harry clapping him on the back quite hard in a way that makes Daisy wince, but the man must be used to Harry hitting him like that because he just grins and smacks Harry's chest in return. "Is this ya girl Harry?" He questions when his blue eyes catch Daisy hovering behind Harry. She smiles politely, blushing when Harry reaches back for her hand.

"S'my Daisy, alright." He murmurs with a proud nod, pulling her into his side. "Daisy, this is Oliver and that quiet bloke in the back is Pip." Harry gestures the man still sat at the table, sharing a warm drink with the blonde next to him, who judging by the ring on her finger, is Pip's wife.

"Hello," Daisy greets, accepting a hand shake from Oliver. Harry leads her closer to the table, letting her pick a seat before settling himself next to her. She ends up by the blonde, nodding when she introduces herself as May. Harry leans over to gruffly shake hands with Pip, his arm on the back of her chair and warm chest against her shoulder. Oliver's girl says her name is Molly, and Daisy can't help but think that May and Molly are the prettiest names for two friends like them. She supposes Summer and Daisy are pretty good too.

"Would you like a drink love?" Harry murmurs in her ear, interrupting her thoughts with his warm breath. She nods gently, receiving a tender kiss on her cheek before Harry's on his feet and heading towards the bar. Daisy watches him, enjoying the way his white trousers cling to his peachy bum. She's dragged out of her admiring by Pip.

"When Harry told us he's got a bird back home, I never expected him to have someone so quiet and sweet."

Daisy giggles nervously, pushing her hair behind her ear when Oliver nods his agreement. "Big grumpy lad like him, was expecting someone like my bloody Aunt Cecil." Pip and Oliver chortle drunkenly, Molly chuckling before turning to Daisy.

"Aunt Cecil is the most terrible woman I've ever met. Very braggy when she's not even got anything to brag about!" Molly's obvious distaste makes Oliver laugh louder, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

"Terrible," he agrees with a sigh, "but I think it's right fitting that Harry have you with him. A bit of balance eh?"

"He definitely looks less brutish with a little thing like you on his arm." Pip agrees, "Proper cute you are." May repeats his words, smiling sweetly at Daisy. Not knowing what exactly to say, she’s grateful when Harry returns with her drink and a beer for him. When he settles back into his chair, his arm returns to it’s spot around her shoulders. Daisy relaxes into his touch, remembering all the girls here that would definitely try to win his attention, and she beams with pride at the fact that he’s hers.

Oliver and Pip start up a conversation of what they missed most about home. Pip swears he’ll never find better cooking than the meals May makes, practically on the verge of tears as he dramatically declares his love for her beef stew. Oliver laughs, scrunching his nose when he says he missed the smell of home. Paris, he thinks, smells of cigarette smoke and too much perfume. Daisy’s not sure what she was expecting Harry to say, maybe that he missed his comfortable mattress or his novels, but she’s not expecting him to shrug and wholeheartedly say her name.

Her heart swells, ears burning as Molly and May coo. She catches Harry’s bashful gaze, grinning as she pecks his pink lips as tenderly as she can. For a moment they’re stuck in a lover’s bubble, gooey eyes and shy grins, but it’s quickly shattered by Pip’s groan and mouth.

“Excellent choice Styles,” he approves, “Nothing like coming home to shag and love on your wife, aye?” That’s followed by a holler from Oliver, and the clanking of beer bottles. She watches Harry’s eyes widen, and he turns to them with a laugh that doesn’t really sound like him. They take his sip of his beer as joining in on their celebration of sex. The heat in her face grows, spreading to her belly and Daisy suddenly wishes they’d stayed home tonight so she could have had Harry all to herself.

She's changed into her night gown, sitting with her legs folded on Harry's bed and peeking into the bathroom while he brushes the alcohol of the night off his tongue. Harry's only put on pajama pants, leaving his torso fair game for her eyes to roam over. It's odd not feeling like she's prying by ogling him but she can't get the words of his friends off her mind.

"Nothing like coming home to shag and love on your wife, aye?"

He is her husband. She's devoted herself to him for the rest of her life, willingly, and she doesn't even remember why she was so upset about being Harry's in the first place. He's thoughtful, caring, intelligent, and so very handsome. It feels silly that she ever looked at him and hated him, because right now all she wants is him.

Daisy's never shagged anyone. The only person she's ever kissed is Harry save for a few cheek kisses from boys throughout the years. She can't help but look at Harry and wonder if he has. He's obviously attractive, every girl in town has wanted him at some point in their lives, but she's never heard anything about Harry wanting them. Up until that night her parents dropped the marriage bomb on her, she kind of assumed Harry would always just be Harry.

There was one rumor though, she recalls, coming up when she was about sixteen. A girl named Lucille had been the center of it, everyone claiming she'd lost her virginity too young to a boy at the summer party always thrown at her house. No one cared about the boy because the real spice of the rumor was Lucille having sex outside of wedlock, but the boy mattered to Daisy because it was Harry. At least that's what Summer had heard from someone. She remembers how awful she had felt hearing that, having to leave school early because her stomach was doing an awful job at holding down her lunch. At the time she thought it was just a disgust at the thought of anyone, especially someone as sweet as Lucille, sleeping with someone as rude as Harry.

But now, watching him lean over the sink to rinse his mouth, shoulders rippling as he moves, Daisy thinks she was jealous. She wasn't disgusted that Lucille slept with Harry, no, she was disgusted that Harry had slept with Lucille. She was absolutely put off by the fact that Harry hadn't come to her. Because he was always going after her. Always teasing, always picking, always embarrassing. Why was that time the exception?

"Harry?" His name is out of her lips before she can even rationally think about what she's wanting to ask him, and when he exits the bathroom with a soft "wha'sa matter?" her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Instinctively, her hands reach to the bottom of the bed for the crochet blanket, fingers wiggling through the stitches in attempt to calm her suddenly pounding heart. Deciding that there's no possible way for her to ignore her curiosity nor how much she wants to feel his skin under her fingertips, she quickly spits out her question.

"Do you miss shagging?"

For a moment, Daisy thinks Harry might be mad. There's a flash in his eyes, one of annoyance and frustration, and she can feel an apology building on her tongue when Harry moves to sit on the edge of the bed by her.

"What's got this on your mind Daisy?"

She feels a bit like a child with the tone he uses, as if he thinks she's repeating something she'd heard on the playground and knew nothing about before inquiring about it. "Pip and Ollie mentioned it, and well, you sort of laughed but it was different. I was just wondering, I don't know. We don't really speak about personal things but I don't want you, I don't know, suffering because you think I'm clueless or-"

Harry interrupts her with a sharp call of her name, cutting off her defensive ramble. His hands reach up to untangle her fingers from the blanket, holding them in his own. Thumbs brushing over the back of her hands, his usually stoic expression breaks into a fond gaze. "First of all, I want you to know that I would never want you to do that based off the belief that you think m'suffering or whatever other bloody nonsense your mother has put in that head of yours."

Daisy's ears burn, embarrassed by the mention of her mother because Harry's spot on. She's always grown up hearing that as a wife, she does whatever her husband requests of her, no questions asked. But beneath that layer of embarrassment, is another source of heat, begging for her to just lean over and smear her mouth to his.

"Second," he continues "I don't need shagging Daisy. If we talked about it and both wanted to that'd be a different story but I promise you that I don't wake up every morning and curse the world because I've still not made love to you." His sentence is punctured with a shy giggle, one she's never heard come out of his mouth and it makes her heart swoop pleasantly. Harry's cute, she tells herself while mentally adding to the list of new things she's learned about her husband in just a few days of having him home.

"Ok Harry." She agrees, even more flustered at his compassion towards her and the subject of sex. "I suppose I just got caught off guard when Pip said how much he missed it while he was away and I didn't want you to feel that way too. You're already in a trying situation and that's the last thing I want."

Daisy moves closer to him when his dimples sink into the plushness of his cheeks, lips shining when he runs his tongue over them in attempt to hide the boyish smile on his face. "Want to hear a secret?" He finally whispers, dropping his gaze to where his hands are still tenderly holding hers. Daisy mutters a yes, eager to know something personal about Harry.

He clears his throat gently, shaking his head as if he's mentally scolding himself for whatever information he's holding inside his head. When he does finally speak, his voice is so quiet she wouldn't have heard it had it not been for how closely together they're sat.

"I can't miss something I never had."

It takes another moment for his words to register in her mind but when they do she could jump in elation. Of course she'd never judge Harry for having already had sex but she's so utterly relieved to know that she's not alone in her inexperience. She can't fight the grin that pulls at her lips, Harry rolling his eyes when he glances up through thick lashes to gauge her reaction.

He looks so shy, so tentative about what she might say to his secret and for the first time since she's known him, confidence surges through her. She squeezes his hand, pushing her shoulders back as she nonchalantly replies, "Neither can I, but I can yearn for it."

Harry's head snaps up at her words, eyes bright and big with surprise. Pink lips dropped open in disbelief, Daisy refuses to shy away from his prodding gaze because she knows what she said is truthful. Why can't she finally shag Harry? She's married to him and she trusts him, and if the admittance that she was jealous of Lucille is anything to go by, she's wanted Harry for a lot longer than she thought.

"Daisy," Harry utters, voice strained and rough in his throat. It sends shivers up her spine. "you're gonna have to give me more than that if you want something darling."

Before any unpleasant nerves can take over, she complies. "I've never slept with anyone before either but I would sh-I want to do that with you. If you want to."

His fingers are gentle but persistent as they trail up her exposed arms, Harry's eyes remaining on hers for any sign of reluctance or regret. He reaches the sleeves of her nightgown, fingertips dipping under the fabric and when she steadily maintains eye contact, he knows that's he's fully got the go-ahead. She can tell by the simper that lifts his lips and the sudden darkness in his eyes. Harry pushes himself onto his knees, face leaning in so close to hers his minty breath blows the baby hairs out of her face. Daisy allows herself to be guided back by his wide shoulders and bulging chest, eyes growing heavy under his heated gaze as her head meets the pillows.

"Are you certain Daisy?" Harry murmurs, checking once again. His thoughtfulness for her feelings and emotions is endearing and overwhelming, bringing a sudden sting to the back of her eyes. Daisy nods, reaching up to hold the side of his face, and tilting her chin up to brush their lips together.

"There's no other person I'd want to do this with Harry, and there's no other time that would be as perfect for a first time as right now." Harry's breathing grows heavier at her words, and while she usually struggles to read his gaze, tonight's different. She can see it in his eyes too, that burning need and passion that she can feel in her chest as well. "Besides, this is usually a wedding night activity so we're quite behind Mr. Styles."

