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didhewinkback · 10 months

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love of my life

a something old one shot about wembley week.

word count: 4k somehow ?, there's smut

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2014

He collapses into the backseat of the car, clenching his eyes shut as another cough wracks through his body, trying in vain to take deep breaths through his stuffy nose, feeling so frustrated he could scream if not for the hoarseness in his throat. He had dreamt of this night since he was a little kid, never thinking it would ever actually happen and then when it finally did he didn’t even get to enjoy it properly, didn’t get a chance to celebrate that his years of hard work, resilience and sacrifice had actually paid off.

Instead he had to spend every minute on that stage trying to stay upright, his fever addled brain working overtime to remember lyrics, stand at the right spot, gasp for breath between a congested nose and a never ending rotation of cough drops.

Once the tears start they don’t stop, feeling so pathetic and angry and heartbroken, all he can do is curl in on himself and wish his mum were with him. Why couldn’t he have been this ill in Madrid? Or Kansas City? Or Perth? Why did it have to be fucking Wembley?

His phone buzzes in his hand, disrupting his never ending train of miserable thoughts. It’s you, checking in. He was supposed to go out with you and Johnny after the show, supposed to celebrate the biggest night of his career. He can’t believe you guys came out to see him on stage like that, a wave of embarrassment rolling through him as he imagines what you must think.

He starts rapid fire texting you back, apologizing for the show, apologizing for leaving early and missing the afterparty, just apologizing. He’s not even sure what he’s saying at this point, just knows that he is sorry and embarrassed and wants to be home alone in his bed. You’re trying to keep up with his texts, trying your best to assure him that he has nothing to be sorry about, that it was still a good show, that you’re sorry for him, that’s not his fault he’s been overworked and was too sick to perform, asking if there’s anything you can do. Offering company if he needs someone to talk to because he’s right, it’s fucked that this was the show he had to be ill for, that he didn’t deserve to have it happen this way.

And he knows he should talk it out, knows there’s few things that make him feel better than having you as a sounding board but right now he feels so shit and just wants to stop thinking about it. He apologizes again and turns his phone off, leaning his burning head against the cool window. He knows he’s wallowing, he knows he’s so lucky to be doing even a fraction of what he has done it’s just …

It was headlining Wembley fucking Stadium. When will he ever get the chance to do something like that again?

2023

The screams of the crowd start to fade into the background as he sprints backstage, handing his mic pack over to Steve from sound and leaning in to mutter a request to Paddy before ducking into his dressing room, leaning against the door once it’s closed. Trying to catch his breath from the sprint, from this night, from this week. He shakes off the rain and closes his eyes, doing his damndest to commit every feeling flashing through him to memory, trying to relive each moment on stage that took his breath away, to think about in the years to come. Knowing he’ll never be this young on tour again, never this limber, never be with this exact group of people at this exact time ever again.

It was the best night of his entire life.

It hasn’t felt like that before. The love radiating towards him was palpable, he could feel it in the air, and he did everything to send it right back out. It was almost too much for one person to hold, he had no choice but to try to put it directly towards the people who helped get him here, shouting out his friends and family in the audience more than he ever has because he owes them everything and he wanted to share this feeling with them.

It was overwhelming, it was exhilarating and it was fun. It’s never been that fun. Gratitude flows through him as tears prick his eyes, his breath catching in his throat. How lucky he is to get to do this for a job, how lucky that this many people want to see his show, how lucky that he’s got this band and this crew working alongside him. How lucky, how lucky, how lucky.

He stands there for several minutes, taking deep breaths, reliving the best parts of the show, how it felt to sing Gemma’s song to her, to get to thank the friends that took him in when he was young and alone in a big city for the first time, to get to thank the friends that loved him from the start, before he grew into the man who would perform in front of 90,000 people four nights in a row. He’s practically choking on the emotion now, feeling more alive than he’s ever felt, the happiest he’s ever been, just grateful for this moment and this life when a series of knocks snaps him out of his haze.

“I’ve been summoned,” he hears you say on the other side of the door and if he could grin any wider, his face would split in half.

He swings open the door and there you are. The rain did nothing to dampen how beautiful you look tonight, wearing one of his favorite sundresses of yours, your eyes as red-rimmed with tears as he imagines his are. You take him in for a moment, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as your breath catches and you shake your head in disbelief, seemingly as shocked and stunned by the night as he is.

“That was…” you start to say but drift off, emotion clogging the words in your throat as you just stare at him.

“I know.”

“Just like…what the fuck?” you say and it shocks a laugh out of him, his head tilting back and shoulders shaking. He watches the smile grow on your face and that’s when you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding tight. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close, lifting you slightly off the ground as he pulls you into the room and kicks the door shut behind you.

“‘M sweaty,” he warns and it just makes you tighten your arms around him more.

“Don’t care,” you say softly. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

And suddenly, he’s at a loss for words again. Not able to think about anything but how you feel in his arms, your steady heartbeat tethering him to the moment, the praise you’re murmuring in his ears making him feel warm all the way down to his toes. He’s overwhelmed at the thought of how much this week has felt like coming home, finally. Like the biggest, warmest welcome back to a place he has had to leave more often than he would ever like to. He felt it monumentally, magnanimously on stage and now he feels it here, on a much smaller scale, in the way your nails feel scratching against his scalp, the fabric of your damp dress against the bare skin of his chest, the sound of your voice in his ear.

