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speechlessxx · 4 years

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Bring Him Light - xiv (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: When one threat is resolved, another makes presents itself.

Warnings: character deaths, reference to sexual assault, ptsd, implied smut, shitty writing but we’re not gonna mention it ok, time jump!

Word Count: 2.7k

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

Confused, angry, annoyed murmurs filled the courtyard as people were ushered outside by the kingsguard. The summer sun had already risen and beat down unforgivingly on the crowd that began to form. An eerie feeling clung to the air – similar to the early morning sunrise when Sister Mary was beheaded. The people had not forgotten about the large army that gathered outside their castle gates this morning. They wondered in fear – had their king been overthrown? Or perhaps… the king was prepared to be a widow once more?

To their relief, King Steven stood at the platform. He was rather calm with his brows furrowed, lost in his thoughts. To their surprise, you weren’t dressed in the traditional execution black, nor were you cowering in the crowd in fear of your husband. Instead, their queen stood tall with her husband’s hand clasped in hers and a crown on her head, reminding them of who you were – reminding you of who you were: an angry queen seeking revenge.

The stoic expression on your face unsettled them. The last time you made a public appearance as queen was when you were struck by your husband. After then, the only time you had been relevant was when guards were storming the castle early in the morning in search of their runaway queen. Though they knew you were back and rested, they had expected your duties to be minimal – that you were to be hidden away, locked in the castle as a crowned prisoner.

They were wrong.

Behind you, stood your father, the invader from this morning. Though he did not seem to pose a threat to you or the king, his army was still sprawled out around the courtyard. Any attempt would be thwarted with ease with both Brooken and York standing together like this.

“Bring them forth,” Steven called out. The crescendo of the people’s chatter became louder and louder as the two criminals were finally revealed.

Brock Rumlow and Alexander Pierce trudged through the crowd, being led by guards. Shock was expressed on many noble’s faces. Confused muttering shook the crowd as they stared on at the two men who wore black.

“What is he doing?” “Has he finally lost his mind?” “That’s his cousin!” “That’s his father’s sister’s boy!” “Pierce has been an ally to the crown for decades!” “It’s the queen’s doing!” “She’s manipulating him.” “She’s made him a monster.” “No… He’s already been one for years.” “That’s his cousin, his father’s sister’s son!” “He wouldn’t dare.” “He’s a monster.”

The whispers didn’t stop. It felt as if the people were turning their back on Steven, losing hope, respect, and trust. He had yet to say a word that was heard by the crowd. Their mutterings became louder and louder, drowning him out, calling him a monster, saying he shouldn’t wear the crown. They called him mad and cruel, saying he lashed out – disguising his insanity and using treason as an excuse to blindly kill.

It wouldn’t stop. The vile accusations against him were deafening. You stared at the crowd, listening to every word spat out. It sounded like a long continuous scream.

The wails bringing you back to the violent sways of the boat. The nausea induced by the mercenary’s poor command of the boat. Seeing the man on top of Wanda. Hearing her screams of pain and pleads for help. The sticky blood on your hands as you stabbed him. You remembered the sharp shove he gave to your stomach – to your child. The ripping of your dress as he spat, “I should’ve raped you first” with his hands wrapped around your throat. The metallic taste of blood after Wanda slit the man’s throat open. You remembered her falling to the ground and the haunting lifeless look on her face. The terrible cramping pain in your stomach and the discomfort in your back. You remember the blood pooling underneath you as you lost your child.

Everything hitting you all at once. The anger. The hurt. The betrayal. The loss. It all spiraled together, morphing into one hideous feeling that you couldn’t describe. It bubbled in your throat, demanding to be let out.

“SILENCE!” You didn’t even recognize your own voice that bounced throughout the kingdom. It was so loud that you were sure your mother could’ve heard it in York. Maybe the true Mad King heard it from wherever he was.

The entire crowd fell into silence, surprised at your outburst. Steven looked over to you. His own frustration and anger melted into pure concern as he watched your shoulders rise and fall with every breath you took. He called your name but you didn’t hear it, basking in the silence as you wordlessly commanded the respect and attention of everyone in attendance.

Steven couldn’t help but smirk proudly at his queen as you stepped forward from your position, glaring at the crowd.

“You want to call your king a monster?” You asked them. “You have no idea what he has done to protect this kingdom… He has done nothing but protect each and every one of you. Whether the threat be my own father or foreign invaders,” you glared at the two bound men in black, “or lords who plot and conspire for his demise. He’s on the frontline of every battle when he could simply cower in the castle along with the rest of you. And you want to call him the monster?”

You gestured to the chained men. “Brock Rumlow and Alexander Pierce are the true monsters. They’re the shadows that lurk in the dark. Their the ghosts that haunt the castle. They prey on your fears, they isolate you, they manipulate you.”

You walked to the de-tongued Pierce, a shell of the noble he once was – thanks to your father. “Alexander Pierce brought King Steven two wives. Both from the same house. Both who have died. Everyone’s quick to tell the story that the king murdered his wives. They refused to give him an heir, so he ridded himself of their incompetency, right? I believed that story, too. But no one tells the truth of how Pierce deliberately chose wives of a house who swore allegiance to King Thanos.

“Brock Rumlow manipulated his way into my circle. He fed me lies of how Steven murdered his wives, confirmed untrue rumors – all to turn me against my own husband.” You looked over to Steven, who had a proud look on his face as he watched his wife take control of the situation. “I should’ve believed you, my love. For that, I am truly sorry.”

“These two men orchestrated to have me and my ladies murdered. They posted as people I could trust, promised me protection from a man they said was a threat. They arranged for my friends and I to be murdered on a boat. They hired a mercenary who rap – “you stopped yourself. The word had a foul taste that you could not stomach. “They hired a mercenary who murdered Lady Wanda Maximoff before my eyes. They’re responsible for the death of my child, the heir to Brooken.”

That fact alone stunned many. They were all quick to resent their queen because you had spent months childless… Little did they know they lost their heir they were so desperate to have.

“They’re monsters and if you cannot see that for yourselves, then you, too, will be on this platform next. Call me a killer. Call me ruthless. Call me the monster. I’ll accept it all. I’ve lost a friend and I’ve lost a child. And if their executions and your spiteful rumors are what I must pay for a moment of vengeance, then so be it.”

The crowd remained silent as they took in every word. They may never know what fact is and what is fiction, but everyone can agree that the hurt and the pain in your voice was completely genuine. No one could feign that type of grief.

Steven took a step forward, grabbing your hand and rubbing soothing circles onto the back of it. He brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles before turning towards the two men.

“We needn’t relive the torment you’ve brought upon my wife. You both are guilty of treason, and everyone knows it,” Steven told them, directly. “I, King Steven Rogers of Brooken, with the witnesses of my wife, Queen (Y/N) Rogers and King Anthony Stark of York, sentence you to death for your treason.”

Brock had called your name. He begged for his life. He begged for mercy. He stared into your eyes, pleading for a shred of empathy or compassion. He knew you had it in you – he saw it when you defended your friends fiercely, when you tried to stop your husband from executing the old crone. But he was met with angry, cold eyes as he heard his cousin call for his sword.

Pierce was the first to go. He was brought to the executioner’s block with no hassle – he did not fight. He knew when he had lost and he would lose with any dignity he had left. Steven’s blow was quick and neat. The head fell into the basket with a soft thud as the body was removed from the block.

Rumlow thrashed in the guards’ arms. He begged and he called for your name. He sputtered out apologizes for his crimes in hopes for any ounce of mercy that could be thrown his way.

“Stop.” You said before your husband could lift his sword. “Get him on his feet.”

“(Y/N).” Steven warned, but you repeated your order. The king sent you a weary look before gesturing for the guards to lift his cousin.

Steven watched as you marched over and gave Brock a kind smile. Relief flooded through Rumlow as you fixed the black collar of his shirt.

“You don’t deserve a fast death.” You told him. Though your voice was soft, it was heard throughout the eerily silent courtyard.

Before he could process your words, you gave a swift, deep cut to his throat with a dagger no one knew you were hiding. After the attempt on your life, you always ensured that you had some form of a weapon on your person.

He choked on his own blood as the crimson spurted out from the deep gash. You watched with little remorse as he fell to the ground, clawing at his neck. You didn’t shift your eyes away as you did when Sister Mary was beheaded. No. You wanted to see your enemies fall.

Once he laid lifeless on the platform, you turned and made your way off the platform and back into the castle.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Your farewells with your father were bittersweet and fast. You wished him safe travels as you gave him a sword – specially made for your little brother’s name day. You noticed the saddened look on your father’s face upon hearing Harvey’s name, but you decided not to press him about it.

You watched from the balcony as he and his army disappeared into the horizon. Your hands were still shaking – something you hadn’t thought would happen once you took Brock’s life. Though you have bathed – and re-bathed – immediately after the executions, your hands still felt sticky even if you only had a few splatters of blood on them.

You were too lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear Steven slowly walk over to your position. You jumped when his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him as he pressed a kiss onto the crown of your head. “Are you alright?” He asked you. He noticed how you were still trembling.

“I killed him.” You said. “I looked him in his eyes and took his life.”

“If you weren’t shaking, I would ask myself if I had married a coldblooded killer.” He joked lightly, but you scoffed at him. He kissed your temple. “But I know you are not a murderer.”

“As I know you are not a monster.” You whispered. “I couldn’t stand there and listen to them whispering anymore,” you shook your head. “I do apologize for thinking such things.”

“You had reason to believe it. I do not blame you.”

“You should be angry.”

“I am not.” Steven assured. “I love you.”

“As I love you.” You responded, leaning into him. “Is it over? Is this unrest finally over?”

“It never is.” Steven sighed. “But now, everyone knows… They can’t turn us against each other. We stand together. King and Queen. We are a force to be reckoned with. We are taking strides to a brighter Brooken. Together.”

You smiled at the thought. You basked in Steven’s arms. The security the bring. The feeling of home.

You turned to face him and pulled him down for a kiss. Sweet and passionate. Lips melting together as if they had always belonged there. You pushed Steven backwards towards the room. He broke the kiss as he watched you close the balcony doors. You smiled at him before you cupped his jaw with your hands to reconnect the kiss.

You kept pushing and pushing until the back of Steven’s knees hit the back of the bed. He pulled away from you, combing the loose strands away from your face before placing a chaste kiss to your lips. “We needn’t do this if you aren’t ready.” He told you. He was afraid that his desire for you would overwhelm you. Though some time had passed since the incident, he did not want to make you feel pressured in any way.

You shook your head. You tried to bring his lips back to yours, but he thwarted your attempt. “Steven…” You whined.

He chuckled, cupping your face with his large hands. “You needn’t give me an heir… Not yet. Not if you’re not ready.”

“Steven…” you frowned. “I want this. I want you.”

He shook his head. “We don’t need an heir… Not yet. I am happy with just you.”

You groaned at him. “If we have a child this night or the next, it makes little difference to me. I’m not trying to have an heir. I want to make love to you because I love you.”

He smiled. That warm smile that sent butterflies to your stomach. He kissed your lips once. Twice. And a third kiss one from an eager husband ready to make love to his wife.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Six Months Later…

You let out an erotic moan, one that quite possibly awoke the entire castle. Not that you nor your husband minded as your hips rutted against his as you both came down from your highs. Exhausted, you slumped down to his chest and allowed his arms to wrap around you. He pressed a kiss to your glistening forehead as you both tried to catch your breaths.