The smirk that lifts her lips brings elation to his eyes, his dimples making an appearance with a smirk of his own. "If that's the case, reckon I should carry on, aye Mrs. Styles?"

She manages one feeble nod before his mouth is fully on hers, leaning all his weight onto his right elbow while his left hand drops down to her waist. He holds there for a moment, strong, nimble fingers a reassuring weight on her skin while she takes the time to run her own fingers over his exposed skin. The dips of his muscles and the heat of his body is enthralling, drawing her in before reducing her to mush.

The heat in Daisy's belly is searing, a fire burning so strongly she thinks she might melt into a puddle on the bed, soaking into the fabric of Harry's sheets to stay there for the rest of eternity. She's not sure what's warmer, the arousal in her core or the heat wafting off of Harry. Possibly Harry because she's never seen him like this. He's never looked so big, so manly, so strong while somehow also being so soft and sweet. This is the Harry she likes, the Harry she hopes is around for the rest of their lives. Calloused hands on her waist, eagerly pulling up the fabric of her clothes, prompting her to lift her bum so he can get the gown up around her waist.

Knickers visible to not only the chilly room, but Harry as well, goosebumps prickle her skin and her heart thumps erratically in her chest. Harry's large palm continues to trail up her body, exposing more of her skin inch by inch. His hips settle between her thighs, the soft skin of his belly brushing against hers. Daisy's never felt his skin on her like this and a wave of arousal pulses between her thighs. There's a bit of struggle with getting the nightgown over her head, Harry not wanting to release her bottom lip from between his teeth but eventually sacrificing the kiss to get her naked.

He sits back on his haunches, tossing her clothes over his shoulder as his eyes drink in every inch of her heated body. His fingers trail up her legs, brushing over her hips in a teasing manner as they follow an unmarked path to her naked chest.

“Prettiest bird I’ve ever seen, ya know that?” Harry murmurs against the corner of her lips, tentatively cupping the supple flesh and watching her face intently. Experimentally pinching his fingers into her skin, his eyes twinkle when the first shuttering moan breaks through Daisy’s lips. “Feel good?”

Nodding, she grips his arms for stability in the swirling mess of heat and desperation that’s taken over her body. She’s always been fairly quiet, but Harry’s touch is so comforting and exciting, she doesn’t hesitate to whine impatiently. “Thought you were getting a move on it Styles?” He quirks an eyebrow at her response, fingers pausing for a moment before he scolds her with a gentle tug on her nipple that sucks the air out of her lungs.

Harry slips off the bottom of the bed, shaking his head just once. “I’ll hurry Daisy, but I want ya calling me Harry tonight. Not Styles,” his eyes meet hers with a warning glare in them, daring her to argue. Something about his dominance has more wetness pooling between her spread legs, dampening the cotton fabric of her underwear. “Want to hear just my name from you.”

She nods again, so quickly her brain rattles around in her head but her eagerness is rewarding because Harry smirks and hooks his thumbs in his only two layers, tugging them down in on go. He kicks them off his ankle but Daisy barely catches the movement because her eyes are stuck on his stiff member. Red and thick, the head of him bobs up by his belly button and smears the clear liquid leaking out of him against the sprinkle of hair that leads between his thighs. Harry stands like a Greek sculpture, one hand on his lean hip and the other tangled in his unruly hair. His body glows in the soft light of the lamp, illuminating the layer of sweat that glistens on his muscles. Her eyes land on his thighs, gnawing on her bottom lip as she realizes how thick and pretty his legs are. She finds herself wishing it was the meat on the inside of his leg that were between her teeth instead of her own lip.

“Harry,” his name leaves her mouth in a sinful whimper, thighs subconsciously opening wider as if inviting him to dive between them. She sees his cock twitch at her call, his eyes fluttering for a brief second before he’s leaning over her again, hands on the sides of her knickers.

“May I?” He requests in a whisper, smiling brightly when she moves her hands to push his down, taking her underwear with them until she too is spread out bare on his sheets. Their mouth meet again, Harry’s cock a heavy weight on her lower tummy, twitching at every soft moan that he swallows off her tongue.

“Do you have protection?” She questions, breaking their kiss. Harry freezes, and a heavy weight settles in her chest as his eyes fly open and his forehead creases in thought. After a few seconds his eyes light up with hope, leaning off the side of the bed to dig through his drawer. The little packet containing the condom is pinched between his fingers as he comes back to her, eyes squinting as he checks the date on it.

“Thank god for Niall taking the piss out of me with this, huh?” Harry says, an eager and excited lilt in his voice. Daisy giggles, pushing his floppy hair off his forehead as he opens the rubber and rolls it down his prick.

“Who’s laughing now.” She responds, fingers digging into his shoulders when the covered head of him probes at her opening. Harry cups her face with his free hand, naked chests brushing against each other, and he smiles like a boy on Christmas morning. He doesn’t push into her though, instead presses a chaste kiss to her lips.

“You still comfortable with this Daisy?” His breath is hot on her face, but soothing. And when she nods and whispers, “absolutely” she knows it’s 100% the truth. That’s all Harry needs before he’s flexing his hips forward, nudging her slick folds apart with his thick tip. The initial sting makes her flinch, a grunt leaving Harry’s clenched teeth as he she clamps around the few inches he’s managed to sink in. His forehead drops to her shoulder, arm shaking but he doesn’t rush her into taking all of him. No, instead he waits for her muscles to relax, easing up on his cock and the way her body melts into his brings tears to Harry eyes.

“You’re doing so good sweetheart,” Harry encourages, voice raspy with the effort it’s taking him to keep from bursting already. He wants to, needs to make Daisy feel good. He wants her to know that he’ll worship her for the rest of his life. “Already feel like heaven around me.”

With sweet words and tender smears of his mouth against hers, Harry finally sinks balls deep into Daisy. The feeling brings similar moans from both of them, a peaceful aura of completion settling around them. Daisy’s never felt this before. Like her body could just float up into heaven if it weren’t for Harry’s broad frame draped over her. Like he’s a limb she never knew she was missing but now that it’s here, she can’t imagine ever being empty again. She loves it, loves him.

“You’re so big Harry.” Daisy admits, bashfully meeting his gaze. Harry pants a choked moan into her face, steadying himself before pulling his hips back and slipping forward into her warmth once again.Her compliments seem to drive him, spurring him on, and she recalls how he’d melted under affection at the bakery the other day. Grinning softly, she latches her legs around his hips and lovingly runs her hands over his spine.

“Feels so bloody good,” Harry mutters, most likely talking to himself. Daisy’s chest swells with pride, gasping when the head of him nudges deep in her belly, tightening the string in her abdomen.

Attaching her lips to his jaw, Daisy breathes her own adoration. “Making me feels so good Harry, want to feel you forever.” The whimper that escapes him makes her core flutter, squeezing him tighter. Like she predicted, the compliment creates something feral in him, the pace of his thrusts picking up the slightest bit.

“Yeah? You want me to keep my cock in you all the time? Show you how fucking well I’m going to take care of you for the rest of our lives?”

The revelation that Harry’s got a dirty mouth brings her closer to the edge, whimpering out more agreements to all of his filthy promises. He drives his cock into her deeper, quick but strong ruts of his hips that stretch her open so well. After a particularly vulgar promise from Harry, a declaration that he’ll spend the remainder of the war fucking his fist to the memory of making love to her, Daisy smashes her mouth back to his, teeth clashing and tongues colliding as the string in her belly snaps. His name leaves her in a quiet chant, encouraged by his thumb reaching between them to rub at her clit and the deep rasps of “Yes Daisy, cum for me, say my name, my name....”

Her velvet heat pulsing around him sends him spiraling, filling the condom with his hot cum as his body trembles and shakes over her. Daisy encourages him as well, shyly thrusting her hips up to meet his sloppy thrusts and nibbling on his jaw. Cock still twitching in her, Harry drops all his weight so she’s basically trapped under him. Not that she minds of course. Daisy loves the feeling of holding him, petting at his damp hair and rubbing her toes over his calf soothingly. It takes Harry a minute to return to earth, lifting his head and blinking sluggishly. He looks utterly breathtaking, pink cheeks and swollen lips, gleaming eyes and dimples as he takes her mouth back with his.

Daisy never imagined she’d end up here with Harry, but she’d never want to be anywhere else now, and she supposes this was the feeling Harry was talking about when he described home. It’s not a home, it’s a person, and she’s somehow ended up with the best one.

#harry styles #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #harry styles au #dear daisy #ww2 harry #soldier harry #arranged marriage au #enemies to lovers #secret marriage #smut

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beck-a-leck · 3 years

Note

Kissing prompt! Shamelessly asking for #14 Cliff x Claire! 😌

I live to answer shameless prompts!

Send me a Smooch Prompt and a couple characters for all your self-indulgent needs!

#14 - A kiss so desperate that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they're finished.

Featuring Cliff and Claire, and just the teeniest bit of angst and sadness to really make the desperation stick.

Cliff packed slowly. He didn't want to leave the inn, didn't want to leave Mineral Town, didn't want to leave his friends, and perhaps most desperately, he didn't want to leave Claire. But there was nothing to be done for it. He had no money. There was no work to be found in town. Doug had already given him as much of a break on rent as he could afford, and Cliff had relied on Claire to feed him for most of a season now. He hated how much he had to rely on the kindness of others, how much he took that he could never pay back. He had become a burden, and he couldn't stand that.

As much as he did not want to leave Mineral Town, a place that had begun to feel more like home in the last year than any place had for such a long time, Cliff had to go. He had to find a job, and there were absolutely none to be found. He'd thought something might have come up last autumn at the winery, Duke had hired him and another guy to be the manual laborers during the harvest, but at the end of it all, Michael had been offered the chance to stay on full time. Michael had gotten along with Duke like a house on fire, they laughed and joked like they were old friends, even though Michael had only rolled into town one one of the last boats of the summer.

Winter was coming to its close, Cliff had spent a year here, and the last six months truly visualizing Mineral Town as home, as the place he would grow old in with the woman he loved. Maybe even one day, have a family again.

But those dreams had dwindled as rapidly as his funds.

This wouldn't be goodbye forever, Cliff and Claire had had a very long discussion about this, about his leaving, and their future together. If he was lucky, he'd find work somewhere else, he could start earning money, and saving money, building skills that he could some day bring back to Mineral Town and then maybe, in a year or two, he could come back.