“It’s never felt like that before. Watching you.” you say, pulling your head back to look at him, warm eyes full of affection and it almost makes him preen. He just had 90,000 pairs of eyes on him but being the center of your attention is what makes his heart skip a beat.

“Was unreal, wasn’t it?” he says, skin warming under your gaze, knowing the words are wholly inadequate to sum up how this night has felt but selfishly wanting you to keep talking about it, not ready for the show to become a distant memory quite yet.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you that happy up there. That free. Just like completely in your element.” you say, a smile growing on your face as you huff a sheepish laugh at yourself. “Think I started crying the second you walked out there and didn’t really stop. You’ve turned me into the weepy girlfriend and for that I will never forgive you.”

He laughs, lowering you to the ground in favor of bringing his hands up to cup your face, thumbs rubbing over the tear tracks there as you slide your hands down his back to wrap around his waist.

“Liked the show, then?” he asks, and by the roll of your eyes, he knows you know what he’s doing and he knows you’ll indulge him all the same.

“I loved it,” you say sincerely, the love in your eyes making him feel weak in the knees. “I love you.”

He closes the distance between you without a second thought, doing his best to express himself through every drag of his lips against yours. This has never felt like this before either, to get to be with someone who loves and supports him the way you do. Who knows him so well, who has seen the good, bad and the ugly and instead of taking off and running, just loves him harder, louder, fiercer. Adrenaline spikes through his veins as he deepens the kiss, his tongue curling against yours in a way that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He walks you backward until you're pressed against the door and he’s pressed against you, not an inch of space between you. He pulls away from your mouth to kiss along your jaw and down your neck, paying special attention to the spots he’s become familiar with, the ones that make you sigh into his ear, a sound that replays in his mind over and over whenever he’s missing you late at night.

He feels himself getting hard against your thigh, no longer thinking of anything but how you taste, how you smell, how you feel. He loves you, more than he’s ever loved another person, more than he ever thought himself capable of. The temporarily dormant energy from the stage comes flooding back and he knows he’s got a room full of people waiting upstairs to celebrate with him but right now, he just needs you close. He needs you now.

“Did you want to keep talking about the show?” you ask, your breath catching in your throat and it makes his heart skip a beat, your familiarity with his favorite post show routine making him melt as he shakes his head, not willing to pause his ministrations against your skin.

It’s one of the things he loves doing most when you’re on tour with him, spending time after the really good shows to dissect his favorite bits and hear all of yours, hear how much you loved it, loved him. He knows if he said that’s what he wants to do right now you’d happily pull away and indulge him with detailed answers about how the show felt from your point of view, your favorite note changes, the jokes that made you laugh the most but it’s not what he wants right now. All he wants is you.

“If we had more time, I’d get on my knees for you.” he mumbles against your neck, tongue darting out to suck at your skin.

“Funny, I was just going to say the same thing.” you say back, making him groan, his hands falling to your hips, pulling you close. “But the party started already -”

“Yeah but I am the boss,” he says, feeling high off this night, off you. “So the party really doesn’t start until I say so.”

“I hate how much you loved saying that,” you say with a laugh, your hands sliding over his chest. You dig your nails in when he bites down on your neck and he feels like he’s on fire.

“Think y’ liked it a little bit,” he says, pulling away from your neck to kiss you deeply, hand sliding down to squeeze your ass.

“Can feel myself drying up as we speak.” you say and he sputters out a laugh, giving you a cheeky spank when he feels you laughing against him.

“That sounds like a bloody lie,” he mumbles against your mouth, his hand sliding from your ass to your thigh, hastily pulling up your dress, dragging his fingers across your skin once he has access to it. He pulls back slightly to look at your face, your swollen lips and blown out eyes. You’re the hottest thing he’s ever seen. He slides his fingers over your core, smirking when you gasp, feeling how wet you are through your underwear. “Feels like one too.”

“Told you.” you say, and you’ve got that look in your eyes that’s his kryptonite, looking at him like you’re going to eat him alive and it stokes the fire already burning in his belly. He doesn’t even have to hear the next words come out of your mouth, he knows he’s already done for. “I really liked the show.”

He crashes his mouth to yours, pulling kiss after kiss from your plush lips, his hips rolling against yours when you moan into his mouth. He snaps the waistband on your underwear, doing his best to help you pull it off without straying too far from your lips, pulling you back into him once you kick it off your ankles.

“Off. Take this off.” you mumble against his mouth, already pushing the straps of his dungarees down.

“Hang on, there’s a zipper -” He squeezes your thigh before reaching around the back of his dungarees, hastily unzipping to help you ease the trousers down his hips, pausing when you do, your hands stilling on his skin. He looks up at your face to find you staring at his cock, an unreadable expression on your face.

“Are you - are you not wearing pants?” you ask breathlessly, a surprised laugh breaking through your words.