“I love you.” You whispered.

“I love you, too.”

Three sharp knocks were stamped into the wood of your bedchamber’s doors. You and Steven frowned at one another. It was late at night, who could it be?

You quickly got off your husband and wrapped yourself in a robe as he did the same. He walked over to the door to find Lord Barnes, who was supposed to be vacationing in his chateau with his new wife, Lady Natasha. “What’s wrong, James?” Steven asked the obviously exhausted lord.

“Your majesties…” He said, winded. “There’s an emergency. Please. Come to the throne room now.” Steven asked for privacy so that you both may properly dress.

Your bare feet padded against the tiles as you hurried walked hand in hand with Steven. “What’s happened?” You asked Lord Barnes as he rounded the corner towards the throne room. When he didn’t answer, you asked again. He pushed the doors open and you gasped. “Mother?”

“Oh, my sweet child,” your mother sighed out in relief. She held baby Morgan in her hands, the infant had grown in your time away. You rushed to her side and gave her a hug, cooing at your baby sister who babbled happily as she recognized your voice.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Your husband asked.

“Always great to see you, Steve.” Your mother smiled.

“Pepper,” he greeted, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “As much as I find your company a delight, it’s in the middle of the night… It’s winter. Travel is rather troublesome in the north, even for a three-day journey.”

“Where’s father?” You asked. “And Harvey?”

Your mother sighed sadly. Your face dropping. You looked to Natasha who stood with her husband and the guards you recognized belonged to your father’s kingsguard. “What’s happened?” You asked.

“York’s been invaded by Thanos.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #king!steve rogers #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america #captain america imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans #bring him light

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lifeofkaze · 3 years

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When Stars Ignite - Chapter 14

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N: Katriona Cassopeia (in mention) belongs to the gorgeous @kc-and-oc

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning:

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Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

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This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @carewyncromwell @night-rhea @thatravenpuffwitch

Man, we were killin' time We were young and restless We needed to unwind I guess nothin' can last forever Forever, no… ~ Bryan Adams - Summer of ‘69 ~

Much to his relief, Orion’s fear of having been discovered seemed to prove unwarranted. Skye was a direct person, never shy to speak her mind; if she had truly seen something not meant for her eyes during the interview, Orion was sure she’d have already come and spoken to either of them.

But nothing of the sort had happened. She had acted just like she always did and his first surge of worry had died down again. Sometimes even the most focused mind was prone to being tricked and, as he had to admit to himself, focus was something he found himself lacking in these days.

It wasn’t only because of Lizzie’s teasing getting riskier that he found his mind wandering more often than not. Ever since the show they were meant to be playing for the children from the foster system had shown its face on the horizon, an ever present restlessness had been growing in Orion.

Dreams that he had pushed to the edges of his mind a long time ago had started haunting him again; they kept coming back whenever they held an event stirring the buried memories of his childhood. He loved seeing the light in the children’s faces when they were spending time with them; he knew it was a rare sight, after all. The emotional mess Orion carried back with him afterwards was the dark side of the coin, however.

The charity event was scheduled for the next day; they were to play a small acoustic set for the children in the afternoon and their regular show only a few hours later on top. To keep their spirits high before the double load, Ethan had scheduled a day off for them.

The weather was still uncharacteristically hot and so most of the band and crew had found themselves at the small pool on the rooftop of their hotel. Much to everyone’s surprise, even Artemis had joined them.

Charlie had followed Skye’s advice to take Artemis for drinks a few days prior. He had been unusually tight-lipped about it when they had asked him how it had gone down.

“It was good,” he had shrugged, “told you she’s not as bad as you all think.”

While the young pyro tech still kept her distance from the rest of them, Orion had seen her chatting with Charlie outside of their work on stage since then. He was glad she seemed to be taking a step into the right direction, lowering her armour even for the tiniest bit.

But Artemis’ tentative attempts at integrating herself with their group lounging by the pool were counteracted as soon as she took her shirt off. Everett audibly wolf-whistled at her black bikini with surprisingly colourful patterns crisscrossing it. Her withering glare was met with a lewd grin as Artemis picked up her stuff and dumped it on the deckchair farthest away from them.

Lizzie gave Everett a smack on the back of his head. “Well done, Ev, you’ve scared her away. I wanted to have a chat with her.”

Everett looked at her over the rim of his sunglasses. “I’m not stopping you. Two beauties in bikinis getting close? Who would I be to object? You could rub her back with sunscreen.”

He laughed to himself. “If Artemis isn’t up for it, I’m always here for you, gorgeous.”

A hint of the same irritation Orion felt flickered over Lizzie’s face. “You’re a real mood today.”

She got up from her own deckchair and started over in Artemis’ direction anyway, but was stopped by Charlie catching onto her wrist.

“Woah, where are you going, little rockstar?”

“Go and talk to Artemis, see if I can convince her to come over if Ev shuts up.” She gave the singer lounging in his chair a dark look.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Charlie said and pulled her down next to him. “Trust me, if you push her you’ll be the one scaring her away. She’ll come over if she wants to.”

Lizzie opened her mouth to object but Charlie shook his head. “You can’t force her, sunshine.”

“Fine,” Lizzie snorted, not pleased by the situation, “so what’re we gonna do now?” She nodded in the direction of the pool. “Anyone up for a round of water polo?”

Everett declined, preferring to seek a better place to tan, while Merula did the opposite and withdrew to the shade with a book. So it was Charlie, Lizzie, Andre and Skye who made their way to the water. Orion would have joined them, but he was preoccupied with some ideas that had been floating around in his head since that morning; he wanted to write them down before he’d forget them.

He was lying on his stomach on his deckchair, notebook open in front of him, but found it hard to concentrate. The match of water polo going on in the pool had turned into some kind of wrestling match, like it always did eventually. Lizzie and Skye were sitting on Charlie’s and Andre’s shoulders respectively, trying to knock the other into the water; a lot of giggling and shouting was involved as they fought for the upper hand.

What really distracted him though, was the way the sunlight was refracting in the water droplets on Lizzie’s skin when she moved. It let her slender body shimmer, her tan she always got so quickly in the summer months a beautiful contrast to the vibrant red of her bikini. Her wet hair looked a lot darker than it actually was and it was clinging to her back.

Skye almost managed to knock her off Charlie’s shoulder and Lizzie laughed as she righted herself again. It was the kind of laugh that made her stand out amongst all the others, bright and captivating. It gave her an aura that was impossible to escape, drawing eyes whenever she entered a scene. She had the ability to light up a whole room with her smile, as fresh and beautiful as a sunrise.

“I’d say I’m 95.9 % sure what you’re staring at, my friend,” Orion suddenly heard the voice of Murphy next to him, “or should I rather say who?”

Orion tried not to let his surprise show; he had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard his best friend approach. “Your meaning is obscure to me,” he answered evasively. “I’m simply trying to work here.”

Murphy couldn’t hide his smirk. “When you’re working, your attention is usually 87.5 % focused on your work, more if no one is distracting you. Four out of five times you don’t even react when spoken to.” He glanced down at the mostly blank page of Orion’s notebook. “Today I’d say your focus is reduced to abysmal 30.9 %.” Never missing a detail, his eyes flicked to the still on-going wrestling match in the pool.

With a sigh, Orion closed his notebook and rested his head on his arms. Murphy was far too observant to be lied to, but he didn’t have to know all the details either.

He indicated their laughing friends with a slight nod of his head. “It is good that our friends are having a great time, it strengthens their bond of friendship. But they are making a lot of noise, it’s bound to draw attention.”

The dismissive sound Murphy was making clearly showed that he wasn’t buying it. “It’s obvious they’re distracting you. But from what I’ve seen, 95.5 % of the time you’ve spent looking at them were devoted to one of the pairs, and while I do have to admit that Andre’s new gold bangles are surprisingly flashy and apparently water resistant, I highly doubt it was him that drew your attention, same goes for Skye, although her hair usually is an eye catcher, I’ll give you that. That leaves Charlie and dear Lizzie, and last time I checked, you weren’t one for redheads, that’s more my thing. Not that I want to say I find Charlie particularly attractive, although some might say so, but I digress. So only one option remains, and as the one and only master of logical deductions, the great Sherlock Holmes, once said, ‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable…”

“...must be the truth’,” Orion finished with a sigh. “I know the quote. You're quoting numbers all day every day, do you really feel the need to go into literature as well now?"

Ignoring him, Murphy was grinning from ear to ear, clearly satisfied with his conclusions. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Orion wasn’t answering immediately; he didn’t like Murphy’s prying at all. “Are you done, Detective McNully?”

“Fine, don’t answer me then, I don’t need confirmation,” Murphy snorted. “The stats never lie, my friend.”

Orion rolled his eyes, hoping Murphy wouldn’t delve into another one of his statistical sprees. Although he was right in that his numbers were seldom wrong, Orion himself preferred a more open-minded view of his surroundings to Murphy’s cold, analytical observations; especially, if these observations were directed at his own behaviour.

But of course, Murphy wasn’t deterred. “To the attentive observer, which of course you know that I am, all the facts are there. Eight out of ten times your mood changes for the better when Lizzie enters the room. Seven out of ten times she starts smiling when she looks at you. You two look at each other during shows and soundtracks 46.4 % more often than at the others and yes, I factored out the times when you need to because of the cues she’s giving you, thanks a lot for asking. You hug each other at the end of the shows significantly longer as well. When you leave the backstage area, you’re never leaving together but almost always in close succession.”

The blond sound technician crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Are you really sure there isn’t anything you want to tell me?”

Orion was more than a little shocked at all the facts Murphy had just thrown at him. “I had no idea it was that obvious.”

Murphy shrugged, a sly smile appearing on his face. “Only to me. You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember, and my above average observational skills, which of course not everyone possesses, solved 82.3 % of the mystery.”

“What’s with the rest?”

“What I can offer in facts, I sometimes lack in interpreting. Katriona connected the dots.”

“Obviously,” Orion sighed.

“So, what’s the deal with you two? Are you dating?” A frown appeared on Murphy’s face. “I thought you had a clause about this in your contracts. Ethan’s not going to like this.”

Orion vehemently shook his head. “No, you got that wrong. We’re not dating, everything is just like it has always been. We’re just enjoying additional pastimes, which - I’ll give you that - may exceed a regular friendship.”

He looked at Murphy intently. “No one besides you knows about this, and I would appreciate it if it stayed that way.”

Murphy made a non-committal sound. “Of course this doesn’t include Katriona.”

“As if any of us could keep a secret from her.”

“I normally don’t go for absolutes but that’s 100 % true,” Murphy laughed. He looked at Orion curiously. “So how long has this thing between you and Lizzie been going on now?”

“A while,” Orion answered evasively.

“The definition of ‘a while’ ranges from two weeks to up to a year. Judging by my numbers, it’s definitely not the former. Doesn’t sound like a short lived fling to me.”

“I wouldn’t call it a fling,” Orion said; it was surprisingly hard to put what was going on between them into words. “But we’re definitely not emotionally involved with each other. It’s not a matter of the heart, more of a physical extension built on the base of our friendship.”