But... it was a heavy Maybe. Maybe Cliff would never be able to go back to Mineral Town. Maybe his travels for a job took him too far away. Maybe Claire would fall in love with someone else in his absence, someone who could always be here for her, who wouldn't leave.

Cliff shoved the last few items into his bag and zipped it closed. He slung the pack over his shoulder and turned towards the door. His eyes fell on the room's other occupant.

"I'm gonna miss you, man," Gray said, trying and failing to keep the emotion from his voice. "You sure you don't want anyone to go with you down to the pier?"

"No," Cliff said quietly, "That's okay, I'd rather go alone. I've said my goodbyes."

"Yeah, well, you've got one more." Gray offered his hand. Cliff took it, and they shook for a moment, before the two of them, with a wet chuckle, pulled into a hug. "Won't be the same here without you." Gray thumped him on the back before letting go.

Without another word, Cliff hitched his pack up over his shoulders, and walked out of the room he'd called home for the last year. Ann was sweeping the stairs, and she gave him a tight hug as he passed. Down at the bar, Doug shook his hand firmly and sent him off with a "Good luck, son."

It was snowing, and a bitter cold wind was tearing at Mineral Town. Nobody else was out in the streets, or in the square. With every step Cliff took towards the beach, his heart sunk. Claire wouldn't be here. he had specifically asked her to not see him off like this. They'd said their goodbyes last night, and he, quite frankly, wasn't certain he could get on the ferry if she was there with him.

Snow and sand crunched beneath his feet as he crossed the beach to the pier. He perched gingerly on the icy bench and watched the distant shape of the ferry grow closer on the roiling gray sea.

He shivered and pulled his coat tight around him - Claire's Starry night present to him - it was warm and sturdy. He'd get many good years of use out of it. Wearing it was like walking around in her embrace.

The ferry was almost there when another body settled on the bench next to Cliff.

"Hey," Michael said with a slight smile, he was always smiling. No wonder Duke had asked him to stay on at the winery with a sunny attitude like that. "Cold enough, huh?"

"Yeah..." Cliff didn't feel much like talking. And as much as he didn't want to resent Michael, because the man hadn't done anything to him personally, there was a mean corner of him mind that kind of hated the guy for taking his chance to stay in Mineral Town forever.

Michael was carrying a duffel bag, stuffed full, it looked. Cliff nodded towards it, "You taking a trip to the city?"

Michael shrugged. "For starters, yeah. Spend New Year's partying it up, from there, who knows where I'll go. Maybe spend the rest of the winter somewhere warm."

That didn't make any sense.

"But what about your job? The Winery? I know winter is a slow season, but surely Duke and Manna need your help still. They're letting you take a vacation that long?"

"Vacation?" Michael laughed. "Nah, bud, I quit the winery, like a couple days ago. Small town living is quaint and all, and nice for a little while, but I don't want to be in a little backwater hole like this for the rest of my life, you know." He grinned and nudged Cliff. "I mean, you're leaving too for brighter futures and greener pastures, right?"

Cliff's hands curled into fists. he'd never truly disliked Michael before, but right now he really wanted to hit that flippant, smug, carefree grin right off his face. Just to be certain he wasn't having some vivid hallucination, Cliff asked again. "You quit the winery?"

"Yeah." Michael shrugged. "I was gonna wait til after New Year's but honestly I can't even bear the thought of spending the holiday in this tiny town. I doubt there would even be a party, everyone would probably be in bed by nine." He scoffed. "Probably wouldn't even get a New Year's kiss. None of the girls here are even all that cute, and they're so old fashioned. You basically have to propose before they'll even let you hold hands."

Cliff stared at Michael dumbfounded. His mind raced with possibility. Maybe he could go back to the winery and ask for a job, but Duke had already rejected him once this year, what's to say they still won't want him. But he had to try, right? Worst they could say was 'no' and he would just have to catch the ferry tomorrow. Best case - he couldn't even think of the best case scenario in case he jinxed the whole thing. Anything for a chance. that' what he had promised Claire. He would do any job, try anything if it meant coming back to her sooner.

Cliff snapped out of it as the ferry pulled close to the pier, blowing its whistle to call any stragglers to hurry and catch their ride.

Someone was shouting his name. Michael nudged him. “Hey, isn’t that your girlfriend?”

Cliff turned and saw Claire standing on the steps at the top of the beach. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “CLIFF! WAIT!”

“I thought you dumped her,” Michael said with a dint of disdain. “She was certainly mopey about it when I saw her earlier when I was getting my last paycheck.” He scoffed again. “Kinda pathetic, ain’t she? Just a little too desperate, huh?”

Once again, Cliff was seized with the overwhelming urge to deck Michael. But he didn’t. He got to his feet and turned away from Michael and the docking ferry.

“Hey, where’re you going? The boat’s right here. They won’t wait for you.”

“I don’t care. I’ll catch the next one if I have to.” Cliff didn’t spare Michael another thought or a second glance. He took off running towards Claire. She took off running towards him too. The met in the middle of the beach and crashed into each other, throwing their arms around the other and holding on tight.

“Don’t go!” Claire gasped, taking his face in her cold hands. “Don’t go yet. Please. I-I think I found you a job. At the winery.”

“I know. Michael’s leaving.”

A smile broke out over Claire’s lips as she realized, as they both realized, Cliff might not have to leave. There might be a chance for him to stay in town. Maybe he wouldn’t have to go.

She pulled his face towards hers, drawing him into a fierce kiss. Their lips crashed against teeth, but neither pulled away. Cliff kissed her, letting all of the hope bubble up in his chest and drive him desperately forward. Claire let got of his face and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her held her close, as close as possible. He ignored the fear that maybe Duke and Manna still wouldn’t want him, maybe the winery didn’t really need an extra set of hands. Maybe he was just prolonging the inevitable and he would still have to leave Claire.

He held Claire close and kissed her as snow collected in their hair, and their fingers went numb in the cold, until finally, panting slightly for breath they broke the kiss. Cliff rested his forehead against Claire’s, he looked down at their intertwined hands before closing his eyes. In his heart he made a wish, he said a prayer.

I wish… Maybe… Please…

“I should probably go talk to Duke and Manna, huh?”

#replies #ask box games #story of seasons #becky writes things #friends of mineral town #'i'm gonna try practicing romance' i said and then just wrote angst instead #but with that prompt really what other outcome was there?#might clean this up and put it on ao3

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janeyseymour · 3 years

Text

slip 'n sliding

hi! this is ay :D i wrote a silly lil six!broadway fic about bo sliding around the house as a dupe for heelys HAHAH so i hope y'all enjoy it!

Anne’s white Heelys, which she customized with mint and forest green acrylic paint, are her most prized possessions. The online algorithm randomly showed her the shoes one day, and before she knew it, the fun-loving queen had fallen down a rabbit hole of videos, different tricks, and the available styles on the website. But from the first day she got them, Jane had been unwavering on the sentiment that they are never to be worn in the house. Never.

Of course, she’d tried to fight her (in Anne’s opinion, sometimes overly) cautious friend on this new “rule.”

“You’ll hurt yourself, Bo!” Jane exclaimed, fidgeting with a random hair tie that was on her wrist.

Anne smiled in response, “No, I won’t. I’ve got perfect control over my fine motor skills like any adult would.”

“Yeah, but your abilities change when you’re on wheels!”

“Which is exactly why I should be able to practice, Jane. It’s the only way to get better,” she replied cheekily.

“Yes, I know and I agree. Just not in the house.”

“Why?”

Jane shook her head in disbelief, “I literally just said because you’d hurt yourself.”

“To which I replied I wouldn’t.”

“Fine. But you’re clumsy and might break something, Bo, and I do not want to have to deal with repairs.”

“Alright, alright,” Anne laughed, “I got it.”

Therefore, for a couple of weeks now, Anne has been walking around the house like an absolute plebeian. How boring, just taking one step after another! Not to mention how slow walking felt after having tasted the thrill of Heelys. Why anyone would opt to do that instead of (kind of) gracefully gliding around will forever be beyond Anne’s comprehension.

One day, while walking back to her bedroom after a day out with her cousin, Anne slipped slightly on the hardwood floor. Okay, maybe it seems obvious, but it suddenly clicked with Anne how smooth hardwood floors can be. The smoother a surface is, the less friction is produced when another surface rubs against it. Ding! Anne had an epiphany.

She quickly deposited all the belongings she’d brought out with her onto her bedroom floor and rushed back down the stairs, keeping only her phone and AirPods on her. To make sure the coast was clear, Anne checked the living room, the kitchen, any weird nooks, everywhere. When she was content in her checks, it was show time.

From her back jean pockets, the mischievous queen pulled out her phone and AirPods, pressing shuffle on her playlist of songs aptly titled “songs that make me feel like a professional dancer…oh wait, duh, i do dance professionally!” Once the music started playing, Anne mouthed along to the lyrics, losing herself in the rhythms. To get herself comfortable with the wood floors, Anne did a couple of test slides down the hallway downstairs.

“I got this!” she declared with a whisper. The music was turned up a little louder, and Anne tossed her phone onto the couch. Now it’s time, time to go to town surfing the hardwood floors and performing her own dance routines. There were a handful of times where she lost her balance and slipped, but it was never anything she couldn’t smoothly recover from with an extra twirl or bounce in her step.

However, after a little too long getting lost in her music, Anne got a little too cocky. For no rational reason, she decided to get a long running start and see how long she could surf the floor in a straight line. So, with Levitating by Dua Lipa flowing through her headphones, she sprinted for a couple of paces before placing her right foot in front of her left and cruising…until she stopped abruptly with a thud.

“What was that?” someone yelled. Anne continued to rub the part of her head that made contact with the wall whilst turning around to see her housemates rush down the stairs.

“Don’t tell me you walked into the wall, Bo,” giggled Kitty, covering her mouth with her hand to try and hide her amusement.

Cleves plopped down onto the couch, “How can someone walk into a wall so hard that it shakes the whole house.”

“Nuh uh,” Aragon chimed in, “that doesn’t seem possible for someone of Anne’s stature.” Both Cleves and Anne responded with a slightly offended, “Hey!” to which the other four laughed at playfully.

“I didn’t walk into a wall, alright! I’m not daft,” Anne sat down as well.

“Then, why are you rubbing your head like you hurt yourself?” Parr asked.

Jane scoffed in disbelief, “Were you wearing Heelys in the house?”

“Um, look at my feet. No, I wasn’t,” everyone glanced down at Anne’s feet just to make sure.