“You did say I was freer than ever on that stage -”

“Oh my god, I am not having sex with you anymore -”

“Heeey.” he says, unable to stop the smile growing on his face at the sound of your laugh. He smacks a kiss to your cheek as he pulls his dungarees all the way down, leaving them pooling at his ankles. It looks ridiculous but he’s too turned on to care, stomach flipping when you slide your hands on his skin, fingers dancing over his obliques, nails digging into his pecs.

“Can’t believe you were freeballing at Wembley.” you say as he snorts, grabbing your thigh to hitch it over his hip, leaning in to capture your lips with his.

You pull the hem of your dress up with one hand as you slide the other to the back of his neck, gripping hard when he swipes his fingers through your folds, lightly circling your clit. He’d do just about anything to make you moan into his mouth like that, fingers playing with you a little longer than necessary until you bite down on his lip in impatience.

“Ready?” he mumbles against your mouth.

“Been ready since half past eight.” you shoot back as he huffs a laugh. “Need you.”

“Y’ have me, baby. Y’ have me.” he mutters nonsensically, quickly pulling his fingers away and using them to guide his cock against your core, both of you moaning at the sensation before he guides himself into you, choking on air when he thrusts all the way in.

White hot heat sears through him and he has to clench his eyes shut, your warmth and wetness almost too much to bear. He could stay here forever he thinks, feeling you clench around him, moaning lowly in his ear. This is it for him. Until -

“H. Move.”

He opens his eyes, the look on your face taking his breath away as he starts to thrust into you, lips falling to any part of your skin he can reach.

“Watching me on stage got y’ this wet?” he grunts out. “All this for me?”

“Always.” you breathe out, pulling him in closer. “You looked so good up there. You did so good. Made me so proud -”

“Baby -” he leans in to kiss you deeply, tongue messily swiping over yours as he grabs your thigh, adjusting the angle in a way that makes you both moan.

He rests his forehead against yours, watching the way every thrust, drag and swivel of his hips hurdles you closer and closer to the edge, your eyes fluttering closed when he hits it just right. Everything else fades away and all that matters is the feeling of your tight, hot cunt, and those quiet sounds you can’t stop making. You slide your hand down his arm until it settles on his tattoo of your initial, pressing your thumb into the skin and he almost bursts on the spot.

“That’s right, baby. ‘S all for you.” he moans out, biting down on your jaw when you clench around him. “‘M all yours. ‘M all yours. ‘M all yours.”

He slides his hands around your waist, sliding down to your ass as he grips and lifts you up, bringing your other thigh up to settle around his hips. You gasp against his mouth as he holds you up, pressing you further into the door.

“This okay?” he pants out.

“Yeah - please. H - I’m -” you lean in to kiss him as he starts to move again, the new angle making him glide across your clit in a way that has you biting down on his lips.

“Baby, I’m -”

“Me too. Doing so good.” you say as he digs his fingers into your skin, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic, sparks shooting down his spine as he flies towards the edge.

“Need you to come first. Can y’do that for me?” he grunts out, gritting his teeth to swivel his hips in the way he knows will get you there, watching the way your mouth drops open, blown out eyes never wavering from his.

You lean in to nip at his bottom lip, one hand sliding up to rest at the base of his throat, the other sliding down to rub circles on your clit as he tightens his hold on you, arm muscles bulging as he gives it to you as best he can. He picks up his pace and you lightly squeeze down on his throat as he moans, fire licking up his spine at the sensation. Everything’s warm, hot, wet. All he can feel, smell, taste and touch is you. He doesn’t know how it can get any better than this, and then you squeeze down a little harder, leaning in to bite at his earlobe before whispering:

“You’re the boss.”

Jesus fuck.

That’s it. He can’t hold on any longer, a moan punching out of him as he comes hard, seeing stars as he grunts against your skin, feeling you follow suit quickly after, the way you clench around him as you come has him biting down on the skin of your neck, nails digging into your thigh.

That was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him, is still happening to him, he feels like he’s coming forever as his body shakes with aftershocks, tongue darting out to suck at the skin of your neck as you both try to catch your breath, chests heaving.

After a few moments, he pulls back to look at you, eyes roaming over the blissed out look on your face as he leans in to kiss you softly, lips dragging against yours once, twice, three times before he feels you laugh, leaning back to look at you.

“What?” he asks, begs more like, desperate to know what’s going on in your brain, always. It’s something he never had this much exclusive access to before and now that he has, he’s addicted. He plants a line of kiss across your face as you giggle, arms tightening around your waist.

“You’re so easy,” you say, looking at him with mirth in your eyes. “All I had to do is say one little word and you just -”

“Heey,” he says, laughing when you do. “‘S not what happened.”

The dubious look on your face makes him pause, he can feel warmth blooming on his cheeks as he shrugs.

“‘M mean, it definitely helped.” he says, watching the way your tongue slides out to lick your lips, helpless to do anything but kiss you again before pulling back to mumble against your mouth: “I was done for the second you said watching me up there made y’ wet.”

“Liked that, did you?”