Murphy leaned back into his wheelchair and grinned. “The old classic, friends with benefits.”

“If that’s the label you want to stick on it.”

Murphy hummed in response, following Orion’s gaze to the pool again. His voice was quieter when he spoke this time. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? We are both on the same page about it.”

“Just saying, things like these seldomly work out as well as they start. Approximately 89.6 % of physical relationships end in chaos, tears or both.”

The memory of his own initial worry emerged in the back of Orion’s mind. He watched as Skye gave Lizzie a final push that sent her toppling from Charlie’s shoulders. She shrieked before she crashed into the water, but was already laughing again when she resurfaced; Orion firmly pushed his concerns away.

“It won’t escalate with us,” he said. “Both of us value our friendship, and the fate of Equinox even more so. We’ve established very clear rules. I appreciate your worries, but they are misplaced.”

“As much as I love rules for the structure they’re bringing, rules can easily be broken,” Murphy said. “Just be careful, okay? Mixing friendship with sex can be a lot of fun but the devil’s in the detail.”

They both watched Lizzie climbing out of the pool and heading over into their direction. When she passed Everett, he pulled down his sunglasses and watched after her, his eyes very slowly travelling up and down her body. He said something to her Orion couldn’t hear, but Lizzie only rolled her eyes, shot something back and continued on her way. Murphy's eyes flicked from her to Orion.

“Aren’t you bothered with Ev hitting on her?”

Orion shrugged. “Why would I? She’s not my girlfriend, and she can perfectly handle herself, as you’ve just seen.”

“That she undoubtedly can,” Murphy laughed, “I’ll better be off now and leave you two alone. I wonder where my beautiful wife is. I haven’t seen her in quite a while now.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #harry potter hogwarts mystery #orion amari #murphy mcnully #lizzie jameson #lizion #rockstar au #when stars ignite #wsi #besties collaborate

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sunlightwoo · 4 years

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Sunrise

ღ pairing: fwb!wonwoo x fem!reader

ღ genre: some suggestive sexual content is mentioned along with some mature language that is used. there is some angst that comes to this, but there’s fluff if you squint in between the lines lolol.

ღ wc: 4015

ღ plot: you never thought that you would see the day where your best friend, whom you were pretty exclusive with, was spontaneous enough to want to go on a road trip. it was something you thought of being harmless, if it weren’t for the fact that he was giving you all the mixed signs that maybe he wants more, or maybe he wants to stop your exclusiveness and just keep it in the dark nights.

MASTERLIST

The summer heat made your night intolerable as your pajamas were firmly sticking to your clothes, even with your window and fan on full power in your bedroom. It was no match for the amount of sweat that you could feel all in one moment, and you felt even worse considering the fact that you were up at the ungodly hours that were nearing four in the morning.

It had been months since you were stuck in California with your best friend, the both of you staying in one of his friends’ houses that held guest rooms for the other guests that you were familiar with. The only reason why you were stuck there was because of the pandemic that was occurring worldwide, in which flying back to Korea wasn’t a viable option at the moment in terms of your health.

Which was why you stared up at your ceiling blankly, hoping that maybe you would fall back asleep this time around rather than letting the heat ruin your sleep schedule; but there was no use.

A knock on your door interrupts you from your thoughts as you hummed for whoever was at your door to come inside, and when you turned your head over towards the person that was still up. Wonwoo stands at your door frame, with his arms crossed over his chest and leans against it slightly as he stares at you with an amused look on his face, as if though he was trying to say that he wasn’t surprised at the fact that you were still up.

“A penny for your thoughts, princess?” He muses, and you shrugged in response, turning your head back up to the ceiling as you let out a soft sigh, wondering why his presence suddenly made you feel even more warmer than you were before.

Why was the air conditioning not on tonight?

“It’s too hot tonight.” You mumbled quietly and you heard him hum in response as his feet shuffled against the bedroom floor after shutting the door, moving to the empty spot next to you as he lied down and stared up at the ceiling as well with his hands across his stomach.

“Is it because I’m here tonight?” He jokes and turns to look at you and you playfully scoffed at his words, lightly pushing him away from you as you shook your head in response and shifted your body so that you were now facing out the window, seeing that the moon was still up high in the sky but the stars were starting to dull as the minutes have gone by.

“There’s nothing left to do here, so I am bored out of my mind, Woo.” You replied and looked to see that he wasn’t looking at you anymore, but rather the sky as well that was right outside your window.

The glimpse of his side profile made you think about all of the moments that you spent with him like this, but rather apart, you were entangled into one another’s limbs as he held you close to his body. Both you and Wonwoo had been best friends since the beginning of your freshman year because of Joshua, the owner of the house you were staying in during this time of quarantine, but there was something more that was going on between you both that you were avoiding to admit yourself.

There were definitely more than one occurrences where you both spent nights in each other’s beds, seeming as though you were more than best friends, but there wasn’t any label. You knew that Wonwoo wasn’t someone that wanted to be tied down in a relationship with just anyone, and you, yourself, was someone that still wanted to explore and didn’t want to be committed into a relationship with an individual that you would only be seen as temporary.

Somehow, you managed to view Wonwoo that same way.

You knew that sooner or later, you both wouldn’t fool around much longer where you both wouldn’t end up in each other’s beds much longer. Someday, you knew that he would find someone and slowly fall in love with them for everything that they were, and he was going to be in love with every single fiber of himself. It was something that you were scared to do, because that would mean you would have to put yourself in such a vulnerable position and be willing to risk everything your heart was against in believing.

“What if we both left the house for a bit?” He suddenly asks, and you look at him confusedly while moving your hand so that it was perched up on the bed while supporting the weight of your head as you were wondering what could’ve been going through his mind at the moment.

“Where would we even go at this hour?” You ask him quietly, and it wasn’t until you hear the sound of keys jingling in his pocket that he takes out for you to see and your eyes widened in surprise at the fact that he was being spontaneous for once.

“How would you like to go on a road trip to San Diego right now? We don’t pack our bags and just go wherever the sun takes us.” He proposes and a grin starts to cross your face as you nodded in response, silently agreeing to the idea that he brought up and started to sit up in your place on the bed.

“What’s the worst thing that can happen? The others won’t even notice that we’re gone.”

That’s what you wanted to believe, but who knows what could happen during the day that you were spending in San Diego.

“Y/N, wake up.”

You were shaken awake by your shoulder and looked at your surroundings to see that you were still cramped up in the passenger seat of Mingyu’s Jeep that you and Wonwoo took for your trip. Turning around to look at the latter in the driver’s seat, he points towards the scenery that was in front of you both and you looked to see that it was the sunrise that was beginning to come up on the horizons as you realized where you were.

How long were you knocked out since you both left the house?

“It’s only 5:07,” You whispered quietly as you hugged your knees to your chest, admiring how the hues of warm colors were slowly entering the once dark sky that was only filled with stars, “How fast were you driving on the freeway?”

He lets out a laugh at your joke, shaking his head while looking back out to the waves that were just a couple feet away from you and thought to himself. From what he was thinking about the entire trip, he was scared of how fast he was falling for you, despite the fact that you two were in an exclusive relationship with one another.

No label, but he knew that you were his and vice versa.

The only thing was that he didn’t want to commit to it, because he believed multiple times that he wasn’t enough for you; that there was a guy out there that you were destined to meet, greater than he would ever be. All he could think about now was that whatever you were both doing, it was bound to have an end to it, and he didn’t want that to happen any time soon.

He liked being around you, and it was your company that made him feel more calm at most times, especially when he’s not with his ‘brothers’. To him, you were like a deep breath that he takes after he gets heated before calming down with a drive to an unknown destination. Now that you were both still in quarantine, the thought of driving was what brought up the spontaneous trip you were both now on as he wanted to shake away his thoughts from earlier.

“It’s relaxing being out here. No wonder Joshua never told us about this place, until now.” He breathes out softly, inhaling the scent of the salty sea water that was lingering in the air while thinking about what the others were talking to him about.

It was Joshua that confronted him about his exclusive relationship with you, being the only one who knows that you both were messing around, not wanting to commit to anything. To him, he didn’t think anything of it, however, to Joshua it seemed as though it was self destructive, from what he recalls him saying.

“Yeah, what a jerk.” You joked and let out a soft laugh before slowly getting out of the Jeep to go ahead and dig your feet into the sand that was on the beach.

The grains of sand were cool in between your toes, the chills of the ocean breeze making you feel as though everything was warm in your surroundings as you moved to go sit near the tides. Sounds of the waves crashing against the shore were the only sounds that you could hear besides your breathing, as you continued to watch the sun for however much longer you stayed out there with your thoughts lingering.

It wasn’t until you felt water being splashed onto your body that your head whipped over to see Wonwoo, who was standing a couple feet away from you with his feet already in the water. He kicked the water towards your distracted self, you concluded, as the shit eating grin on his face was the answer that you needed to know that he definitely was trying to get at your nerves.

“You looked soaked, Princess,” He winks at you, crossing his arms in front of his chest cockily as he stares at your now semi-irritated figure, in which you thought to yourself that you were definitely going to get your payback for, “Need a little help there?”

“I’ll show you who needs a little bit of fucking help.” You mumbled softly and immediately sat up from where you were sitting on the sand to chase after his running figure, despite the fact that you were both the loudest individuals that were there on the beach.

Your entire morning spent watching the sunrise and playing in the water, which you both ended up being completely soaked head to toe by the time that you called it a truce and went inside the beach house. However, it was something that must’ve been in the air that morning that made you and Wonwoo decide to just go for it by the time that you both walked through the front doors, catching your breaths.

At least you weren’t the one that was cleaning up the aftermath of what happens at the beach house.

“So what are we having for brunch?”

You scanned throughout the menu in your hands as you looked at the various breakfast choices that they had. Almost your entire body was aching, but that didn’t stop you from going out to eat when your stomach growled after the third round and going to physically get up to grab some food. The both of you stumbled upon a diner that was just minutes away from the beach house, which was convenient considering that you didn’t have to go anywhere else until the evening when it was time to possibly eat some dinner.

“I’m down for a burger and fries, maybe a root beer with it sounds good too.” You mumbled to yourself as you then put your menu down to look at him.

Before you both got there, you went to a store to buy some new clothes so that you were able to change into them despite the fact that you were only staying in San Diego for one night. It was only eleven in the morning, but it already felt like you had been there forever considering the fact that you were with Wonwoo.

Speaking of the latter, he sat in front of you with his glasses perked up on the bridge of his nose as he was dressed in comfortable shorts and an oversized tee that you were bound to steal from him when you get home. It was simple as he sported it with a white cap on his head, but it suited him as you looked to see that he was done picking out what he wanted to get.

“Can I take your order?”

The perky sound of the waitress bringing you out of your thoughts when you looked up to see her dressed as though you were at a Hooters, top barely buttoned up with a bright red lipstick plastered messily across her lips. All you could think about was the fact that she honestly could’ve been hooking up with someone prior to getting to your table, but when you glanced at Wonwoo, he was already smirking at the sight of her as they were both exchanging looks to one another.