“Girl, don’t tell me you skated into the wall with socks on!” Cleves exclaimed. When Anne’s cheeks started to color, her friends bursted into laughter again. Except Jane.

“I cannot believe you, Bo. I try an prevent injury in this house, and you just have to find away around it,” chastised Jane, though Anne could tell by the smile on her friend’s face that Jane wasn’t actually as mad as she let on.

“You can’t ban socks from the house too, Jane!”

“Oh baby, just try me. I don’t want to see you covered in bruises,” her blonde friend called out as she walked into the kitchen. She returned an icepack for the queen who’d gotten herself injured, and held it against Anne’s forehead.

“I got it,” Anne placed her hand on the icepack, signaling for Jane to remove hers, “I’ll be more careful, I swear.”

Kitty picked up Anne’s phone from the couch cushion, “I don’t blame you for getting carried away, Bo. Levitating is laced with crack!”

“Could one get arrested for Heely-ing while being intoxicated?” Anne teased.

Jane immediately shot back, “Don’t you dare try!”

“Fine, but only because I love you too much to borrow bail money from you.”

Their house mom rubbed her temples, feigning a headache, “You’re lucky I love you too, Bo.”

#I- THIS #YES #THANK YOU I LOVE IT #six the musical #not my fic #submission

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fanfic-corner · 3 years

Text

Wrapped In Red

Merry Christmas, @masterofevilmonkeyness! I’ve really enjoyed writing your secret santa for @destielsecretsanta2020 this year, and it has actually ended up being the longest fic I have ever written!

First of all, here’s the playlist. My friend found some perfect songs for the different scenes, and we had a lot of fun trying to find songs with specific vibes!

Without further ado, here’s the fic. And, if you’d prefer, the link to it on AO3.

{o0o}

“So you’ll do it?” his brother’s voice crackles though Dean’s cracked phone, and he sighs. So yeah, maybe he hasn’t been on a case in a while and has been going slowly insane just hanging around the bunker, but he also doesn’t want to leave Cas alone. Since his grace had faded completely a few days ago, the former angel had hardly left his room, and Dean wasn’t sure what he could do to help.

He rubs his forehead, already feeling a headache coming on simply from this conversation, and replies, “I’ll ask Cas.”

“Okay, text me if you’re going,” Sam responds, the phone making the muffled noises that Dean has learnt means that he is holding his phone on his shoulder, freeing his hands to talk to Eileen.

“Stop worrying, anyway,” Dean tells him, cracking his back as he stands up. “You’re on holiday. Leave the cases for a while, and I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“Alright, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Dean slips his phone into his back pocket and wanders down the hallway, so engrossed in his plan to invest in some thick socks because the bunker floor is freezing that he nearly walks straight into Cas. His dark hair sticks up in every direction and he is wearing an old Zeppelin shirt of Dean’s and a pair of Sam’s sweatpants, which look like they are being held up by some kind of miracle. Paired with the bags under his eyes which are so dark that Dean mistakes them for bruises, he could be mistaken for a ghost.

“Hey, uh,” Dean stutters, not sure what to say. “Sam has a case that I was thinking of going on, but we don’t have to, we can just pass it on to Garth or-”

“I’ll go with you,” Cas interrupts, his voice hoarse and croaky.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You don’t look...great. No offense.”

“I’m fine, Dean.” Cas’ steely blue eyes had always been able to pull off a frighteningly good stare, and Dean just decides to go along with it. It would do them both good to get out of the bunker, in any case.

“Okay,” he agrees, “shall we go in about an hour? That’ll give me enough time to pack for both of us and you enough time to have a shower.”

Cas nods, and they part ways, Dean watching the angel hoist his borrowed pants up and disappear around the corner before shaking his head and fishing his phone out to text Sam.

We’ll take it. Send me the details, setting off in an hour.

{o0o}

Dean had tried his very best to hold a conversation when they set off on the fourteen hour drive, but he had long given up and they were only at the two hour mark. Every question he asked so far had either gone unanswered or had been graced with a monosyllabic response. It was like trying to hold a conversation with a brick wall. Well, no one could fault him for trying.

Flicking his wrist out lazily, he turns on the radio without looking with the kind of graceful expertise that only comes from years of driving his baby at night. It takes a full ten seconds for him to realise that the sound of jingle bells is coming from the speakers before he groans. “Nope.”

A surprisingly warm hand shoots out to stop him before he can turn it off, and Dean looks up in surprise at Cas’ imploring face. “Please can we listen to it?”

Considering what the dude had lost recently - and the fact that apparently his puppy eyes are almost as effective as Sam’s - Dean was hardly going to deny him this one thing. He did, however, have one condition. “Okay, I’ll leave it on, but only if you fish out my Christmas mixtape from the box.”

Dean never took his eyes off the road, but he was acutely aware of the way Cas stared at him for a moment before excitedly rummaging through the old box of tapes. Eventually, he pulls it out, admiring the battered stickers and fading drawings that he and Sam had added when they made it all those years ago. Cas gently slides it in and the first few notes of Mariah Carey grace the air.

“Hell yeah,” Dean says, grinning wildly. “You, Castiel, are about to be educated in some proper Christmas music.”

By the time the mixtape finishes, they are both in a much better mood, so Dean decides it is probably a good idea to stop for a little bit to get some snacks and some gas. Frowning, Cas informs him that he needs the toilet, before disappearing towards the nasty looking bathroom. Dean can’t help but feel bad for him; as much as he loves being human, he knows it must be annoying to suddenly have the weird experience of a human body. They always seemed to hurt or need something, and he could tell that Cas found the whole thing incredibly repetitive and exasperating.

The gas station is like every other gas station Dean has ever seen; empty, with a layer of grime that seemed to cover everything and the bright lights that ensured that no matter what time of day it was, it always seemed to look the exact same. This one, however, is also covered in Christmas decorations. Glittery tinsel and rainbow paper chains swing from the ceiling, the air conditioning coaxing them into a gentle dance. Fake snow covers every surface, and flashing fairy lights force him to blink and look away.

Dean moves on autopilot, picking up snacks that Cas hasn’t tried yet and a couple of bottles of water, before reaching the counter. He has to yell to the cashier - who is decked out in a festive jumper and Santa hat - in order to be heard over the deafening Christmas music.

“Here,” she practically sings, disappearing into the back room for a second before reappearing with a ridiculous pair of reindeer antlers. “These are for you, sweetie! No charge. Cheer up, it’s Christmas!”

Dean tries to refuse the antlers, but the lady - Lucy, her name tag reads - is not taking no for an answer, so eventually he gives in, telling himself that it is just so he can leave this Christmas Hell and get back to driving. Cas is waiting for him outside, leaning on the car and watching as the first few flakes of snow start to fall.

Dean hesitates for a moment before offering the antlers to him. Cas just stares at them, his head tilted to one side. Sighing, Dean just steps closer and puts them on Cas’ head, laughing when the bells jingle as he tries to look up at them without taking them off. He slips his phone out and sneaks a picture of the bewildered former angel, hastily putting it away and bundling Cas in the car so that they can set off before the snow gets too bad.

“Why did you give me a pair of fake antlers, Dean?” Cas asks as they set off, turning them over and inspecting them in his hands. Much to Dean’s dismay, they wouldn’t fit in the car.

“Thought you liked Christmas stuff?” he replies, grinning.

“What do fabric antlers have to do with Christmas?”

And so, Dean finds himself spending the last leg of the journey attempting to explain Christmas traditions to Cas, who can’t help interrupting and pointing out the real facts, rather than Dean’s Christmas cracker knowledge. They go over Santa and his reindeers (“reindeers can’t fly, Dean”), the birth of Jesus (“I remember Balthazar telling me about that”), and mince pies (“why are they sweet? Mince isn’t supposed to be sweet.”). By the time they arrive Dean is so eager to escape the onslaught of questions that he doesn’t know the answer to, he hits someone with the car door as he gets out.

The actual reason that they have driven into the middle of absolutely nowhere dangerously close to Christmas is because a couple had gone missing last week and hadn’t been seen since. Usually, they would assume that this case wasn’t their kind of thing, but Sam had been asked to check it out by another hunter who knew them (and who apparently had some beef with a ton of shapeshifters), and so here they are..

Dean suggests that FBI agents might be a bit too suspicious for a small town in the middle of nowhere, so instead he and Cas decide to pretend that they are just family visiting them for the weekend. They knock on next door under the pretense of asking for the spare key, and are greeted by possibly the grumpiest people Dean has ever met.

“Fine,” the lady snaps, the half of her face visible from behind the door frowning at them in disgust before turning back into the house. “Harold, get the spare key for next door!”

“Do you happen to know where they have gone?” Dean asks politely, the pleasant smile on his face starting to ache.

“No.”

Cas raises his eyebrows at Dean, before he tries. “When was the last time you saw them?”

The woman huffs impatiently. “Probably when they went to that stupid office Christmas party. We could hear the music from here. It was so inconsiderate.”

“Oh,” Dean replies, sharing a look with Cas. “Where was this party?”

The door opens fully, a man appearing behind the lady - Harold, Dean assumes - who hands the key over to them. “It was those blasted Mitchells.” He turns to his wife, his bushy eyebrows raised. “Did you hear that they are throwing another goddamn party tomorrow, Ann?”

“Thanks for all your help,” Dean interrupts before they can get too carried away.

“Merry Christmas!” Cas adds, already backing away.

They speedwalk back across the victims’ house, making sure that the neighbours’ door is shut before they completely break down laughing. Dean can barely open the door, but when he finally manages to correctly align the key in the lock, they both tumble into the front room, shaking uncontrollably.

Dean collapses next to the couch, sliding to the floor. He takes a couple of deep breaths before managing to speak. “Sounds like we’re going to your first Christmas party, Cas.”

{o0o}

After making their way through most of the people in the town, two things have been made very clear. First of all, the last anyone had seen of the victims - Adam and Amelia Knapp - was at their office Christmas party. Which nearly everyone in the town had been at, and yet no one knew anything remotely helpful. Secondly, there was another Christmas party being held tomorrow night by the somewhat popular Mitchell family, and the chances of their mystery monster striking were high, in Dean’s opinion.

The most logical course of action would be for Dean and Cas to pretend to be guests at the party, so they could stop their creature before anyone else went missing and then they could disappear back home in time for Christmas. However, Dean had found that nothing in his life could ever be that simple, so instead he found himself standing in front of a wide array of hats, trying to wrestle a fez away from a former angel of the Lord.