“Liked all of it.” he says, eyes never wavering from yours, still feeling the ghost of your hand on his neck right before he came. He kisses along your neck, nuzzling his head there and breathing deep. “Still inside you. Could go again. Just keep calling me the boss, I’ll be ready in no time.”

You laugh and shove his shoulder as he giggles, smacking a kiss to your cheek as he slowly pulls out, lowering you back to the ground on your own two feet.

“I’m not going to be the reason you miss the chance to run around an empty stadium with all your mates. It’s your favorite bit.”

There’s just something to that, something he’s never experienced before. You say it so nonchalantly, as you bend down to pick up your underwear off the floor, muttering about needing to find something to clean yourself off with and he just stands there, naked in the middle of his dressing room, his dungarees still at his ankles and all he wants to do is throw away all those plans he made and get down on one knee right here.

He won’t do that, the ring isn’t ready yet and he’s already planned and replanned everything ten times over, he thinks with a shake of his head, kicking the dungarees all the way off and heading over to his bag, pulling on a pair of briefs and joggers as his mind whirls.

It’s just - there is something to being known the way you know him, really know him, not in the way everyone out there thinks they do but it’s like - you understand him. You see him for who he is beyond the sold out stadiums and awards and screaming fans. You see who he is in the littlest of moments, the small habits he hadn’t really known he had but you’ve picked up on because you pay attention to him, because you love him. To be this known and this loved is something he’s never experienced before, a safety net he’s never had before.

Everything in his life has been in a constant state of change, living a nomadic lifestyle since he was just a teenager but this week, these shows, these crowds, this city, have given him a sense of belonging he hadn’t known he was craving, hadn’t known he was missing. The fear that this could all go away in an instant, which he once thought was a permanent state of existence, of living, of being has become a small voice in the background.

He’s not afraid of losing everything because he has you, he trusts you, he loves you and he knows you’re not going anywhere. And you - you are everything.

He’s so lost in his own head he barely registers the sounds of the sink in the adjoining bathroom, barely hears you gripe “All the foundation in the world couldn’t cover these love bites so cheers for that”, barely feels your eyes on him as you make your way back into the dressing room.

“Hey,” you say softly, stepping into his eyeline as you stand in front of him, hands coming up to his face, thumb wiping away the tears that had fallen unbeknownst to him. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he says, blinking back the tears as he smiles at you, taking a deep breath. “Just overwhelmed.”

“It’s been a big night. Big week.” you say and he nods, wrapping his arms around your waist as your hand finds its place in his hair, fingers running through the strands in his favorite pattern. “You deserve all of it. Every bit.”

“Couldn’t have done this without you, you know.”

“H -”

“‘M serious, just let me -” he says, shaking his head, wanting to get the words right, knowing he won’t be able to express more than a fraction of what he means, what you mean. “Y’ make me feel like I can do anything because you love me. ‘Nd I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to explain to you properly how that makes me feel but I - I just really love you. I’ve never been loved the way you love me. ‘Nd I’ve never, ever loved anyone the way I love you.”

He watches as tears fill your eyes, the way you’re looking at him in awe, in love, it’s a look he wishes he could bottle up forever. You lean up to kiss him and he pulls you in closer, getting lost in the feeling of your lips against his, your hand in his hair, how he can feel your heartbeat racing.

“I love you so much,” you say when you pull back slightly, “You’ll never -”

“I feel it, love. Promise I feel it. Promise I know.” he murmurs, pulling you in and kissing you again, just needing you as close as possible.

“We have to get out of here and you have to put on a shirt,” you mumble in between kisses, “or we will never leave.”

“Won’t see me complaining.”

“Everyone’s waiting to celebrate you,” you say, pulling back but he follows you, kissing along your jawline. “And we can continue our own celebration later, yeah? I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got time.”

He pulls back at that, eyes grazing over your features before leaning in to kiss you again, humming into it, thinking he’s never heard anything sweeter in his life.

You’re not going anywhere and you’ve got time.

It’s so simple but it feels so right, he thinks as he releases his hold on your waist and quickly slips into his jacket, looking up at you to find your hand extended, waiting for his. He slips his hand into yours, interlocking your fingers and squeezing once.

A rush of emotions washes over him. He feels everything, all at once from this night, this week, this year, this tour. And here you are, here you’ve been, holding onto his hand. Not going anywhere. He wants to tell you everything this means to him, wants to marry you yesterday, start a family, wants to do it all with you. But he’s got an empty stadium with his favorite people waiting for him, waiting to celebrate the greatest night of his career, of his life. And you’ll be next to him the whole time.

It’s like you’ve said, you’ve got time.

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taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

#something old #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #oh these tags always make me question every aspect of my life #let me know what you think pls !!!#wembley made me lose my mind so i wrote a lot about it

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kanene-yaaay · 3 months

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In Between Feathers and Smiles

Kanene's notes: As it seems when I wasn't looking ??? Fucking Felipe Minecraft just came here and made a nest in my mind and refuses to leave so now I have a new comfort character as it seems.

Also I know that Richas and Philza didn't interact a lot but I like to think they are final bosses for each other. The day Richas adopts him as his father and Philza adopts him as his son the island explodes and life come to a full cycle.