“Can I have two burgers, some fries and a root beer please? Also a new server that hasn’t hooked up with anyone minutes ago?” You grinned sarcastically at her, and when she turns to you with a hurt expression on her face, she scoffs and walks away purposely showing off the way that she walked in Wonwoo’s direction and he looks up at you in confusion.

“What was that for?” He frowns and crosses his arms in front of his chest as you scoffed at his manner before pulling out your phone to see that the others were already asking you where you both were.

“For being a horny college boy.” You replied while you scrunched up your nose in disgust when he gave you a look, knowing that you used that familiar phrase with him one too many times in the past.

To be exact, you used that phrase with him the night that you both started messing around, just moments before because you were both in the middle of playing truth or dare with a pile of poker cards. It was when you won that you suggested it to him, and now here you were in a diner with him in San Diego, nothing but two best friends going out to have fun.

He lets out a huff as you were both now greeted with another waitress, one being more professional as she politely took your orders and apologized for her coworker. Once she was gone, you looked to see that Wonwoo looked annoyed as he was looking at his phone while scrolling on it as you sighed to yourself.

Was he getting bored of me?, you thought to yourself as you continued to text Joshua on your phone, when suddenly he breaks the silence by clearing his throat.

“Are you texting Joshua?” He asks you quietly, and you nodded as some sort of irritation left his lips when you decided to put away your phone and look at him with an amused look while sipping on your root beer.

“Is there something wrong with that, Jeon?” You quirked and he shakes his head in response, looking outside at the view considering you were at a window booth when he suddenly speaks up from his spot.

“No, of course not, Princess. I mean, you’re allowed to talk to Joshua, just like I’m allowed to talk to the senior who graduated our Anthropology class.” He mumbles shrugging while taking a sip of his cola, when you give him a confused look while leaning on your elbows to now questionably look at him.

“Since when did you start talking to Yuna?” You asked him quietly and suddenly smiled at the sudden mention of her name, making your stomach churn at the sight of it because you never saw him smile when yours was mentioned, like how you would always smile a bit when he was with the others.

“We both found some common interests since our project from the fall semester, and we’ve been talking since then.” He replies as you nodded in response and thought about it, wondering if he liked her despite the fact that you two were messing around together.

But then again, you were only best friends with benefits that meant nothing more than it already was.

“Do you like her?” You say in a quiet voice and watch as he thinks of response, a smile coating his lips still as you could only think that maybe he was getting bored of what you both were doing and was ready to finally settle into a relationship, since you were both going to graduate next year.

“I think I do, but I don't know. Maybe I’ll figure it out when we go home.” He whispers and you nod as somehow the sound of your heart breaking little by little was able to be heard while the food was finally being brought out onto the plates in front of you.

And for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel as hungry when you were eating with him.

It was quiet as you were sitting on the balcony of the bedroom, staring off into the distance where the night sky was reflecting off of the quiet ocean waves on the beach. There was still adrenaline running through the course of your veins from when you and Wonwoo were spending another night messing around with one another like you were used to, but somehow tonight felt different.

You shouldn’t be crying over the fact that Wonwoo was openly flirting with someone that you both met at a diner, or talked highly of the senior that was in your Anthropology lecture. There shouldn’t be a reason that you were alone in the darkness of the night, crying over someone that you never specifically labeled as your significant other, despite the fact that you both have kissed and shared touches with one another multiple times, just like moments ago.

There was a little voice in your head, saying that he should know and that you should just accept whatever he had to say in terms of rejecting the idea of you both having a label on your exclusive relationship and completely leaving you out of his simple, but unsatisfying life. Wonwoo was the one person in your life that you believed was a sign, that maybe it is possible to fall for someone completely and have that be okay because they were there for a reason.

However, he was also the same person that started the deal of being friends with benefits with you, but nothing more than that. He didn’t want to be tied down, and you respected that completely except this time it felt harder than most times that you spent nights with him because you broke your end of the promise.

You were completely in love with Wonwoo, and you didn’t know how to tell him.

The sound of the balcony door opening from behind you makes you quickly wipe your eyes with the back of your hand as you turn around and look up to see a very tired Wonwoo, glasses adorning his face and only wearing his shorts from earlier. He shuffles a bit to take a spot beside you and you tensed up a bit, feeling his warm presence beside you when suddenly you felt your head being gently moved so that it was leaning on top of his shoulder.

Neither of you said anything as you didn’t move your head, but started to relax a bit as you continued to stare out at the ocean, staring at it while you wrapped his jacket closer around your body for warmth.

“Why are you crying, Princess? Did I hurt you earlier?” He whispers quietly and turns to look at you, taking your hand into his as you shook your head in response before

“You didn’t, Woo, you never do…” You trailed off, frowning while looking down at your lap when you started to ramble on with whatever your mind was. I think we should stop with whatever we’re doing, Jeon. It’s not healthy for any of us, and you’re probably getting tired of it too and it’s getting really repetitive and-”

“Woah, woah, what are you talking about, Y/N? Where is all of this coming from?” He looks at you confusedly, gently moving to cup your face into his hands to make eye contact with you and almost instantly, you could feel yourself melt into putty because you didn’t expect him to be bold like this, but it wasn’t until you felt tears prick the corner of your eyes that you knew this was it.

“I love you, Jeon Wonwoo, more than I should be loving you.”

He didn't move as his shocked expression seemed as though it was everything that you needed to know, resorting to you getting up from where you were on the balcony to head back inside the bedroom. You closed the doors behind you as you looked around the room to grab your phone and stuff, when suddenly you were stopped by his hand gently holding your wrist.

“Where are you going, Y/N? I didn’t even say anything.” He asks confusedly, unsure as to why you suddenly ran away from him and moved his hand up to wipe the tears that were once again cascading down your face when you stopped him from doing so by moving his hand away.

“But everything that I needed to know was shown on your face, Wonwoo. I know that we both agreed that whatever we were going to be was nothing but a good fuck, but I can’t do it anymore.” You whispered quietly, scared that you were going to full on sob in front of him if you spoke any louder and looked at him, who was looking back at you with a pained face.

“How do you know that I don’t feel the same way?” He whispers, and you could’ve sworn that his face was now closer to yours than it was earlier as you could feel his breath hovering over your lips, just centimeters away when you let out an inaudible whisper in response to his.

“You can’t.”

In a blink of an eye, his lips were already on yours as this time around it felt different as you were both kissing. This one felt more promising of a sort, as if he’s trying to reassure you that he wasn’t going anywhere, but you didn’t want to believe it which was why you pulled back from him and his breathless figure.

You look at him with a confused expression, unsure as to what he was trying to prove

“I fell in love with you a long time ago, Y/N. Now was just an open window for me to tell you that,” He breathes out softly, holding your face still in his hands as he was softly caressing your cheeks while you were staring straight into his eyes looking for some sort of lie in them.

But you couldn’t find any, because the dark orbs that you were staring at were the same ones that you somehow came to love over time.

“Let’s just try again, but this time with a label. We can just keep the label to ourselves, for good rather than just leaving it in the air.”

“What about the girl at the diner, or your senior that’s in your anthropology lecture? I thought they were more your type.” You mumbled, moving your arms to hug yourself as you continued to look at him and he shakes his head in response while hugging you closer to his chest.

“I don’t think they’ll ever compare to the best thing that’s ever happened in front of me. So what do you say, Y/N? Wanna try again?” He says and looks at you softly, seeing how your eyes were filled with the stars that reflected the ones outside in the night sky as you nodded in response, giving him a small smile.

“I think we can try again, Wonwoo.”

#A TCT Summer #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen oneshots #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #wonwoo oneshot #seventeen #tctwriters

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seriouslyhooked · 3 years

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Feels Like This (Part 13)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! I am so excited to be back with this story after the month I spent away, and I find it so wild that in that past month so much happened with royals in the actual world. I wouldn’t say it inspired this chapter at all, but it was cathartic to write a story where the Prince and Princess get a much healthier, more healing reception. I know how many of you love this fic, and it definitely has a special place in my heart as well. It’s been so important to me that I do the ending of this story justice, and so it took a bit of time to get my thoughts organized. This is one of the final chapters, and I only anticipate one more actual story installment and then maybe, someday far off in the future, an epilogue or two. That being said, this is a long-awaited milestone for CS and I have attempted to infuse all of my usual cuteness and romance. I hope that you all enjoy, I would love to hear what you think, and thank you all so much for reading!

Gazing out upon the overlook as the sun rose over the tree line in the Montenarran morning, Killian was comforted once more by the vastness of the world and the beauty that danced before him. The light shone with a color and vibrancy he’d come to know and love, but this morning the air hummed with languid layers of anticipation. Maybe it was Killian’s excitement and nerves, but he didn’t think so. No, if anything the world seemed to shimmer today, a sign from above that the timing was right and that he was ready to take this next big step.

The next time I visit this place, I’ll have Emma by my side, he thought to himself, soaking in the comfort of such a plan.

This was on his list of places to share with his Swan, but he reasoned that he had all the time in the world for such gifts. Today, though, he was planning to make that assumption a reality. For finally, after nearly three days of being parted from his love, he was planning to propose, in a way befitting a woman of Emma’s caliber.

Instinctively, Killian’s hand moved to his pocket, drawing out a small black box which held a ring inside. The ring was beautiful and ornate, an overt and ostentatious display of love, but one with inherent meaning. This was the ring his grandfather had given his Gran, a ring forged for the purpose of real and lasting love. It was not exchanged at their wedding, but instead in a private ceremony the two of them shared some weeks later. Their wedding had been arranged, but still they’d found real love. This ring was a gift, however, given at the turning point where Killian’s grandfather knew that his love for his new Queen was more than mere arrangement – it was true and totally transformative.

“Your brother, as reigning monarch, has full claim to your grandfather and my wedding bands, and he will make good use of them with his Elsa, I am utterly assured,” Gran had claimed some weeks back when she stole Killian for a private moment. On that night, she was serious and sincere, most of her deeply playful nature tucked aside for a brief window of time. She glanced at her the matrimonial ring she still wore, years after the death of her dearly departed husband before looking back to Killian with conviction and calm. “The love between them grows each day, and is befitting of what me and your grandfather shared. But this ring I’m giving you, Killy… this ring is something else altogether. This is magic made metal. This is perfectly genuine affection forged into precious gems.”

“It is gorgeous, Gran,” Killian agreed when she presented the ring to him. “But I can’t take something like this from you. Not when it means so much.”

“That’s why you must have it, Killy. If your Grandfather were here, he would say the same. This ring bound us in life, but now we are bound through so much more.”

For the first time in years, likely since the death of his grandfather himself, Killian watched as tears trickled down his Gran’s face. It instantly pierced his heart, for this was a woman who always showed strength. Even when he was on deployment and gone for years on end, his Gran persevered. She may grow misty eyed or get choked up, but tears were a whole different story. Only the memory of her husband could prompt them, and Killian thought to himself not for the first time that she had been so strong for so long, going on without him.

“Our love is forever, living, thriving, singing its song for now and for always. I miss him, every day, every moment, I wish that he was here, but someday we will have each other again. And in the meantime, this ring deserves another union. It was made to be passed through generations. I will confess that I wondered if anyone should ever be worthy of it, if love like ours would find its way here again. But I needn’t have doubted. You and Emma are made for each other, and it would be my honor for Emma to wear this.”