Because of course it had to be a costume party, and just as the icing on the cake, it had to be a couples only costume party.

“Dude,” Dean says, finally managing to wrench the fez from Cas’ iron grip, “if we’re wearing hats, at least try a good hat.”

Dean plops an example on Cas’ head, laughing as it slips over his eyes. “These aren’t Christmassy, Dean.”

“Sure they are,” Dean says, grabbing a hat more in Cas’ size and a matching one for him. He strolls over to the till, grabbing a couple more things on the way. “You’ll see.”

Since they have a few hours to kill before the actual party, Dean decides that they can waste some of the day doing some Christmas shopping, especially after he finds out that Cas hasn’t got any presents yet. He drives them to a nearby mall, throws Cas a handful of notes and his antlers, and gives him strict instructions to buy some presents and then meet Dean in the food court in an hour.

“Why can’t we do it together?” Cas asks, and Dean could swear he was pouting.

“Because the presents are supposed to be a surprise,” he explains, shooing Cas away with his hands. “Look, I’ll see you in an hour, and if you need anything you can just call me, ‘kay?”

Cas nods and meanders off, disappearing into the crowd without further complaint.

It is nearly ten minutes later, while he is rummaging through some shirts in an attempt to find one in Sam’s size, when Dean realises that this is the first time that Cas has been alone since he lost his grace. A sudden jolt of panic rushes through him, and he has to force himself to take a deep breath.

Castiel was older than humanity. He had led armies of angels. He had fought against demons and archangels and every monster under the sun. He could handle buying a few Christmas presents.

But, at the same time, Dean can’t help but worry. The dude has questionable social skills at best, and he is still trying to get to grips with his brand new human body. He often has to be reminded to eat or drink water or sleep, and there were several embarrassing occasions in the beginning where he had forgotten entirely.

Dean’s hand itches, his fingers curling towards his back pocket, but he resists the urge to call and check up on Cas. He doesn’t need a babysitter. He tells himself that he should just get his presents for people and then he can meet back up with Cas as soon as possible.

The mall is packed, the usual last rush as people get the last few things they need for Christmas. Conversations and the sound of toddlers crying fight to be heard over the echoing music, festive music adding to the deafening noise. While dodging people, making his way to their meeting place, Dean tries to remember the last time he was in a mall. Certainly not recently - he thinks it may be some time before he met Cas - and he definitely doesn’t remember them making him feel this claustrophobic. The sea of people pushing against him makes him want to throw up, and he finds himself having to duck into the nearest shop to avoid the crowd, shutting his eyes and leaning heavily against a railing.

“Dean?” a deep, familiar voice asks him, concerned. “Are you alright?”

Dean cracks one eye open, laughing when he realises what shop he found Cas in. He knew he should never have introduced him to Hot Topic. “I’m fine, Cas. Just hungry.” he deflects, standing up straight and patting his friend on the shoulder.

Cas gives him a look that says ‘I know you’re lying but I’m going to let you get away with it just this once’ and instead says, “Let me pay for this, and then we can go and get some lunch.”

Not even twenty minutes later, Dean is watching Cas eat a taco for the first time and has completely forgotten that he ever felt bad, because he is laughing too hard to care. Cas looks highly bemused at the stain on his precious trench coat, but Dean thinks that, secretly, he doesn’t mind.

{o0o}

There is no question that they are in the right place when they pull up outside the address they were given a few hours later, if the ridiculous amount of fairy lights and assorted decorations are anything to go by. They can’t help but stare at the blinding display for a moment, before Dean turns to Cas to make sure he remembers the plan. “Okay, so we go in, find our mystery monster-”

“Sam thinks it is a shapeshifter.” Cas interrupts.

“Okay, so we grab this shifter, gank it, grab some food on the way out and then drive home in time for Christmas. You remember the cover story?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Yes, Dean. We’re the Bassons, and we’re thinking about moving here. Do I need to repeat the rest?”

“Alright then, you ready?” Dean intertwines his fingers with Cas’ - in order to keep their cover, obviously - takes a deep breath, and then opens the door.

A wave of heat rolls out from the crowded house, contrasting with the painfully cold air outside. As they step inside, Dean picks up a delicious smell wafting in from the kitchen, a mixture of turkey and cranberry sauce and mulled wine and gravy. The third thing he notices is the music blaring in from the other room, loud enough that he can feel the vibrations thrum through his body. He laughs when he realises what song it is. Space Cowboy; he couldn’t have picked a more fitting song.

After they had come home from their spontaneous shopping spree, Dean had spent an hour making the perfect couple’s costume. Considering the only supplies he had were ones he had picked up from the dollar store, he was actually pretty impressed with his handiwork. Both him and Cas were wearing their normal fed suits, however, it was the hats that really sold it. Dean had affixed - using an alarming amount of superglue - a strand of purple and blue glittery tinsel to his cowboy hat, and a set of fully functional Christmas lights to Cas’.

Cas had protested at first - “How are cowboys Christmas related, Dean?” - until he had been convinced by the hidden practicality of it: any weapons they brought with them could be written off as part of the costume. Also, cowboys are awesome. Dean has yet to find someone who can prove him wrong on that point.

Cas squeezes Dean’s hand to get his attention, nodding towards two people who appear to be the hosts of the party. The music shifts into some Christmas classic, and they make their way over so they can start ruling people off the list of suspects.

An hour later, Dean officially decides that he is never attending a Christmas party again. Luckily, they’ve only had to deal with one homophobe, who Dean ‘accidentally’ dropped a whole plate of food on, but that doesn’t mean that none of the other guests are driving him up the wall. It seems that everyone is slightly drunk apart from them, and the only reason Dean hasn’t joined in is because of the dirty looks Cas sends him every time he so much as glances towards the punch bowl.

It’s the karaoke that does him in. Cas is somewhere (Dean couldn’t tell if he genuinely needed the bathroom, or if that was his attempt at saying he was going to scout the house) and there is a woman wearing a skimpy reindeer outfit and wailing along to Last Christmas. God only knows what caused her to get on top of the table and join in while crying, but Dean suspects the answer includes lots of alcohol and the fact that the man who she had arrived with had disappeared upstairs with an elf some time earlier. Her rendition certainly isn’t going to win any awards.

With Cas not there to see, Dean manages to finish two plastic cups worth of surprisingly nice punch before he can be stopped. Considering the dude has flashing lights on his head, Cas can be remarkably sneaky when he wants to be.

“Dean, I don’t think-”

“Oh, what wonderful costumes!” a woman interrupts, and Dean forces a smile back on his aching face before he turns around to face her, just in time to see wink at him. She is wearing a green dress and is covered in baubles and tinsel, and the man standing next to her is literally wearing a massive cardboard box, wrapped to look like a present. It takes all of Dean’s self control not to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

“Thank you,” Cas says, and Dean wraps an arm around his waist in order to confirm that they are, in fact, a couple. The few times he had touched Castiel, he had been cold; it had felt like touching a corpse. As a human, Cas was like a hot water bottle, and even though the house was boiling, Dean couldn’t help but latch onto him whenever the opportunity arose.

“I’m Natasha,” the woman continued, staring at Dean in what he had to assume was her version of ‘seductive’ and completely ignoring Cas. “Oh, and this is Cole,” she adds as an afterthought.

Cole also winks at Dean. He has never felt so uncomfortable in his life, and he went to Hell. Although, he has also never had both members of a couple separately flirt with him while fake dating someone else.

“I’m Dean, and this is Cas,” he replies, pulling the former angel even closer into him. “My husband.”

“Oh,” Cole says, and Dean doesn’t think he is imagining the disappointed tone.

“Sorry,” Natasha adds, not sounding in any way apologetic. “I didn’t realise you were a couple!”

Dean didn’t think he could make it more obvious, but… if she didn’t believe them, then they might be at risk of blowing their cover. There were already at least seven people who had been avoiding them after the usual weird questions and some not quite realistic ploys to get them to touch a silver coin that they had brought with them.

“Why’s that?” he asks, and regrets the question almost as soon as it comes out of his mouth.

“For starters,” Natasha proclaimed, way too eager for this to end well. “You’ve been standing under mistletoe this whole time and haven’t kissed!”

Dean’s whole body freezes as they both look up, and sure enough, the bastard plastic plant is hanging directly over their heads.

“I didn’t realise,” Cas says, somewhat dazedly.

Dean takes a deep breath - there’s nothing they can do now, not with these nosy, weirdass people watching and waiting and expecting a kiss - and pulls Cas closer, turning to face him so their bodies are pressed together. In the dim lights, the lights on Cas’ hat make his startling blue eyes twinkle like starlight, and Dean wonders how he never saw how gorgeous he was before now. Maybe he had, and it had just been buried along with everything else.

“Dean,” Cas’ low voice rumbles, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

Kissing a man is not so different to kissing a woman, and Dean can’t help but notice how much he likes the feeling of Cas’ chapped lips on his own. Something lights up inside him like a firework, and he realises exactly how much he wanted - no, needed this. He feels better than he has in a long time, as if a missing puzzle piece had suddenly slotted into place.

Cas pulls away first, and Dean’s mind suddenly catches up with his body. Holy shit, he just kissed Cas. He barely registers Natasha and Cole walking away, still transfixed by the fact he finds a former angel of the Lord - who is a man - devastatingly handsome.

“Dean. Dean, are you okay?” It is only the feeling of Cas’ body heat leaving him that gets him to look down, absentmindedly fixing the shorter man’s hat.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, choking on the words. “Yeah, I just gotta - I’m just gonna…”

And, like a complete and utter cowardly dick, he walks away.

{o0o}

It has been twenty minutes, so Dean can be fairly certain that Cas isn’t gonna come looking for him. Which is fine. It’s not like he was expecting him to. They only kissed to keep up the pretense, and Dean’s weird behaviour has probably ruined that anyway. It meant nothing.

The problem is that Dean can’t stop thinking about how amazing it had felt to kiss Cas. He had tasted like mulled wine and honey and the promise of a thousand lazy mornings. It had felt like flying and drowning all at once. Dean had never understood when people had described kisses as things that had nothing to do with the act, like earthquakes or lightning or fireworks, but the only way he could explain the ecstasy he had felt when their lips had touch was an act of God.

And that thought only spiraled into another: Dean had kissed an angel of the Lord. An angel. Even though Cas was human now, he still remembered the birth of existence and every word that came out of his mouth was fueled by eons of knowledge and memories and experience. He held himself with a grace that only a true warrior can execute, and to him, Dean must seem so small. How insignificant was he compared to that brilliant man?