Warnings: None! Just a tad of angst with plenty of fluff and some silly cheer up tickles. Ticklish!Richarlyson and Ler!Philza. Around 4.000 words. Richas uses all pronouns here.

[~*~]

Tio Phil had a nice place.

Richas didn’t spend a lot of time there. Important talks were usually held in other secured spaces and he would rather spend some time building with her parents or causing some ruckus somewhere in the island than constantly invade Tallulah and Chay’s home. Even if they got closer after the Egg Island, it didn’t mean that he stopped feeling awkward around his siblings.

But today… They was tired.

So they hiked to the top of the wall, turned off Philza’s collecting machine and fell in the middle of the potato crops, watching the clouds as they calmly danced around their always-perfectly-sunny sky.

Looking at them, she wouldn’t have to think about how much she missed pai Cellbit and Pa Roier every single day, about how scared Empanada looked and the way she was always clutching her scythe now or how she and mãe Bagi barely came out of their securated base anymore.

If he watched enough the fading forms of the fluffy clouds and the occasional birds that came and went, he wouldn’t have to think about the sharp shapes and bright colors he saw today when he woke up in his old room in pai Cellbit’s castle, full of new stinging scratches covering entirely his arms and legs, the canvas and room filled with red drops of paint and blood. Nor how it felt to burn the piece of art and bury the ashes aways before anyone could see it.

Yes. The Wall was nice. It was calm and beautiful and since her tio and siblings were sleeping like rocks somewhere well hidden he could sneak a few jumps in their trampoline before coming back to a second nap by the plants.

From time to time he would feel something bump on his hand and turn around only to see a cute, small tortoise calmly biting and chewing on a leaf of the crop, probably a fresh fugitive from Talullah’s pond. They could respect its chaotic nature.

“Holy fuck!” A shout nearby almost made him jump out of his skin, fastly turning around, sword in hand, only to see his tio in a similar situation, hand on his heart as he tried to regain his breath amidst his surprised laughter. “Gods, Richarlyson you scared the shit out of me.”

That fished an amused crackle out of Richas, who didn’t feel much like it, but got up and waved a few times, writing a greeting for the adult. She kind of was in his home, afterall.

“Hi, tio! Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” Philza answered, putting his tools back on his trusted backpack once again, now already realizing what was the reason for his machine to have stopped working out of nowhere. He instead pulled a basket out of it.

It has been a while since he harvested his own potatoes by hand, but he had no hurry or plans today. Besides, it was quite a calming activity.

“Were you looking for me? Sorry, me, Chayanne and Tallulah have been spending a lot of time in our… other house.”

It was definitely a way to explain Rose’s protected sanctuary, but he couldn’t tell the kid about that.

A crossing thought made Philza’s body freeze and his eyes became wide. “Wait, is it about our trip? Is it time? Ok, I already got everything prepared but I still need a couple more minutes to leave Tallulah and Chayanne somewhere safe with someone and then we can go… Let me see who is already awake…”

A push in his arm stopped his sentence and called his attention to the dragons’ words.

“It’s fine! :D” Another blue sign quickly followed the first, the sentences being written fast and messily. “It’s not the time for our trip yet, don’t worry. I was just passing by here and decided to take a nap.”

The small dragon, a barely nestling, crouched and let their tail drag across the soil in a calming manner.

There was no rush today. Philza felt his muscles untense.

“Alright then. That is good.” The adult smiled, more relaxed. Richas never commented this with anyone, but sometimes his tios looked like they’re a thousand years old. “Sorry for interrupting your relaxing nap then, mate. As I said, I already got everything covered. The moment you need me, just call, ok?”

Energetic nods. Philza answered with one of his own and turned around, going back to his activity. It was already a habit at this point, to watch a kid with the corner of his eyes as he went on about his day, always aware to any danger or enemy that could appear. That is how he watched as Richas swayed in the same place when he turned around, expression falling to a neutral face as they broke their signs and threw them out of the wall before falling on the ground again, closing her eyes.

Richarlyson was a good kid. An energetic little shit rocketing from one place to the other with an adventurous and reckless spirit almost as big as his heart. Anyone who spent more than 2 minutes with him would see, clear as day how much he loved his parents and loved even more to give them gray hair, always ready for a playful chase, a harmless prank or a fun playdate with his siblings. They didn’t stumble on each other too much nowadays, but at any given time Philza would protect and take care of him just as much as his own kids if needed.

He was a good egg (literally).

That is why it was easy to see that something was off with her. Seeing her walking around without one of his parents or Bad was rare, but not an alarming sign itself, being as independent as they was. But that together with the way that her gestures lacked their usual uncontrollable energy, how he fell the moment Philza turned away and how tiredness clung in his form and brought shadows to her eyes and a weight to her shoulders was definitely something worth noticing.

Something had been bothering the boy and knowing his family and their history on the island… Well, not a single islander had been free from the horrors that permeated every corner of the place, but the brazilians seemed to receive a special - and not in the good way - attention more often than not.