Killian agreed whole heartedly with his Grandmother’s explanation, and he knew no more beautiful stone could be found the world over. This ring bore a remarkable yellow diamond, encircled with smaller stones of the same rare hue. The exact shade sparkled in the sunlight, but almost seemed dipped in the golden glow of a summer’s afternoon. It was pristine and poetic, warm and well beyond the pale, reminding Killian of the highlights in Emma’s hair and the lilt of her laughter. Her joy was precious, more precious than any stone, but as he gazed upon the rock, it felt quintessentially designed for his Swan. It was happy and bright, bold and beautiful, and he knew, despite its flair and size, that Emma would love it.

The only thing left to do is ask her.

The thought breathed new life into Killian, even more so than the Montenarran morning, and he walked back through the forest paths towards the palace once more, energized and ready for the day ahead. He had everything planned and had been working on this for some time. There were many moving pieces, but he’d squared them all away. In the end he would see to it that this was perfect, for that was exactly what his Swan deserved.

Arriving at the palace just after the sunrise, Killian moved with purpose and precision. He had only a little bit of time, and much to accomplish.

“The last of the parcels have been delivered, Your Grace,” one attendant announced as Killian walked through the palace doors. “The bulk of them are here, as you see, though some are in the green house for obvious reasons.”

“Excellent, Jacque. Thank you.”

“I beg your pardon, Sir, it’s just… are you certain you don’t need help arranging things? It’s a significant amount of work here. The staff is happy to assist.”

“I appreciate that offer, Jacque, but I’ve got things well in hand. I’ve been planning this for some time.”

A thoughtful smile appeared at the older man’s face, one that broke the traditional polite protocol and spoke to how long he had known Killian and the royal family. “Of course, Sir. Well, in that case, best of luck.”

Killian took the well wishes to heart, knowing he had a massive task before him. Perhaps he could have given himself more time to bring all of these pieces together, but to him, it already felt like too much time had been wasted. He was more than ready for this next step with Emma, and after three days spent apart, not seeing each other in person, or sharing much more than a few texts and facetimes, he was particularly desirous to see this through. He had been strategizing on how to get this right for quite a while, and by now he knew each assignment down to the letter.

“I assume that your dismissal of Jacques offer goes for us as well?”

Killian glanced up, finding his mother on the stairwell. From here she was stately and elegant, a poised dowager Queen with refinement and grace, but as she descended, she became more herself, and by the time she was in front of Killian, taking his hand in hers, she was no more and no less than a wonderful mother. His greatest support for many years, and someone who he knew would give anything she could to make this moment special.

“It does, at least for this. But with the children arriving in a few hours’ time -,”

“Not to worry on that front,” his mother said cheerily, her own happiness at the thought of all the Institute’s residents coming to the palace for a special premiere outing. “Your Grandmother and I have all in hand, and Liam and Elsa are set to help us. It’ll be a day to remember.”

“Good,” Killian said, looking around and finding his Gran already in full form, instructing the staff as to the desires she had for the outdoor space. Through the glass of the palace’s wall of windows, her words were muddled, but the humor was clear as day. This woman, frail and aged from outward appearance, was a firecracker, ruling over the days designs with an iron fist. “Surprising that Liam is giving Gran such a wide berth.”

“Well how could he not? He’s yet to come down for the day. Hard to give orders from a distance.”

Killian let out a whistle, and laughed as his mother swatted his arm and ‘tutted’ his boyish actions. Knowing when enough was enough, he left unsaid the clear reason that his brother would choose to stay abed so late in the morning. Killian would stake his life on the fact that a certain guest was here within the palace, and that she likely made a visit of the overnight variety.

“What are the chances that Gran doesn’t know?” Killian asked and his mother shook her head.

“Zero.”

“And the likelihood that she will say something?”

“That’s still to be determined.” Killian was shocked at his mother’s genuine opinion. He, for one, thought it undoubtable that Gran would make mention of this moment, gleefully commenting on the need for royal heirs or some such outlandish claim. “Eleanor is direct and prone to speaking her mind, but she is also strategic. If the calculated risk of such a comment is too high, she will deny herself. She would never do anything to jeopardize your brother’s prospects.”

“You really think a smart comment from an old woman is enough to keep them apart?” Killian asked, thinking back on the few weeks that Liam and Elsa had shared since finding each other again. They had been as close to inseparable as the schedule of a King would allow. It was clear that they were both entirely invested, so much so that a royal announcement would be made in the coming days announcing their relationship.

“Not for a second.”

“So, if you know that, and I know that… surely Gran must know that.”

At that exact moment a maid was walking back into the house, opening the glass doors. From the outside they could hear his grandmother calling out to Liam and to Elsa, who had been discovered somewhere in the backyard. They no doubt were trying to be more discrete, but Gran seemed to have no interest in allowing them that privacy.

“Oh Lord, it’s time,” Meera said with a mix of worry and also amusement. Her eyes were alight with the humor of the moment, but also the very real awkwardness that may soon transpire. “I best get out there and spare them from what I can.”

Killian nodded, but wasn’t ready for the impact of his mother’s arms around him squeezing tight. It was not in any way part of the royal protocol, but his family never paid much mind to that. Still, this was a big hug, one that was obviously filled with tremendous meaning.

“I’m so proud of you, my darling. You’ll give her everything she deserves, and the two of you will be happy. So wonderfully, beautifully happy.”

“Thanks, Mum. Love you,” he whispered, accepting her soft kiss on his cheek and her shared words of love in kind before she dashed off to help his elder brother. A Queen should never move so quickly, but then again, Gran could do quite a bit of damage in the seconds it would take to get from here to there. For his part, Killian only chuckled to himself before heading to the side of the palace towards the gardens for the day.

The next few hours were defined by attention to detail and purposeful precision. Before meeting Emma, Killian could safely say he never imagined the lengths and planning required for a proper proposal. The idea was so intangible, so unnecessary in his estimations, that he never dwelled on even the possibility. It seemed unlikely that his heart would ever be touched in that way. He assumed he’d go through life a bachelor, or worse yet, that he’d cave to eventual pressure and say yes to something arranged and designed without feeling or passion. Luckily for him he had escaped such a fate, and instead had been steered through the grace of all things good towards a woman who was far and away the most remarkable he’d ever met.

Emma was rare and extraordinary. He had known it from their first meeting, and he continued to hold onto this truth every day they were together. There was never a moment when he didn’t realize his good fortune, or when he took her presence in his life for granted. Emma had revived him. She anchored him into the goodness of the world, and she showed him what could be. She expanded his horizons, even brought with her a son, another key part of a growing family, and by her side, Killian felt like he was capable of anything.

He only hoped that the elements he’d gathered today would translate as he imagined they could. This was a memory in the making that could only be shared once. Killian wanted to be sure that it was what Emma wanted and deserved. Luckily, he’d had help and more than a little bit of intel, mostly provided by Henry and from a few other insiders who knew Emma best of all.

“Are all systems a go, Captain?”

As if he’d conjured Henry with the grateful thought of all the boy had done for him, he turned now to find Emma’s son in the garden. Killian watched as the lad took in their surroundings, his eyes growing wide, and his whispered ‘this is so cool’ a welcome sign that Killian’s efforts had not been for nothing. He stood from where he’d been bent down, tidying up the last of his efforts, and when he gazed upon it himself, he had to say he was happy with the outcome.

“Aye, Lieutenant. All the necessary components are accounted for.”

“Good. She’s going to lose it. In a good way though,” Henry said with a smile which burned bright.

“Is everyone arrived then?” Killian asked and Henry shook his head.

“Soon, but not just yet. Anna and I have been here for a while now. Gran needed help with the game set up, but I asked if I could see you first.”

The look of wonder and happiness that had clung to Henry since arriving colored to something a bit more pensive. The shift gave Killian some pause for the first time all day. “Everything all right, lad?”

“Everything’s great, I just – well I was wondering – I mean if Mom says yes – or rather when she says yes, because she’ll totally say yes, it’s just that, well I – I was wondering…”

“No need to be worried, Henry,” Killian said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Whatever you have to ask me, I’m here to help. You have my word I will make it right.”

“I know. And you’ll love Mom forever, right?”

“Aye, lad. Forever and then some.”

“And you love me too,” Killian’s heart clenched as he automatically nodded.

“Yes, Henry. I love you both, undoubtedly.”

“And we’re going to be a family.”

Killian didn’t know what to say. Down to his bones he knew that they would be. He was confident in this union between him and Emma. They had made promises already, declarations of love. He would give anything to be her husband, and he knew that someday he would be, but to say it aloud to her son when Emma herself hadn’t had a chance to even be asked was something else entirely. In the end, he decided to just go with his gut.

“In my heart, we already are.” Henry beamed up at him, the worry of the moment melting away. Still, Killian never imagined what he’d say next.

“Well then I was hoping that maybe, when you and Mom are married, maybe I could call you Dad?”

Killian was overwhelmed with the request. It was something he had wished for, but didn’t want to press. He knew Henry had no memories of his biological father, but he never wanted to assume. It was a massive move for a young man to ask such a question, but Killian’s answer to the query was instant and heartfelt.

“I would be honored, lad.”

“Cool,” Henry said happily, brimming with the excitement he’d had since Killian first told him about his plan to propose to Emma.

Henry moved forward, hugging Killian with the affection of an earnest hearted ten-year-old, and Killian savored it, knowing he would always see Henry as his son. He may not be his blood, but he lay claim to a large piece of Killian’s heart. He silently swore to always do right by Henry. To protect him and to teach him what he could. But mostly he would support him, and show love to Henry and his mother all the days of his life. Before Killian could speak to more of that, the sound of busses pulling up, and happy children streaming onto palace grounds wafted through the air. The time had come. This was the moment.

“You know the plan, son?” Killian asked, the word slipping off his tongue so easily, and bringing real joy to Henry’s eyes.

“Aye, aye, Captain. I’ll have Mom to you in five minutes. You can time me.”

Killian might have laughed at the fervor and excitement Henry shared, but unfortunately, five minutes waiting in a moment like this felt like a lifetime away. The only thing that got him through were the last-minute adjustments, and the journey that was needed from where he was, to where they’d start their memorable afternoon. Finally, the moment came where Killian was waiting at the start of the hedgerow, even further from the festivities and he could hear the woman he loved, unaware of his being here.

“Henry, seriously, what’s going on? The party’s only just starting. We have time for a tour later. We can go with the others.”

“Trust me Mom, this can’t wait.”

“What is it Henwy?” a tiny voice Killian would know anywhere asked. Cecelia was with them, another sign from above that his plans were moving the way he wanted.

“Something magical,” Henry said and Killian could hear the sharp trill of an excited little girl.

“Like fairies?”

“Just wait, you’ll see.”

“Something magical, huh?” Emma parroted, but at that moment they all stepped into view.

Three days may be but a blip in time to some, but to Killian it had felt like an eternity. The peace he now experienced at seeing his Swan again was profound, and somehow she was even more stunning than when he’d left her. The day’s light shone in her hair and in her smile. She was gorgeous and relaxed, dressed in a delicate pink sun dress designed to tease and torment. Her radiance outshone every flower in this garden, and in the moments before she saw him, he soaked in the sight of her. God she was beautiful, too beautiful to properly behold. His heart skipped and his muscles tightened, and then her eyes landed on him and he was whole. The world was righted once more, and all because Emma saw him and felt the same pull he felt emanating from his chest. The surprise in her eyes was evident, followed immediately by relief, and joy, and love, and all of it was too sweet a call to resist. He moved towards her and the children, sending up one last prayer in this critical moment.