Finally, there it is. The real issue. Castiel is a man.

It had taken some time, but Dean had taught himself, eventually, that John Winchester was a terrible parent. In fact, it was generous to call him a parent at all. It was Dean who had raised Sam, raised himself. And, even now, he couldn’t help but fall back into his old mindset, into an old version of Dean who would have done anything for his father’s approval. But, if he is being honest with himself - and, let’s be frank, it’s about time - Castiel was not the first man he had liked. He probably wasn’t even the third.

In that moment, Dean decides that he doesn’t want to be a coward any longer. If he never expected his life to be a long one, then it is all the more reason to go for what he wants now, rather than later.

Yeah, maybe he’ll lose Cas, but… the possibility of what could await him if Cas does reciprocate is far more frightening than the former angel laughing in his face.

{o0o}

Castiel considers himself very knowledgeable in Dean Winchester’s emotions. He knows exactly how long to avoid Dean after eating a slice of his pie, he knows that he can hold full conversations with just a look, and, as an example, he knows that after their kiss, Dean Winchester was panicking. Badly.

That was fine. Castiel was fine with that. It wasn’t like he had been secretly in love with a man who had repeatedly called him a brother for over ten years. Nothing like that.

Sighing, Cas gently puts his paper plate on the corner of the kitchen table, the food he had been so excited to try half an hour ago now making his stomach roll. He figured that Dean had just needed some air; he would cool down, shove all of his emotions down in true Winchester fashion, and then return and pretend that nothing ever happened. The problem wasn’t just with the fact that Cas would very much be remembering that kiss until the day he died, but that Dean had been a really long time.

Time moves differently now that he was human. As an angel, everything seemed to move so much faster. There was always something to do, the faint crackling of angel radio like a comforting background noise or a million particles to study. A blink of his eye and a century could have passed, and yet here he is, thirty minutes feeling like an eternity.

It’s by the time Cas has checked every room downstairs that he really starts to worry.

Dean is not in the kitchen stuffing his face, and he is not in the dining room drinking punch, and he is not dancing to the rather annoying upbeat song that is playing in the living room. He is not in the hallway, or on the stairs, or in the bathroom. When Cas starts asking, people give conflicting answers. A bauble saw him go upstairs, a Christmas tree could swear he was in the kitchen, an elf insists that he went outside.

Since it is the only place he hasn’t checked, Cas heads outside. There, on the floor, is Dean’s stupid hat, the tinsel loose on one side, dangling pathetically into a puddle of melted snow.

Cas immediately calls Sam, who picks up surprisingly quickly. “Cas? What’s up?”

“ImighthavekissedDeanandnowIdon’tknowwhereheis-”

“Cas, slow down,” Sam urges, forcing Cas to take a deep breath before continuing.

“We’re, uh, at a couples’ only party, and we had to kiss and then Dean freaked out but he’s been gone for ages and I think he is in trouble,” Cas says, only marginally slower than before.

“Shit. Okay, send me the address. We’re on our way.”

Sam, Cas thinks as he tries a door handle that he missed before, is excellent at coming up with plans. Maybe it’s the time spent in college, maybe it’s his years of hunting experience, but even over the phone he had pointed out things that Cas had failed to spot. Like, for example, the door to the basement.

Cas turns the phone flashlight on like Dean taught him, the beam still not strong enough to light up the impenetrable darkness. The music fades to a distant hum in the background, becoming distorted and frantic as Cas feels. His eyes have barely adjusted enough to see the familiar but unconscious form on the ground - “Dean?” - before something solid connects with the back of his head, and Cas tumbles forwards, crumpling at the bottom of the stairs.

{o0o}

“Cas?”

Cas groans. When he had finally fallen completely, he had been surprised by how much being human hurts. Something always aches, and everything is so easy to damage. Even the smallest of injuries - a stubbed toe or a papercut - hurts way more than it should.

Apparently, a combination of blunt force trauma to the back of the head and the general bruises one acquires from falling down a flight of stairs hurt a lot more than a stubbed toe.

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” A familiar voice asks, and Cas tries to turn his head so that he can see Dean, instead finding out that that particular head movement causes his vision to blur and swim. When he attempts to bring his hands up to survey the damage, he can’t understand why they don't move for a moment, before his brain finally manages to catch up and he remembers the night’s events.

So, maybe he wasn’t expecting his first kiss with Dean to be followed by being kidnapped and tied up in a basement, but this is a Winchester they are talking about here.

“Come on, talk to me here.” Dean says, sounding worried.

Cas swallows, aiming to say something to ease Dean’s concern and instead causing a coughing fit. “I’m fine,” he eventually manages to gasp.

Dean snorts. “Sure sound like it.”

They are silent for a moment, the only sounds in the room an echoing drip and Cas’ raspy breaths. Cas isn’t sure how long they have been down there, but since Dean isn’t wriggling about in an attempt to escape, it has probably been long enough that he has already checked whether or not he can untie himself. From what Cas’ fumbling fingers can tell, though, the knots keeping them bound to this stupid pole are very good.

He feels utterly pathetic. He used to be a soldier - he had led armies, fought battles that humans couldn’t even comprehend - and here he was now, entirely useless, taken out by a baseball bat and kept prisoner by a length of rope. If he was still an angel this would have never happened. He could have saved Dean, he would have killed whoever did this, and they would have been back in time to enjoy the end of the party.

“What do we do now?” Cas asks, finally breaking the silence.

Dean sighs, and Cas can feel him against his back as his whole body sags down. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do but wait.”

Cas didn’t think he had ever heard Dean give up so easily, and it scared him. “What?”

“I don’t exactly see a way out of this, Cas. I’ve been trying to get these ropes off for half an hour and I think they’re probably just tighter than they were when I started.”

Cas gave an experimental yank, and Dean hissed in pain. Suddenly, the wetness on Cas’ hands made sense. “You’re bleeding, Dean.”

The hunter didn’t reply.

Cas had always thought that his death would be noble. Previously, it had always at least been in battle or a sacrifice, but this was just… pitiful. He was going to die at the hands of some random shapeshifter in someone’s disgusting basement, while wearing a cowboy costume.

“I - uh, I just wanted to say,” Dean starts, sounding unsure, “that I’m sorry about earlier.”

“It’s fine, Dean,” he replies, shutting his eyes in an attempt to block out the conversation. If he was going to die, he would rather not be rejected first.

“It was a dick move,” Dean continues, as if he hadn’t heard Cas. “I was just - I mean - I want to say…”

“What, Dean?”

Dean’s voice is barely a whisper. “I think I’d like to kiss you again.”

Cas’ eyes snap back open, and he hits his head on the pole in his confusion. “You would?”

“You don’t… I thought… I mean, I’m just kid-”

“Shut up,” Cas interrupts, not wanting Dean to panic all over again. “I would like that.”

“Oh. Really? Okay,” Dean replies, and Cas shuffles around until he manages to hold his hand. It’s sticky and wet with blood where Dean’s wrists have been hurt by the ropes, and every aching muscle in Cas’ body screams at the awkward position, but he thinks it might still be the happiest he has ever been.

{o0o}

Dean isn’t sure how long it is until he hears the footsteps on the stairs, but it’s long enough for him to feel much too tired for a fight. Can’t the universe just let him be happy for once? Is it too much to ask to not have to fight tooth and claw for one scrap of peace?

“Well, hello there,” a man’s voice says, and Dean feels Cas stiffen. It sounds oddly familiar, but he can’t quite place his finger on where he would have heard it before.

That is, until a second voice speaks. “What have we got here, Harold?”

The next-door neighbours. The old couple who had been complaining about the parties. Of course the only two people in this godforsaken town who they hadn’t checked were the bad guys. He should have seen it. They should have asked them more questions when they weren’t tied to this stupid pole in this stupid fucking basement.

“A pair of cowboys, Ann,” Harold tuts, and Dean cannot believe he is about to be killed by a weird old couple, of all things. He had prevented the apocalypse at least twice, had defeated God, and yet he was going to be killed by the monster of the week. Who looked like they were about three hundred years old, owned fifty cats and knitted in their spare time.

Ann walks around them, her heels clacking on the stone floor, until she comes to a stop in front of Dean. “What a shame,” she says, looking down at him like he was a stain on her shoe. “I was hoping we’d get a crier. Men rarely cry. Apart from that last fellow, of course.”

Dean’s stomach rolls, and he suddenly regrets eating so many pigs in blankets at the party.

“What are you?” Cas practically growls, his hand squeezing Dean’s to comfort him.

“Whatever do you mean, son?” Harold asks, and he sounds genuinely confused.

Oh shit, Dean thinks, letting out an amused huff of breath. Great. He isn’t even going to be killed by the monster of the week. He’s gonna be killed by an actual old person.

“Is something funny, sweetie?” Ann demands, frowning.

Dean smiles up at her, deciding that he may as well die how he lived: a snarky bastard. “Sorry, I just can’t believe that I got kidnapped by someone’s grandma.”

Ann steps closer to him, crouching down so she is his height. A sliver of silver reflects in the dim light like a shooting star, slicing downwards and cutting a thin line across Dean’s neck. “Don’t give me cheek, boy.”

“Let’s kill the other one first, sweetheart. Then that rude fella has to watch his boyfriend die.” Harold suggests, spitting out the word ‘boyfriend’ like it physically hurts him.

Dean clutches Cas’ hand tighter, trying not to let the panic that is welling up inside him, cold and merciless, show on his face. He tugs desperately at the ropes around his wrists one more time, hoping for a miracle that he knows isn’t coming.

“Say goodbye, now.” Ann says, and Dean shuts his eyes. He knows that he can’t deal with losing Cas again, even if he’ll be gone soon after. He spares a brief thought wondering where Cas will go when he dies; is he human enough to avoid the Empty? And even so, would he go to Heaven or Hell?

“I love you, Cas,” Dean whispered, because even though he is scared, he knows that Cas deserves to know.

If Cas says anything back, Dean doesn’t hear it over the gunshot.

{o0o}

Dying was not a new experience for Castiel, nor was dying as a human. What was a new experience was the pain he felt in his chest that no bullet or knife could replicate. It was the knowledge that he had the opportunity to be happy and it had been ripped from him. It was knowing that someone loved him and cared for him and was being taken away from him.

When Harold dropped dead instead of Cas, his heart fluttered. Maybe he did have a chance.

“Dean, are you alright?” Sam’s voice calls out, and Cas finally allows himself to relax slightly.