Needless to say, Richarlyson probably had a lot to get worried and sad over, unfortunately.

All of them, the guardians, did their best to save their nestlings the best they could from the enemies and disasters that seemed to follow their every step. However there was just so much a small group could do against gods knows how many entities before their children also began paying a parcel of the price.

It was sorrowful to see the young one like this, but Philza wouldn’t pry. If the kid wanted to come and vent he would happily lend them an ear and give his best comfort. If Richas wanted to just hang out in silence and enjoy the refreshing breeze from the top of the wall then Philza would let him be, as well.

Therefore, he kept collecting the potatoes, humming one of Tallulah’s songs while putting them in crates and organizing the crates in a pile next to the security fence together with the other thousands crates that were already there.

Maybe he should follow Pierre’s example and start selling them to the Federation. Getting paid and becoming an official provider or something like that.

… Nah, he would rather die.

Philza turned around to get another round of potatoes, this time to make more avocado toast to nibble on until dinner, where his daughter would oblige him to cook actual true food for them - which is unfair, because avocado toast is a very good, healthy and energetic, fulfilling food! - when he saw it. ‘It’, more specifically being Richarlyson, who was still around three feets away from him, just like she was after the end of their conversation. Which didn’t make any sense since Philza had moved a good distance further away from his initial spot while harvesting and taking care of his plantation.

Hm.

Interesting.

He kept his gaze forward and his hands moving, not actively watching the kid but still paying attention for any kind of move.

A few steps away, he crouched to adjust a crop that had been almost removed from its spot, planting and firming it back on the soil before getting up again, his wings partially open to lower the sun rays hitting his back.

(With them being destroyed as they were, there was little use he could give them, but this would have to do.)

Pretending to stretch, he tilted his head just slightly amount, in the perfect angle to see that Richas, once again, had moved somehow in this short period of time and was now closer to him, laying on the ground with her eyes closed, a light snore coming out of her muzzle in a quiet ‘mimimi’ sound.

Philza held back a snort.

They kept this up for a while, almost as a game. Philza would continue his task, turn his head for half of a second and when he turned his attention back to the young one it was to see that they was already close again, “napping” with no worries, dead to the world as a rock, all across the field. There was a moment when the winged blonde could almost swear that he saw him crawling amidst the potatoes while following him.

Philza thinks he did a pretty good job in not laughing out loud at their antics, only letting out one or two small snickers here and there fly in the air before being swept away.

He was taking the toasts out of the furnace and storing them in pots when the little dragon “woke up”, yawning and stretching, an amused grin blossoming in his face.

“Hey, king, glad that you're awake. Just made a fresh stack of avocado toast. Here, take some, take some, make sure you have enough for any emergency or attack.”

A loud wheeze was pried from his lips at watching her previous grin quickly turn into a sour face at the sight of the toast, stepping away from them in a half of second.

Richarlyson quickly shook her head as she emphasized that he “would rather have a short and happy life instead, thanks” and that “Tallulah told me terror stories about these when we were in Egg Island 0_0 I am traumatized”, as the signs he placed on the ground said.

Philza had to hold himself on the fence so he and the toast didn't fall from the wall with the force of his laughter.

“Alright, alright.” He quickly acquiesced, putting the rest of the food in the remaining pot and disposing them all in his backpack, planning to bring it to the pantry later. “What if we shared these sandwiches Chayanne made me this morning, then? He is trying a new recipe and it's just delicious.”

The disgusted expression quickly melted away when they heard the mention of a new snack. Philza unwrapped it under Richas’ wide attentive eyes and offered him only to have his hand pushed away, the kid shaking his head furiously.

“What? Why? Did Tallulah tell you scary stories about her siblings’ cooking abilities too?”

Richas denied, looking a tad out of the place before apparently deciding on their words.

“You can keep it, tio! Chayanne made it for you and it's no problem, I am not hungry >:D”

Another sign.

“Besides, if I need some I can just go to Tio Bad's house and steal his refrigerator! I still have a lot in my backpack though.”

To show his point, the small one began pulling pot after pot of cooked goodies from his backpack: lasagna, soup, candies, more candies, chocolate, a not very good looking or even fresh bread, tamales… He proudly showed his collection, bouncing on the same spot before starting to put them back from where they came from.

This nestling…

“I am not saying that you don't have food. I know you're always prepared and I am pretty sure you even have one or two illegal items in your backpack too.” He rested his back on the tree behind him, careful to avoid hitting Missa's painting, smiling as his nephew stared at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes, bouncing on the same spot, not denying or confirming his suspicions. “But I still want to share a good sandwich with you, mate.”

Richas still didn't look convinced. He seemed to be listening, though. That was a good step.

“I am sure that Chayanne wouldn’t care too. He actually loves giving everyone good food and showing his skills to the island. Which is perfect. I can send him your thanks later.”

It was interesting how, even though all the similarities, every sibling was still very different from each other, in both their personalities and actions, and sometimes Philza liked to muse about it. At his words Richarlyson didn't nervously twist his fingers like Tallulah used to do when thinking hard about something or deviated his gaze like Chayanne when he knew what he wanted but thought that he should want another thing. Instead, the dragon fledgling watched him intently, looking for something.