Please let her be mine. I swear I’ll deserve her. Whatever it takes. For I am hers, body and soul, and I always will be.

………………

God he’s gorgeous, Emma thought instinctively upon finding Killian at the far end of the garden hedge. That thought was followed closely by, Wait, what is he doing here?

“Killy!” Cecelia cried out happily, letting go of Emma and Henry’s hands and sprinting towards him. Emma watched as Killian crouched down, accepting the hug from the little girl who effortlessly stole their hearts. He closed his eyes momentarily, soaking in the moment, and then he pulled back and pushed some of her wayward curls from Cecelia’s eyes, smiling at her with genuine affection.

“Good morning, little love. How are you finding the palace?” Emma’s heart clenched in her chest in the best way. He was just so sweet with her. He always had been.

“It’s so so good,” Cecelia replied, bringing a laugh out of all of them.

At the little girl’s enthusiastic endorsement, Killian thanked Cecelia and then stood once more, looking at Emma with those captivating blue eyes and that charming smile that always took her breath away. She was still trying to fathom his presence here. They had spent the last few days apart, days she found so much more difficult to manage than she expected, but he wasn’t set to return for a few more days. Liam had sent him on state business. She didn’t press for details, assuming it was confidential, but now, she was curious as to this wonderful turn of events. Before she could ask though, he walked over to her, taking her into his arms and kissing her surely. She leaned into this embrace, loathed to let him go, but he seemed to remember they were in the presence of little eyes. It was a fleeting kiss, but still invigorating all the same.

“I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be away the rest of the week.”

“I hope you’ll forgive my brother for that white lie,” Killian said, his hand coming up to scratch at his ear in that subtle show of bashfulness she’d witnessed a time or two. “If you’ll recall I never actually confirmed an itinerary, having sworn never to lie to you again.”

“So, you weren’t on a… huh, let’s see, how did Liam put it? A ‘mission for the future of the nation’ then?”

“Not exactly. But then again, in some ways, that’s exactly where I was. Do you trust me, love?”

Emma nodded, and watched as his smile grew warmer. She knew that it meant to him to have her trust, but in her eyes, he had earned it ten times over. Killian was a good man – the best man she knew – and he made her feel safe. Of course she trusted him. She had never trusted anyone this much before.

“In that case, I’ve some things to show you. Henry, you’ll be sure to hold down the fort in the meantime?”

Emma looked over to her son, and only now realized that this was all planned somehow. Her boy looked pleased as punch, and even sent a salute Killian’s way. “Yes sir. And Cecelia will help, wont’ you Ceci?” The little girl nodded, joyously, thrilled at the prospect of helping. “We’ll see you both soon.”

Killian nodded, leading Emma in the direction of the garden. The further they moved into the hedgerow, the quieter it became, until the only songs around them were those of birds and breeze. Emma was amazed at all of this, but she was also still wrapped up in his return. It felt so good to be back with her hand in his, the glow of his presence enveloping her. She’d never missed someone like she had the past few days, never ached this way to be reunited with someone. It was a testament to all she felt for him and how much she’d come to love him. Quietly she stopped walking, pulling Killian’s attention. With a quick glance behind them, she saw no one had followed. They were totally alone and so she made her move. Pulling him down for another kiss, she said a proper hello, and shivered in delight at his reaction.

His hands were on her, seemingly everywhere, holding her close as they tasted each other. She felt his soft dark hair between her fingers, where she ran them through by the nape of his neck. She arched in closer, feeling the friction of their bodies together, and sighing in pleasure when they pulled apart. It couldn’t go further than that, but Emma felt more secure having shown him even in a small way how happy she was to see him.

“Hell of a welcome home, love,” he growled out, words low and throaty from his own swirling emotion. “If leaving wasn’t torture in itself, I’d consider more trips just for this.”

“No need to leave for these,” she whispered to him, leaning in for another kiss but then nipping him gently instead and stepping back out of his grasp. She smiled at his evident frustration, and laughed when he groaned in defeat. He knew he was had, but from the way he pulled her back into his arms, running his hand along the small of her back and looking at her adoringly, he didn’t seem to mind.

“You are a marvel, love. Have I mentioned that yet?”

“Maybe once or twice,” she teased, looking back to where they’d been walking and giving him silent permission to lead to their destination once more. “It’s beautiful out here.”

Beautiful was an understatement. In truth, Emma had never seen such intricate floral designs or such an array of colors and flower species. She had to imagine it was more than a palace garden. This had to be one of the most beautiful botanical spaces in all of Europe.

“Much of that is my mother’s doing. Her passion project, so to speak. She brought us out here when we were boys. Showed us bits and bobs. But this has always been hallowed grounds. Special, and perhaps, as Henry hinted, a little magical as well.”

Emma was poised to reply, but at that moment they turned a corner and things changed. They were still in a garden, but this time – oh lord it was difficult to describe. Magnificent was the first word that came to mind, and ethereal came soon after. For where there were blossoms and buds before, now there even more, hanging from pergolas above and winding through ivy vines on every hedge. Some were clearly naturally placed, but Emma noticed pieces woven into this area that she’d seen before, half a world away.

“Windchimes,” she murmured, looking at the gorgeous displays that reminded her of home.

There was a storefront, totally discrete from the street view and far off of the beaten path, deep in the heart of Chinatown, that she and Henry had found when he was younger. It was filled with artisan chimes and motifs and mobiles made from natural items and glass and more. The owners were amazing and known in crafting circles around the globe. The first day Emma and Henry visited taking refuge from a sudden winter chill, the couple who owned the store had taken the time to walk her son through their work. They’d then spent hours in the studio, and though Emma had very little by way of money for a purchase, they’d showed her and Henry nothing but the utmost kindness. She’d always found the pieces beautiful, comprised of shells and flecks of crystal or silver and gold, swirled into constellations that evoked a night sky or sense of wonder.

Over the years she and Henry returned to the studio many times, and even bought a few pieces when she could save enough to treat herself to something precious. There was so much beauty crafted in each piece. Emma always found herself wanting more, and she loved their trips back over and over again. The style of this artwork was one of a kind. Emma had never seen other pieces like these, but here, in this patch of the garden, there had to be a hundred intricate, delicate, interrelated art pieces dancing in the wind.

“How is this possible?”

“Henry may have mentioned something. Do you like it?”

“It’s gorgeous. God, the time it must have taken to put this all together…”

“Was time well spent, believe me, love.” Emma looked to him and she could have sworn from the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice that he was the one who had done this. But that was crazy. How could he have possibly had time for all this?

“But how did it all even get here?”

“I brought it.”

“You brought it?” Emma asked, stunned, her fingertips grazing the smoothed lines of one art piece dripping in sea glass. “You were in New York.”

“Aye.”

“But why?”

“Patience, love. There’s more to see.”

Emma had no idea how there could possibly be more, but she tucked her arm through Killian’s and walked with him to the next section of gardens. Here there was a sudden burst of purples and whites, and a scent she’d been missing without even realizing it. Lilacs, but none of them in season. Oh God, look at all of them.

“Killian,” she whispered, looking at what must have been thousands of bouquets of her favorite flower. It was unbelievable, but it was real, and she moved forward, seeing them all set up and displayed prominently in the midst of a garden with white roses. It was gorgeous and surreal. And now she was utterly dazed and more than a little confused.

“You and Henry are well known at the Brooklyn gardens love, as I’m sure you are well aware. I had it on good authority from a woman named Ella that lilacs are your particular favorite.”

“These can’t all be from there,” Emma said and Killian shook his head.

“No, these are admittedly sourced from a few specialty purveyors across the continent. But this,” he pulled out a polaroid of a small lilac tree that was recently planted. Looking at the surroundings, Emma realized that was outside Killian’s home here in Montenarro. “This is directly from the gardens. The same family and strain, all the way from New York.”

Emma was too shocked to speak, and felt the tears welling in her eyes. He had done so much for her, and she knew it was for one reason. He wanted to bring part of her home, part of a place that meant so much to Henry and her, here to his home. It was so thoughtful she felt tongue tied. What could she say? This was all so much.

Unbelievably there was even more, and over the next few minutes he took her through three more break away gardens, each filled with other staples of her one-time home. Food and culture and memories and more. This man had managed to find all of the best parts of her time in New York and he had brought them here. Some of them were things completely out of the realm of possibility.

“I can’t believe you found this,” Emma said, holding onto a years-old piece of construction paper that had been forgotten to time.

This picture was one of so many projects that her son had made in life, but Emma cherished the memories that went with it. Another example of the city’s serendipity, this painting chronicled a day of adventure for Emma and Henry. They’d wandered all through the city, and ended up in Queens for a special summer program for kids. She was always looking for magic moments for Henry, especially ones designed for a budgeting single Mom, and this one had delivered. There were story times and games, crafts and activities, and Henry had been thrilled. He made this picture of the two of them, and though it looked nothing like Emma, it had captured her heart. It also caught the eye of the librarians working that day and they’d selected it to put on the wall in the Children’s wing. Henry was oh so proud, his four-year-old heart filled with joy at getting to hang his art somewhere aside from their refrigerator door. It meant something to Emma, another example of her doing her best by her boy, and giving him all that she’d never had.

“There was a picture of you and Henry and this particular masterpiece in the Saturday Times.”

“Okay now how could you possibly know that?”

“Your neighbor, Mrs. Hubbard. She was very forthcoming, and she’d saved the article. Has it framed and everything.”

“You spoke to Mrs. H?” Emma asked completely bewildered, and Killian nodded. “And the library had it all this time?”

“Aye. In the archives. Nothing a few strategically planned favors couldn’t procure.”

“I don’t deserve this,” Emma said, letting the tears finally fall. This was all too much, but she was immediately comforted by the feel of Killian’s strong arms. His hand came to cup her cheek, his thumb wiping some of the tears as he shook his head, his eyes full of earnest feeling and emotion.

“That’s where you’re wrong, love. You deserve every good thing the world over. I know it’s presumptuous for a man like me to ask for such a treasure, but I swear to you I’ll spend my life giving everything I can.”

“I already have everything. I have you, and Henry,” Emma said. “This is beautiful, but it’s nothing to you.”

Killian hummed out a sigh of contentment, but where Emma expected a kiss, she watched instead as he pulled back, reaching for something in his pocket. “I was hoping you’d feel this way. Makes this next part a bit less nerve wracking.”

In a smooth gesture, he pulled out a small black box and lowered to the ground. Watching Killian drop down to one knee here in the gardens, Emma felt totally adrift from all cares of the world. She was stunned and yet deeply aware that this had all been a long time coming. There was no doubt in her heart that she loved Killian, and she held no fear over taking this next step. This man had shown her for months that he genuinely cared for her and her son. He would move mountains for them, if only for a possibility of their happiness. He was selfless and loyal and true, and he made her brave, emboldening her to believe that the risk was worth it. Love was worth it. Still, it was shocking, to be adored so deeply, and to know that someone truly felt the world began and ended with her.