“Sam?” Dean asks, surprise and confusion and relief all mixed together.

Eileen appears from nowhere and stoops down, grinning at Cas and slicing through the ropes. She winks at him but doesn’t say anything, simply helping him to his feet when it becomes obvious he can’t do it by himself. Sam has backed Ann into the corner of the room, his gun pointed at her with an unwavering hand, but Dean whispers something in his ear and he lowers it slightly. He signs something over his shoulder, not even glancing away from the threat, and Eileen rushes off upstairs, essentially shoving the injured Castiel into Dean’s side.

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” Dean asks gently, wrapping his arm around Cas’ waist to hold him up. His wrists are still bleeding and they are both cold from sitting in a freezing basement for ages, but the simple action fills Cas with a warmness.

“I’ve been in love with you for twelve years, you assbutt,” he mumbles.

Dean smiles down at him, somehow looking charming even covered in dirt and blood, only looking up when Sam clears his throat.

“Look, we should get out of here,” Sam suggests, standing up. He’s tied Ann to the same post that they thought would be their deathbed only a few minutes ago, and he is shooing them towards the stairs back up to the party. “Eileen’s getting someone to call the cops and we don’t wanna be here when they arrive.”

Cas ducks down, for a moment, holding Dean’s hand so he doesn’t completely keel over, and grabs the two hats off the ground. Reaching up, he puts his on before gently placing Dean’s on his head. The tinsel is falling off on one side, the lights have run out of battery, and they are both caked in dirt, but it still makes Dean smile.

“Let’s go home,” Dean says, leaning down and softly kissing Cas.

{o0o}

Much to Dean’s surprise, Sam and Eileen said nothing about his new relationship with Cas. In fact, when he tried to bring it up - he knew Sam had seen them kissing for Christ’s sake - Sam just shook his head and rolled his eyes at Dean. “Jody owes me fifty dollars,” was all he said, and their discussion was over.

Cas didn’t seem too perturbed by the whole situation, and Dean found himself wondering whether it was just him who found their new relationship strange. Not that anything much had changed, for that matter. They both behaved the exact same way, with added kissing. So what if Sam thought Dean was weird for still calling Cas ‘buddy’? He wasn’t the one dating a former angel.

What Dean had decided, after their fun little kidnapping escapade, was that Cas deserved an awesome Christmas. It was his first one as a human, after all, and what kind of boyfriend would Dean be if he didn’t show Cas all the wonders of the holiday season?

And that is how they found themselves turning the drive home into a Christmas road trip.

Cas wore his reindeer antlers wherever possible, and Dean took a million photos of him. On the first day, they visited a Christmas market. Dean thought it was much too busy and annoying, but it was all worth it for the smile Cas had after drinking his first hot chocolate. On the second day, they went to a drive-in movie. Cas gave both the funniest and most irritating running commentary that Dean had ever heard, having to remind him every five minutes that “it’s a romcom, Cas. It’s not supposed to make sense.”

On Christmas Eve, they spent most of the day driving to make sure they got home in time for the dinner that Sam and Eileen had promised. They sang carols at full volume and blasted Christmas songs and Dean taught Cas how to play the air guitar. Dean couldn’t remember a time when he had felt such a sense of freedom and happiness. Maybe it was just a Christmas miracle.

Christmas day rolled around, and it was the nicest Christmas that Dean could remember having. Sam and Eileen had decorated the entire bunker with tinsel and streamers, and had even managed to bring in a huge tree from outside. So maybe not all the decorations on it were technically Christmas related, but the silver bullets were shiny and although no one was quite sure what the pentagram they were using a star on the top did, it looked pretty cool.

By the evening, they had eaten enough food to feed twenty people for a week and had exchanged presents. Sam was sitting at the table with his new fancy pens, Eileen had disappeared to take a shower with her new soaps, and Cas and Dean were firmly planted on the couch. Cas’ new fuzzy socks were warm and ticklish against Dean’s feet, and the angel was a surprisingly good cuddler.

All of a sudden, Dean sat up, dragging Cas with him. “Come on, dude. We should dance.”

Cas snorted but agreed, wrapping his arms around Dean tightly. They swayed slowly to the music, his head on Cas’ shoulder, gently singing along to the slow music.

Now you hang from my lips

Like the Gardens of Babylon

With your boots beneath my bed

Forever is the sweetest con.

Dean’s mouth twists into a smile. “I could spend forever with you,” he whispers, and he leans down to kiss his angel again.

#i hope you enjoy!#destiel #destiel secret santa #my writing #fanfic

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banditthewriter · 4 years

Text

Trust Is Earned - Charles Vane - 3

And here we have part three! Thank you to everyone who has read and interacted with this story in any way. I appreciate you all and I hope you’re enjoying it.

No real warning for this chapter!

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

------

“I’ve been informed that I might want to apologize for my behavior the last time I was here.”

You looked up from the candles you were placing on the shelf and frowned in the direction of Jack Rackham. He was alone, no Anne Bonny at his side. You raised an eyebrow and then went back to your candles.

“Is that so?”

There was a shuffle of feet and then Rackham was a little closer than he was before. The store was empty save the two of you, but he still dropped his voice to a whisper as he spoke.

“With the new partnership that you have with Charles, it’s in our best interest to put any animosity behind us, don’t you think?”

A laugh bubbled up in your throat at that. Rackham had a habit of spewing out a great number of words to say a simple thing in an attempt to confuse the other person. He definitely didn’t talk like a pirate.

But he was a pirate all the same.

“My partnership is with the captain of The Ranger. As you are her quartermaster, that partnership extends to you. We can let bygones be bygones as long as you’re aware that if anything like that ever happens again, our partnership might have to come to new terms.”

He nodded his understanding. You watched as he placed his hand over his heart and gave a little bow before he turned back to the door.

“You didn’t actually apologize,” you called as you turned back to the candles on the shelves.

“Excuse me?”

“You were told to apologize but you didn’t actually say the words. I’d like to hear them.”

He didn’t look happy with that, apparently thinking he’d be allowed to slip away with just the thought of an apology instead of the actual act. But you watched as he physically swallowed his pride and stood up straighter.

“I am truly sorry for my behavior and actions when last I was here. Anne and I both extend these apologies to you so that we might be forgiven for our transgressions.”

You had a feeling that Anne was absent because she’d rather cut off her own hand than apologize to you. Not that you blamed her. Both of them were doing what they were told, what they saw as right since you were someone who was in the way of what they wanted.

Nassau was about freedom and pirates operated by their own rules.

“I accept your apology.” You turned back to the candles and let out a quick breath. “About the supplies that you requested when two the of you were here a few days ago. I should have the last of it this evening. Would you like me to bring them to the beach or would you prefer to pick them up here?”

He was once again thrown from his rhythm. You really enjoyed doing that to pirates.

“Bring them to the beach. Thank you.”

He seemed almost suspicious of you as he left the General. You simply smiled as you went back to the backroom to grab another crate of candles.

------

The bag you carried had the last of the things that Rackham had ordered. You stepped around a few drunken men passed out in the sand as you made your way through the different tents and huts that had been erected for the crews.

The area used by The Ranger crew was known as one you did not just wander into, but you had never been scared to walk among the pirates of Nassau. You showed them respect and they did the same to you. Even the ones that thought they didn’t need to follow the rules still gave you a wide berth.

You’d never understood it honestly. Maybe it was just because you were necessary. Maybe it was because you didn’t pick sides.

If the other crews ever found out about your deal with Vane, that might not last.

The tent that Bonny and Rackham shared was empty so you made your way to the next tent on the list. Sure enough they were in with Vane, the three of them discussing needing to careen The Ranger before they went on their next hunt.

“Excuse me,” you called from the opening, not wanting to intrude. “Just came to drop off your order.”

Rackham stood up to take the bag from you. As he did that, Bonny pulled out a pouch with the rest of your coin in it. As she started to hold it out to you, Vane took it from her. He hefted it in one hand before he looked up and met your eyes.

“You mentioned three leads for a hunt. I think it’s time we talked those out.”

You raised an eyebrow as you looked from him to the coin in his hand. It was as subtle of a reminder that you could manage that you weren’t someone he could intimidate anymore. He tossed the pouch at you after a long silence.

“This partnership only works if we trust each other,” you said as you made a show of not counting the coins but tucking it into the pocket of your dress. “As this will be our first act in this partnership, I want to make sure I’m not giving you a false lead. Let me do my due diligence and then I promise I will get you your lead.”

Vane looked like he was going to object but you gave him a pointed look.

“Trust, Vane,” you repeated firmly. “I know what I’m doing.”

After a beat or two of him staring at you, he finally nodded and leaned back once more. You turned back towards the entrance to the tent but not before you caught the look of surprise Rackham and Bonny shared.

As you started to walk, you noticed something interesting on a long to the side in the tent. Candles of all sizes and shapes, more than this tent would ever need.

How long had he been sending Rackham and Bonny to spy on you?

Hopefully that would be over with now. Trust, you reminded yourself. It had to work.

------

The sun was starting to set, leaving Nassau in a hue of orange that always made you smile. You sat on a large boulder overlooking a part of the bay that was away from the man entrance to Nassau. The fort that Captain Hornigold called home was at your back, protecting the island from any harm.

Right there you felt protected and safe in a way you rarely felt in Nassau. Right there, the spot you had claimed years ago as a place for you to stop and think, you felt sure for the first time in so long.

“Your note said I’d find you here.”

You looked over to watch Vane approach you on the small span of beach that sat through the trees. It was hidden from view so not many people knew it was there. It was the only place you could think to meet the captain if you wanted to try to keep this partnership a secret.

The water called your attention again.You stared out into the horizon and wondered if you stared long enough you might be able to see more.

“I love it here. It reminds me of the only time I’ve been on a ship was to come here to Nassau. I don’t remember much about the voyage but I do remember standing on the deck and thinking that this must be what it’s like to be a bird in flight.”

You heard the sand shift beneath his boots as he walked over and leaned against one of the other large boulders on this part of the beach.

“Did you bring me here to reminisce?”

You let a sad smile cross your features before you looked over at him.

He looked at ease, but you knew it wasn’t true. Vane was a viper ready to strike at any given moment. And this close, you were definitely within striking distance.

“I’ve preached about trust, but the truth is, you have every right not to trust me. Considering I lied to you when we met.” You shook your head and turned away from him, back to the sea. “But I have no option but to trust you. If any of the crews learned of this partnership, it would be hell for me. I can’t exactly claim neutrality if I’m working with you, can I?”