They must have found it, because they smiled in an embarrassed manner and let his tail wag excitedly once, breaking the signs and walking to his side on the tree.

Philza handed them their sandwich and Richarlyson began eating, satisfied, small growling sounds escaping between each bite as they enjoyed the moment.

Without meaning to or even thinking too much about it, Philza answered back with a quiet, pleased caw, his right wing expanding to surround the little one, not locking her amidst his feathers, but creating a shield from the Sun.

(If only it could completely shield them from the dangers.)

“Do you like it?” Richas answered by taking a large bite and ripping the sandwich in half, ears wiggling in contentment. The adult chuckled.

“Good to know, king.”

They spent some time like this before a sign was placed, successfully calling the other’s attention.

“How is it to have feathered wings, tio? Yours are so pretty! :D”

Flashes began filling his mind. The feeling of the wind hitting your face, the sound of the birds singing and chirping when flying in flocks, the adrenaline of falling without a single fear of hitting the floor, of expanding his wings and feeling each one of your feathers bristle in the air…

A light touch in one of his primaries shook him out of his memories and his eyes automatically flew to the… mess that were his wings now, with weak muscles and feathers missing from some spots.

Grimly, Philza could surely think about plenty of adjectives he could give them, “pretty” definitely weren’t one.

It was quite hard to focus on that when the fledgling kept carefully touching and looking at them with so much curiosity, however.

“It’s incredible.” He sighed, a mix of longing and awe painting his voice. “They can help with so much stuff, like, I’m not even kidding. Mine are very roughed up, especially after Purgatory, but when they were in their prime they were perfect not only for flying but also for shielding, holding stuff, attacking…There is a lot you can do with them. You also will probably be able to do all of this and more when yours grows.”

“You could attack with them? 0-0”

“Pff, yeah. Actually, you would be surprised about how many people wouldn’t be prepared to have a face full of feathers swinging with full force when fighting an avian.”

At the mention, he shook his black, glistering feathers in demonstration, finishing his sandwich with a final bite when a snorted squeal cut the air.

Philza turned around to see Richarlyson rubbing a spot on his neck, their other hand pushing his wing away while a small smile grazed his lips.

Hm.

“Also, you see those muscles?” He purposely brought his wing down, letting all the black feathers hit and briefly wiggle on the young’s face and neck, pretending to not notice the way he squeaked and jumped away, shoulders bouncing with the uncontrollable giggles that naturally resulted from the tickles. Philza continued as if nothing happened. “Lot of people don’t think too much about them, but to be able to carry a whole person, the muscles, tendons and bones need to have a lot of strength. So, being punched by them usually hurts a lot more than attentive enemies are prepared for and gives you plenty of time to run away or finish the fight.”

Richas rubbed the buzzing, tickly tingles left by the sudden attack of feathers away, airy titters still escaping from their mouth while they squinted suspiciously at the blonde, who seemed distracted enough by his explanation to realize the onslaught of accidental tickles.

The dragon risked a step closer. The conversation continued to flow without interruption.

“That is also why it’s important to always keep exercising your wings, especially during their initial growth or periods of recovery. Have you been building your core strength, mate?”

Brushing off the previous episode aside, Richas nodded, not helping the excited thrill that filled the air.

“Yes! Tio Bad taught me how and pai Mike has been trying to build a machine to fly with me so he is studying a lot of mechanics about how it works and accompanying me with the exercises. Pa Roier also said he will help me when he comes back, since he used to watch a lot of tia Jaiden and Bobby training.”

Philza tried to not visibly frown at the words. How long has Roier been sleeping, again?

He would have to ask Bagi and Fit for news later.

For now, he had a kid to distract.

“Sounds good. If you need any help you can call me, I wouldn’t mind giving you a few tips. Even if crow wings aren’t that close to dragon ones, they still have a lot in common.”

“Can you teach me the attacks? I want to surprise Dapper the next time he tries to fight me.”

The avian laughed. “Sure, king. Come a bit closer.”

Richas gave two more steps in his direction with wide watching eyes. “Alright, it depends a lot on your wingspan but usually you will need to be in close combat to use these techniques, so that is something to pay attention to. A good tactic you can have is to use them as a distraction.”

With a mischievous smirk, Philza began quickly moving his wings around the kid, letting them get close and then moving them away before he could touch them, the feathers skittering freely across his neck and ears with each swipe. When Richas squirmed to one side to hide, trying to push them away while firmly pressing his mouth shut so no squeak or squeal would escape, Philza simply attacked the other side, even managing to slip a few wiggling of the fluff feathers on his belly and armpits when the shirt would move up enough to reveal a bit of the scaled skin, catching a new giggly growl every time.

“And, when the target is sufficiently confused by them is the moment that you attack.”

Before the words could sink in the kid’s mind, Philza striked, giving to one of his sides a quick tweak, successfully fishing a loud yelp and managing to free a string of snickers that only grew louder and gigglier as he kept the soft, light feathery tickles intertwined them with more and more surprising squeezes and tweaks.