“Emma, I realize that this is perhaps soon by some standards, but believe me when I say that I have been aching to ask you this question since the moment we met.”

More tears formed in her eyes, thinking back on that day. Her world had truly shifted in the span of one morning. There was a time before Killian, before romantic love that ever made her hopeful, and then there was more. It all started at the center, but it built well beyond those four walls. Knowing what she did now, she had to call their encounter what it had been – love at first sight. Maybe she hadn’t admitted it then, and surely she hadn’t said it aloud, but that is what transpired. She took one look at this man, this extraordinary, incredible man, and she was hooked, plain and simple.

“You amazed me then, that first day at the Institute. I didn’t realize anyone like you could truly be real, or that I was capable of forming an attachment with such strength. I had seen too much, I reasoned, knew the darkness of the world in ways that may leave me lacking for the rest of my days. I thought such chances at something halfway near normal were beyond me, but those first sparks between us proved me wrong. I was totally ensnared, caught in a web you couldn’t help for making, and still, that immediate response can’t compare to all I feel now. Knowing you – loving you – I am more certain each and every day that you hold my heart in your hand. I am yours, Emma. I have been yours, and I will remain yours all the days of my life.”

There was absolutely no chance at stopping from crying now, but the sensation was one of happiness. She was actually living a fairytale. Her, the once lost girl who never had a nickel to her name, or a friend to keep her going. She had survived the cruelest affairs of the heart. She had been so terribly and tragically alone, but she persisted, and she learned, through the grace of her son, and the courage of her convictions, to live. Now with Killian she was starting anew, building up the small life she’d shared with Henry into something much bigger. To say she was exited at the prospect was an understatement.

“Emma Swan, will you -,”

“I want to adopt Cecelia!” Emma said abruptly, blurting out a seemingly unrelated fact in the middle of what had been the most beautiful proposal. She was mortified, but only for a moment. Because the smile on Killian’s face calmed the storm inside her.

“Ah, right. You see, I had anticipated that, though in the interest of full disclosure I envisioned this part of the conversation after your reply to the proposal. Regardless, I offer you this, love.”

Emma watched as he juggled the ring and instinctively she took it, holding the box and sparing another glance at the absolutely beautiful band. Her fingers itched to put it on now, but she knew it would be so much better to let Killian do the honors. She then watched in amazement as he pulled out a series of papers from inside his jacket. He opened the file containing them all and showed her an application for adoption. The child in question was Cecelia, and the forms listed both Emma and Killian as petitioning guardians. Now she was completely overwhelmed. He knew every single part of her. Every hope. Every dream. He was perfect.

“Family is so much more than blood, Swan, as we both know, and I think we’ve known for sometimes that Cecelia will always be our princess.”

“Yes,” Emma whispered. Yes to everything, yes to all of it.

“I’ve also spoken to Henry, not intentionally per se, wanting to speak with you first, but it would mean the world to adopt him as well. I don’t know how you’d feel about that, but I-,”

“Yes,” she said again, this time with even more conviction.

“Yes?” he asked with a hopeful grin and she nodded. “Well in that case. May I, love?”

She handed him the papers which he put down beside them with care. Emma watched as he took the ring box back from her other hand. He settled down on bended knee again, preparing himself for another attempt at asking her to marry him. It took everything in her to bite her tongue and let him actually get the request out.

“Emma Swan, love of my life, light of my spirit, and queen of my heart, will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

“Yes.”

Everything from there went quickly as he slipped the ring on her finger, tossing the box without care to the group. Killian was up at full height in mere moments, pulling her in for a scorching kiss and Emma was complete. It may not have been a totally according to plan proposal, but Emma believed what they had was even better, because it was real and true and filled with so much love. She could think of no better way to start a beautiful forever, and when they pulled back, resting their foreheads against each other and soaking in the moment, Emma let out a sigh of sheer relief. This was what they meant when they said happily ever after, and it was so very worth the wait.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy,” Emma murmured aloud.

“Neither have I,” an emotional voice said – only it wasn’t Killian. The voice continued. “Truly beautiful.”

“Gran,” Killian muttered shaking his head. Emma bit her lip and covered her mouth. They had absolutely just been caught out here, but when they both turned to see their unexpected audience, consisting of Killian’s family, Elsa and Anna, and Henry and Cecelia, a different person outside of all the rest, was revealed to be the culprit.

“You take that back, Killian, for you know better than that,” Gran said, standing beside a dressed up and dazzling looking Mrs. Hubbard. Mr. Hubbard was there too, his hand on Henry’s shoulder and his leg being held onto by a very friendly Cecelia. Emma never expected to see her dear, sweet neighbors. Their appearance here in Montenarro left her floored.

“My new friends are a treat, believe me,” Gran continued, walking forward, and seemingly giving everyone else the silent permission to do the same. “But their spying skills need work. I would never speak through such a moment, nor rustle these hedges with quite so much gusto. Not to worry though, they’ll learn.”

Everyone descended in that moment to wish them all well, but the most important reactions came from Henry and from Cecelia. The happiness of both of these kids – their kids – gave Emma tremendous joy and satisfaction. She was also thrilled to share this with their blended family, and with the friends who had become such strong bonds in her new life. After much congratulations, everyone returned to the party, and an announcement was made. If Emma believed the reaction to be enthusiastic from her loved ones, it was even bolder from all of the children at the center. Indeed, the happiness and infectious sense of hope made for the best party any of them had ever been to, and created an afternoon like none she’d ever experienced.

Hours later, Emma was still reeling from the high, and loving the fact that she and Killian had stayed together all day. He’d never let her go after her saying yes, always beside her, supporting her, adoring her, and loving her endlessly. She was so happy with him, but as the day drew to a close, her spirits dampened slightly. In his usual form, Killian caught on immediately.

“What’s the matter, love?” he asked, sure that no one else was listening, even though they were still amidst the party.

“Nothing,” Emma said automatically, though that was only half true. “This is one of the best days of my life. It’s just… the waiting…”

“Aye, I’ve considered that too. But I think I’ve arrived at a workable solution.” Emma looked at him curiously. “I will submit for a special license from the crown. The King and I are on decent terms you see.”

“Decent, huh?” Emma teased, looking over at Liam and finding him swaying with Elsa on a makeshift dance floor. There wasn’t even any music playing, but to this happy couple, and to the children dancing nearby, that didn’t matter in the slightest.

“He’s been in better spirits of late, as you might imagine.”

“Seems to be going around.”

“Mmm,” Killian hummed out, running his hand along her cheek and looking at her with sincerity and bliss. “We can have everything arranged in a week. It’ll be quite the undertaking, but the staff is up to the challenge.”

“A week?” Emma said, not believing it. Surely it must take longer than that, but she loved the idea. In truth, she’d marry him right now if she could. “Can we really do that?”

“Just say the word, Emma.”

“Yes,” she said nodding. “It’s crazy. Actually it’s totally insane, but yes, please, yes.”

“As you wish,” he replied kissing her again under the party lights and lighting her aflame once more. “In the meantime, I’ve no wish to be apart. We should be together, love, as long as that’s what you want.”

“I do.”

“Everything’s ready. I’ve been working for weeks on it. The rooms for Henry, for Cecelia, all of it. It’s merely a matter of moving your things in, all of which can be done tonight.”

“You’re serious?” Emma asked and he nodded.

“A magistrate’s already granted temporary custody for Cecelia. You can take her home now while the process continues. Please, love, say you’ll all come home to me.”

Emma looked over to Henry and to Cecelia, who were dancing together on the floor. Emma watched as her son already took so well to his new sister, and as if she’d conjured his attention, Henry glanced her way. He waved, a sign that Emma returned. Drawing attention to them set Cecelia in motion, and soon the little girl was dragging Henry across the party. Soon enough they were back together, the four of them a new but undoubtedly permanent unit. Cecelia jumped into Killian’s arms, and Henry came to Emma’s side looking up with his knowing expression.

“What’s up, Mom?” he asked and Emma smiled, unable to resist pulling him and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“How would you feel about moving to Killian’s house -,”

“Our house,” Killian stressed and Emma chuckled.

“Sorry, our house, tonight?”

“That would be awesome!” Henry said excitedly. “Can we do that?”

“Aye.”

“And me too?” Cecelia asked hopefully.

“Yes, honey, you too,” Emma said, brushing a stray curl from Cecelia’s face. The kids made their feelings known. They were in, totally and completely. “Well I guess we have our answer then.”

“Aye, love. The best of answers, all around.”

And so, later that night, when the festivities of the day had ended, and the children all departed, Emma and Killian, Henry and Cecelia all headed home together, enjoying their first night in a place that would always be theirs. And though Emma knew they were in for a crazy week of planning and party design, and wedding wildness, she was truly joyful. For this was a life beyond her wildest dreams, and she knew, deep down to her core, that it was going to be breathtaking.

Post-Note: So… what did you think? Personally, I found it SO cathartic to write this scene. It’s been such a long time coming and I have pictured this outcome for Emma and for Killian even before writing the first word of this story. Almost a year ago to the day this story came to me, and my hope is to write out the final chapter by the one year anniversary in early May. Hopefully it won’t take quite so long, but please know that it has been a joy to write this and share with all of you. I hope this chapter and this fic have brought some brightness to your world and some magic to your moment. This has been an insane time, but I’ve been grateful to share it with all of you. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed, and I’d love to hear what your hopes for the end of this story are. Until next time, wishing you all well and healthy and safe! xE.

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penisman420-69 · 3 years

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A gentle glow from the computer screen washes over the dark desk, colors flickering in rapid motion. The monitor whirs in self defense of the growing heat. The ceiling fan lays mockingly silent in the stifling air. Reclined in his seat, Dream's head is tilted back to watch the wooden slats for the slightest tremor.

Betrayal.

Beads of sweat collect near his hairline. He tugs absently on the sticky plastic of his headphones, where they rest around his neck. The small light on the exterior blinks green.

"Dream?" He hears George say faintly.

"Wait, did he leave?" Sapnap asks.

"It says he's on the call, still." George's voice slowly grows closer. Dream begins to detach his eyes from the fan. "Dream?"

The concern in his voice makes Dream sit up. He pushes his headphones back on and wipes his face. "Yes, yes, hello, sorry. I zoned out for a sec." He blinks to register what's on his screen, seeing green grass blocks and Sapnap's avatar crouching in front of him. "Shoot, did you end the stream?" He quickly tabs out just in time to see George laugh.

"No, but I'm about to. Couldn't end it without you saying bye," George says. The small considerate act is enough to bloom a warmth in Dream's chest.

He smiles. "Oh, alright. Bye stream!"

"Bye!" Sapnap yells.

George waves to the camera. "Bye you guys, thank you so much. Also, pray for Dream's air conditioning."

"And my broken fan," Dream adds.

"Bye bye," George repeats, then disappears from Dream's view. This stream has ended. A familiar feeling creeps into Dream's chest whenever that message appears post-stream; disappointment clouded with confusion. Today, it is accompanied by trickles of regret.

He frowns. "Sorry I spent so much of your stream complaining about the weather," he says, clicking back to the server. Sapnap has placed an oak sign before him that reads: wee waa dream can't take the heat. He rolls his eyes and breaks it.