You reached into the pocket of your skirt and pulled out a folded piece of parchment which you handed over.

“Your lead. It has the locations of the start and end of their voyage as well as when and where they plan on making landfall for resupply. At the bottom you’ll see a list of a few of the things that have been declared on their manifest.”

He looked it over and you knew when he saw the list you mentioned because his eyes widened.

“This is quite the prize. If it’s true,” he added with a look that said he still wasn’t sure if he trusted you.

“I guess there’s one way for you to find out, isn’t there?” You looked away from him and out into the water once more. “I have buyers in line for some of the items if you’re successful, but if you still don’t trust me, take your prize to Eleanor Guthrie and see what she offers you for it.”

It was a dismissal, even if he didn’t realize. He folded the paper and tucked it into his shirt before he took a step away from the boulder, away from you. A few more steps and he turned back to look at you.

He didn’t say anything but you felt his gaze on you. Then, just as quietly as he had arrived, he disappeared back through the trees.

------

There were more clouds over the island than usual. A storm was on its way if the weather was any indication. You could only hope that The Ranger was on its way back to Nassau and out of the way of the storm.

You walked by the Guthrie’s warehouse on your way to drop off another order. Two men were unloading barrels of something and normally you wouldn’t have paid them any mind, but you recognized one of the men. He was part of The Ranger’s crew.

Perhaps you were wrong. It was possible, wasn’t it? There were hundreds of pirates on the island so it made sense that maybe you didn’t recognize them all.

But no, as you pretended to be engrossed in one of the street stalls, you overheard Mr. Clark mention Vane’s name directly to the men who were unloading the barrels.

It seems that Vane had decided to stick with Guthrie after all.

It shouldn’t surprise you, but like so many things lately, you had been caught off guard. For some reason you had put a lot of weight behind the idea that this partnership would go forward. While you’d never thought about making this step before, now you were actually interested in seeing where it could go.

And now it is over.

Maybe you’d have to look into making the offer to another captain. You would make the offer to Captain Flint but he had a connection with Eleanor Guthrie. Vane had had a connection to her, albeit a different type of connection, and you saw how that had ended.

It would have to be one of the other crews, but you hadn’t dealt with many captains directly so you’d need to do some research before you put your foot into it again.

With the sting of betrayal and… something else… from Vane going back to Guthrie, you went back to dropping off your order. With a few more coins in hand, you made your way back to your shop.

The door stuck a bit as you pushed it open. On the floor, as if it had been pushed under the seam, you saw a folded piece of parchment. You carefully picked it up. There was no one on the road when you had come this way so you weren’t sure who had dropped it off. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to leave their order if you weren’t here, but for some reason you doubted that’s what this was.

When you opened the paper, you found that it wasn’t an order at all. It simply listed a time for you to go to the spot on the beach that you loved. The spot where you had met Vane before he had gone off for his hunt.

Was this Vane’s handwriting? The writing of one of his men? It didn’t look like Rackham’s at least.

You checked the time and then slipped the note into your pocket. There was a chance that this was a trap, but you weren’t going to hide. You would just make sure to bring your pistol. Just in case Vane had any intention of violence.

------

The little hidden inlet where you were to meet Vane was empty when you arrived. The boulder you usually sat on had a good vantage point of the entrance so you sat down on it, your back to the ocean. The pistol sat under the folds of your dress, your hand on the hard line of the muzzle in case you needed to grab it in a hurry.

Your position meant that you saw Vane approach. You could actually see him consider your position on the boulder as he moved across the sand over to where you were.

“We’ll need to come up with a better system in the future.”

The hand that you had on the pistol tightened and then released. You were sure your face showed the confusion you felt.

“The future?”

He nodded as he leaned against the boulder across from you.

“Unless you want to continue tempting fate with me leaving notes at your shop. If we have a routine for where I’m to bring the merchandise, it would be better for you, wouldn’t it?”

The words all meant something but you had to take a minute to figure out what he was saying.

“Your men were selling your merchandise to Guthrie. I saw them when I was dropping off orders.”

He crossed his arms over his chest as he looked you over.

“It seemed like a good idea to split the haul between you and Guthrie in order to keep her from being suspicious until we figure out how we plan on playing this. I had the men sell a few things of rum, some fabric. Everything that was on the list you gave me is still on my ship in the bay, waiting for you.”

You wanted to laugh, but you weren’t brave enough. Not after the amount of adrenaline that had been coursing through your veins since you had received the note. Instead you closed your eyes and let out a breath.

“You’ll have to bring them in at night so that no one sees. I’ll give you the directions to where we’ll be storing them. I’ll alert my contact that you’re back in Nassau and he’ll come to handle the transport.”

This part of the deal had been discussed, but putting it into motion was a different thing completely. It was real, it was happening. Vane had stuck to his side of the deal after all.

You started to move off of the boulder but you’d forgotten the pistol in your skirt. It rolled off of the boulder and landed in the sand at the bottom. Before you could hop down and cover it up, Vane had bent down to pick it up.

“You brought a pistol to meet with me? What happened to trust?”

There was a smirk on his lips so at least he didn’t mind that you had come armed. He held it out to you with the muzzle pointed in his direction. You hesitated before you grabbed the pistol and put it back on the boulder beside you.

“I had seen your men at the Guthrie warehouse so I thought that you had decided not to use my services. There was the worry that perhaps you intended to exact a different form of payback for my lying to you.”

His eyes darted back down to the pistol and then to your face.

“Are you any good with that?”

You let out a laugh at that. He stepped back so that you could dismount from the boulder. Then you grabbed the pistol and tucked it back into the pocket of your dress, feeling the weight as a comfort now instead of a threat.

“I haven’t had many chances to try it on a person, but I’ve declared open season on rats in the store before. Not my brightest plan, but it worked.”

Vane did something then that startled you. He actually laughed. Of course you knew he was laughing at you and not with you, but right then you really didn’t mind.

He looked different when he laughed.

“I’ll have the men unload the items tonight. Where do they need to bring it?”

You explained how to get to the warehouse that you had acquired for this purpose. He seemed impressed by the lengths you’d gone to. Once everything was settled and ready, he gave a nod and turned to leave.

Without the apprehension you had when you first arrived, you let yourself turn to the ocean and stare out at it. The water glittered as the waves crashed in the distance. The storm was coming and it would be a rough one.

At least The Ranger was back in the bay. Hopefully not many of the crews were out on the water at the moment.

“You know, if you ever want to sail again,” Vane said from a ways away, startling you out of your thoughts, “you could come on The Ranger.”

With that he gave you another brief nod before he left through the trees.

Alone you tried to figure out where that had come from. Then you remembered what you had told him the first time you brought him here. He had apparently remembered it and gave it enough thought to offer for you to sail with his ship.

You weren’t sure you’d ever understand that man.

------

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” a familiar said from behind you.

You had been folding fabric that you had purchased for a new dress. At the statement, you turned and smiled at Billy. He stood in the middle of your store, his eyes roaming over you in a way that was familiar enough.

“I’ve been around. Nowhere else for someone like me to go,” you said as you finished folding the fabric.

He made his way over to you, the gentle stagger in his step telling you what the glazed look in his eyes had already said. It wasn’t often that he overindulged in alcohol, but when he did, he often found his way to your bed. You watched as he ran one finger across the fabric you held.

“That’ll look good on you,” he said as he plucked at the edge of the fabric. “Who are you dressing up for?”

“Who indeed,” you replied sarcastically as you tucked the fabric under your arm. “You’re drunk Billy Bones.”

He staggered into you, his hands on your shoulders and your waist. He leaned down and kissed the side of your neck, down a bit more before he redirected his mouth towards yours.

But you turned your face away from his so that the lips brushed your ear instead.

“Wha’?”

You pushed at his heavy form until he stepped back a bit. You saw the confusion on his face as you turned away from him fully.

“Go sleep it off Billy. Or go to the inn and get one of Mr. Noonan’s girls. You won’t find what you’re looking for here.”

You made your way to the hidden door that led to your rooms. Drunk or not, you could see that Billy had locked the door to the shop so you didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing this spectacle.

“You’re kidding. You’re not kidding.” Billy stumbled after you, his hand reaching out for you but missing in the darkness of the rooms you entered. “Me being in my cups hasn’t stopped us before.”

With a few candles lit you could see Billy’s face as he looked you over. He did look confused, but there was something else there. Something else you had seen start to build over the last few encounters. Something that had been there ever since James Flint had made his statement to you that Billy was sweet on you.

“This isn’t a good idea Billy. This, you and me, it’s dangerous for me. I never cared before because nothing ever came of it, but that isn’t true anymore, is it?”

Billy finally got a hold on your arm, his touch gentle but firm enough to keep your attention on him. As if you could possibly ignore him.

“You told Flint that you didn’t blame me.”

“And I don’t. What happened to my store is the fault of The Ranger crew and it’s captain, the blame lies there. But you were the catalyst. We have enjoyed each other’s company for a while now but I think perhaps we would do best to take a step back from that.”

He shook his head, but you didn’t think he was telling you no. It seemed more like he was trying to clear his head.

“What we have–”

“Was sex,” you cut in, your voice firm as you pulled your arm from his grasp. “Good sex, fun sex, but just sex. And sex comes to an end. Please, Billy, don’t make this out to be more than it needs to be.”

He took a step back. The look on his face said that he wanted to continue, to try to convince you otherwise, but he finally sighed. His shoulders slumped a bit and he nodded his understanding.

“I’m sorry Y/N.”

You reached out and grasped his hand gently in yours.

“You have nothing to apologize for Billy. I promise.” Then you gave him a smile as you gestured towards the couch in the front room you were in. “Do you want to sleep it off here? Or do you think you can make it back to the beach in one piece?”

He laughed and rubbed his free hand across his face.

“I think I better try to make it to the beach at least. Or the inn at least,” he said with a shake of his head as if he didn’t want that at all. “Thanks for the offer.”

You released his hand and watched his back as he made his way out of the rooms and into the store. You waited until you heard the door shut before you went in to lock up behind him.

You did care about Billy and you probably always would, but it wasn’t what you thought it had been. The care you felt towards him was almost sisterly if you ignored the fact that you knew him intimately. One thing you knew for certain was that the care you had for him was why you didn’t want to lead him on anymore.

As you curled up alone in your bed that night, you fell asleep with the distant image of someone else in your mind. Someone with blue eyes, braids in his hair, and a rough hand clasped in yours.

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