“You can keep it up as long as you need. Remember: confuse, confuse and attack.” Swipe. Swipe. Squeeze. “Again: confuse, confuse and attack.”

Laugh, laugh, laugh.

Richas gave up trying to push his wings and hands away, instead trying to hug himself to hide his most ticklish spots. However, the playful, soft and silly tickling kept following them no matter how much they wiggled or squirmed around, totally surrounding him with those fluffy bristles that made every single patch of skin buzz with a funny kind of electricity, freeing more and more squeaks between peals of uncontrollable laughter.

She started walking backwards, trying to put some distance between her and the tickles, almost stumbling on his own tail by how hard it was wagging in adrenaline and joy.

Philza’s eye twirkled with a gleeful shine.

He stopped his playful attack, but the young one kept stepping away.

“Another good technique that you can use is to create a physical barrier with your wings. It can be dangerous since your enemy can get a hold of them if you’re not careful but very useful in the case you want to stop them from touching you or, in our case,” Richarlyson’s back hit something soft but immovable and suddenly the wheezy titters and snickery snickers were back in full force once again, bordering on a hysterical laughter when skillful hands began scribbling and scratching his ribs. “Preventing them from getting away.”

His fingers danced and burrowed themselves in the space between their ribs, vibrating on the spot, which made a funny kind of squeaky growl escape from the dragon, more high pitched, bouncy laughter and unstoppable wiggles taking over him when the hands kept running away and attacking all over his torso. They spidered over his ribcage to then poke his armpits, or washed down to sneak some digging and squeezing on his stomach and also even skittered across his spine, pulling all kind of yelps, chortles, snorts and high pitched, wheezy laughter over and over again.

It took a few more minutes and a bunch more of snickering and wiggling - which was actually even worse now because each squirm made him sink even more on the tickly feathers - before the avian eventually let him go, chuckling in amusement at the way Richarlyson fell on the floor and curled in a ball, shoulders bouncing with the leftover giggles.

An amused snort was pried from the adult when they showed him their middle finger, trying with no success to frown in his direction while still smiling and snickering non stop, remnant sniggers twinkling freely in the air.

“That is a surprise tickle avian attack for you. Now you already know a few uses for your wings in a battle.”

The dragon nestling ignored him, dramatically rolling and turning around and away from the avian, still fully stretched on the floor as if he had just survived a fight for his life and not some harmless playful sillness. Philza chuckled a bit more, not resisting and giving his unprotected neck one last tickle, which immediately melted the half heartedly pout in a smile and made him turn back again and hold a tnt as a threat, making the adult laugh and pull his arms up in rendition.

Richas showed off his tongue and then fell dramatically on the ground again.

(It was good to him in a lighter spirits, again.)

Philza then got up, stretching and shaking his wings fervently, wincing a bit when their muscles trembled a tad more than normal while holding them, probably from getting so much exercise after being kept so long hidden and immobile.

Maybe he should follow his own advice and build more of their core strength.

Letting them rest, he went back to adjust a few more crates around before checking on his communicator to see if Chayanne or Tallulah had woken up.

It was almost evening now, and yet it showed not a single signal of life.

Hm.

Well, he could give them their cookies tomorrow if needed, there was still plenty of time before the end of the week.

A light poke hit him right below his shoulderblade and suddenly a loud giggly yelp was ripped from his throat. He turned around quickly only to find his own nephew looking at him with a malefic grin in his expression.

“No.” He said, wagging a finger in warning at them, already realizing their intentions just by the slight slow drag of their tail and the step they gave in his direction. His tune tried to come out as stern, but he was pretty sure that even the kid could see there was no real heat behind his words.

Richas answered him with an excited thrill, ignoring the threatening caw - more like a soft chip but he wasn’t about to admit it - he gave her in return.

“No. Richarlyson, you do not want to get into this fight with me, ok, mahahate?! Hey! No! Lehehet go!”

There was indeed a valiant and grandious fight. One of the most playful, silly and joyful ones to ever graze that land, they said. The winner was never revealed at the end but passing friends mentioned listening to plenty of surprised caws and giggly growls falling like waterfalls from the wall, especially when certain two other kids woke up to the lack of their father and went to investigate his whereabouts. They said that the growing match continued until the sun set.

Who knows, who knows.

And since that day, if Richas decided to visit his tio Phil more frequently and if Philza would take the habit of turning off his harvesting machinery from time to time to watch the clouds, that is nobody’s business but their own.

#Richas: a// Philza: silly dad mode activated #qsmp tickles #qsmp tickling #YOU CAN PRY. YOU CAN PRY RICHAS RECEIVING THE COMFORT HE DESERVES FROM MY DEAD COLD HANDS #Ticklish!Richas #Ticklish!Richarlyson #Ler!Philza #This came to me as I was about to fall asleep making me promptly awake and write the idea down #Which was basically: Richas sad. Potatoes. Philza's wings tickly. Philza silly dad mode awakes.#Kanene's fic #Kanene's fanfic #Was sad so wrote this let's goooo fluffy soft cheer up tickles yesh yesh #Also I miss Romero Richas Lore pls bring it back pleaseeee

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