"It's fine, really. I just feel bad for you," George says. His avatar bounds over and starts placing doors on the ground. "Any idea when it'll be fixed?"

"Soon, I hope," Dream answers with a huff, opening and closing the doors to appease George. "I don't think I can take much more of this." They'd been playing for the past three hours, meaning Dream had been accumulating enough sweat in his boxers to stick to his chair for much longer than any man should. Physical comfort was a key component for him to stay mellow, and not much could distract him from itchy tags and blistering heat. Not much, that is, besides gaming. "Seeing you was nice, though, something about your cheerful face distracts me from my agony," he confesses, words leaving his mouth before he can attempt to filter. He cringes. What was that?

"Oh my god, shut up," George says. He sounds embarrassed.

Sapnap coos. "Maybe I should stream with my camera on too."

Dream laughs, running away from the two of them to ease his sudden spike in nervousness. "That would keep my attention."

"Oh yeah, are my streams not interesting enough for you Dream?" George says, flying after him.

"What?" Dream says, feeling a pang of guilt. "What makes you think that? I love your streams."

George continues to act offended. "If you loved them you wouldn't zone out randomly."

"I didn't mean to," Dream whines, which only makes the other two laugh. "I just got distracted by my misery, and tried to airbend a breeze in here."

"Yeah right," Sapnap says, "you couldn't have been doing just that for ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?" Dream repeats, bewildered. He didn't feel it had been that long; he was exploring the map and then clicked onto George's stream to see where he was, and of course George was smiling and yelling, but somehow so full of energy and spirit, and the hot air started to seep into Dream's soul—

"You were AFK for a while," George says, "we were still talking to you though and thought you'd muted yourself or something. Chat thought it was embarrassing."

"Oh," Dream says.

"Hold on, did you mean to mute yourself?" Sapnap asks, laughing as his own words leave his mouth. "Lil too excited watching George?"

Both Dream and George explode in disgusted yells. Good lord, Sapnap.

"Sapnap!" George sends a series of hits raining down onto his avatar. "You are so inappropriate off-stream."

"You're gross," Dream says with a laugh, but it's feeble and half-hearted. His pulse is rapidly drumming inside his skull. He is not lost to the strange dilemma of why he faded from their call for so long to stare at his George-less ceiling. Why did George have anything to do with it? Envy, perhaps, of his friend's ability to be wearing a hoodie in the middle of summer. He brushes it off. "It's true, though. George's face does get me excited."

George groans, making Sapnap and Dream laugh. "Now you're just trying to make me uncomfortable."

"Flustered, you mean," Dream inputs quickly.

"Okay, no, I'm sick of you two," George says, immediately exiting their server. "Consider this a rage quit."

GeorgeNotFound has left the game. Dream sends a :( into the chat.

"Noo, Georgie," Sapnap pleads.

"You did a great job today," Dream says, wholeheartedly. "I'm going to re-watch what I missed of it later." George laughs.

"I seriously have to go. I'll talk to you soon," he says, a small sound emitting from Discord signifying he's left the call.

The feeling returns to Dream's chest—it's akin to the cold rush that follows when he removes his hands from a steaming coffee mug. Some nights after their friends have logged off for good, he'll do anything to avoid giving in and going to bed. Twitter, mini-games, coding, creating playlists. His favorite nights, though, are when George wakes up early enough to keep him company. Their conversations radiate with the warmth of both the Florida night and the English sunrise.

So whenever George jokingly becomes angry with him, Dream can't dispel the tiny tremor of worry that maybe he's gone too far. He doesn't like to mull over the thought of them really fighting; it would terrify him like nothing else. He knows George will call again tomorrow, and that he isn't nearly as upset as he lets on. Yet he still finds himself carefully watching the dot next to George's name switch from green to a pale grey.

"I think I'm gonna hop off too," Dream says to Sapnap.

"Alright, seeya."

After disconnecting, he swivels around in his chair to face his bed. The dark comforter has been kicked to the floor, sheets askew. The window above his bed is shut tight to keep out the humid air and insects, but he can see the soft orange streetlights in the distance.

He sighs and wishes for rain.

He remembers running barefoot on his neighborhood streets as a child when storms would roll in from the sea, splashing in gravelly puddles and letting the cool raindrops dampen his hair. That space was always euphoric—a brief temperance from the smoldering air, green palm trees swaying in the wind, the hint of thunder and lightning—but it feels so far from him now. Especially in this dreadful weather.

He turns off his computer and begrudgingly gets in bed. He's nearly grown accustomed to the dark when his phone vibrates, the notification lighting up the room. He squints.

A text from George.

I feel like this song is a good way for me to get back at you, it reads. Dream clicks on the link, opening his Spotify to a new 'Glass Animals' song.

"Heat Waves," he responds, smiling. Very funny.

He'll listen to that in the morning. As he sets his phone back on the nightstand, Dream finds himself warmed by the gesture, even though it was an insult on his behalf. George is a thoughtful guy. Nothing wrong with appreciating that. Not that Dream finds it unnerving that interacting with George has a direct correlation with his general contentment and moods; in fact, it isn't worth the overthinking.

Settled by his own logic, he allows his body to focus on sleep. He slips in and out of shadows, occasionally tossing and turning in irritation at the cotton sheets. The fabric clings to his dampened skin up to the moment he sluggishly kicks it away. Something clatters to the floor, but Dream rolls onto his side.

Eventually, the night cools enough for him to sink deeper, and deeper, until he turns his head from his soft, warm pillow to a cold pile of sand.

Confused, he grasps at the foundation beneath him only for the rocky grains to slip through his fingers.

He sits up rapidly, glancing at the beach now surrounding him. Although the image is narrow, he can tell there is a murky-purple lagoon lapping a few feet before him. The moon ripples across its ominous surface. The night is quiet; a taunting breeze brushing the back of his neck and bringing chills down his spine.

He looks down at his hands, seeing his bright sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. Bright green.

A sinking feeling begins to rot in his stomach as the familiarity sets in. He's been here before. He shifts his head cautiously, realizing where the shadows at the edge of his vision are coming from, and raises a hand to gently graze the ceramic covering his face. He doesn't need a mirror to know what the mask looks like.

He pulls up his hood, tensing as he anticipates the next subject he'll recognize. At any moment, behind his right shoulder, a voice will call from the edge of the trees that'll say—

"Dream?"

He freezes. That's—that's not right, it isn't supposed to be—

"George?" He asks quietly, turning around with caution. George stands a few feet behind him, goggles perched atop his head and an axe in his hand. He's looking around their location, dazed. The starry sky reflects itself on his lenses.

He walks across the sand towards Dream slowly. "Where...are we?"

"Um." Dream considers curling in on himself, but can't help fighting the comfort of honesty. "My head, I guess." He knows from experience that this place values integrity more than anything. Facing it head on, so to speak. He just doesn't know why he'd let George in here—it isn't safe.

"It's pretty," George says, sitting on the sand next to him.

Dream's heart aches faintly at his remark. Once, he'd thought it was pretty, too. He can't find the words to tell George that after so many years of frantically slipping on the sand, coughing up lung-fulls of the dark water, and running from the woods—it has become a thing of nightmares.

He stares at George. Can he feel the memories here?

"So this is..." George gestures around with his axe vaguely. "Florida?"

Dream cracks a smile. "Yeah, you finally made it," he teases softly. George's grin is bright enough to make him look away. "It's a lagoon I used to come to as a kid."

"You make it sound like that was lifetimes ago."

Something foreign and lost weighs on the tension in Dream's features, forgotten behind the ceramic. "Maybe," he says, "I've had multiple lives here."

George says nothing. He lifts a moon-soaked hand to point at the water. "Do you see those?"

Dream turns his head, and small glowing blobs appear near the shore. Their light blue color is stark against the darkness as they float idly.

"They're moon jellies," Dream says in disbelief. He's never seen them here before. The curling darkness steals all hint of life besides him, his beating heart, and occasional whispers in the wind.

George hums in approval. Dream looks at him again, grateful for the mask covering his own features. Pale moonlight makes George's skin glow a soft porcelain, pink lips pressed together in a delicate brush stroke.

The word bubbles up from deep in Dream's chest, winding into his bloodstream and landing gracefully in his head.

Beautiful.

He wants to back away from it, to shove it deep down. But for once, it feels safe here, safe to admit it to himself without needing an air of humor to skate by on. Here, it isn't a joke.

"Why are we here?" George asks in a murmur, gaze lifting to face Dream. The word here hangs with a heavy lilt, as if he'd meant to say, what brought me? Who pulled me?

Was it you?

In his large brown eyes Dream can see the faded reflection of his sloppy black and white smile.

"I know why I'm here," Dream says carefully, "but I don't know why you are." A brief rustling of leaves and twigs behind them causes him to tense again. "It's dangerous here, George. We should go."

"Why? Don't you want to stay in this memory?"

Dream ignores the comment, and lightly wraps an arm around his shoulders to help him up. George doesn't try to stand. He keeps them rooted to the white shore with a confused frown.

"Nothing is going to hurt us when I'm here," he says.

Dream feels his face grow hot. "Knock it off. This is serious."

George looks at him earnestly. "I'm being serious."

Now that his arm is draped protectively over George's small frame, Dream becomes extremely aware of how close they are. He can sense George's body heat, watch his chest rise and fall, see the goosebumps on his neck. Dream's heart begins to pound. For how long has he wanted to meet him? To hear his voice in person? The fear inside him slowly begins to ebb away into fondness.

The moon jellies rapidly multiply until the lagoon is dappled blue, and gleaming.

George grins. "I told you it's pretty."

"Because of you," Dream says warmly. Even though George rolls his eyes, he means it. They laugh lightly at each other, glowing water and gentle sparks blooming as the moment passes.

George's gaze lingers on Dream for a few heartbeats, before letting go of his axe. He raises his hand to reach for the ceramic mask.

Dream freezes as his eyes follow the motion. His hood falls when George runs his fingers gently through his wavy hair—he can't remember the last time he let someone do this. It feels intimate. It feels terrifying. His eyes shut when George finds the metal clasp on the back of his head, he exhales when he feels the weight of the mask drop from his face.

The breeze is cold on his cheeks. He can smell the nearby saltwater. He opens his eyes, and sees twice as many stars as usual.

"How did you do that? I've never..." He looks at George, who is smiling softly.

"I know honesty is important to you," George says. His hand moves to gently touch Dream's cheekbone.

Dream reaches and delicately takes George's hand in his, slender knuckles and fingers sliding together with timid grace. He feels alive. He leans closer, studying George's eyes until he slips down, further, to his soft lips. His breath is trembling.

"And what if I kissed you right now?" He murmurs, heart racing. "How honest would that be?"

George's eyes grow wide. "I—well, Dream—you—" he stammers, giving Dream exactly what he needs to let go.

Their movements happen nearly all at once—the inclining of George's jaw, the slide of Dream's hand into his hair, the connection of their lips. The kiss is raw with emotion, and gentle. Hot embers rise from Dream's chest to heat his face. The soft presence of George's mouth against his own is surreal, as their senses collectively slip away into the dreamland. His hand rises to softly cup George's jaw. He pulls his face closer, breath hot, heart stuttering. Nervous energy quickly ebbs into a strong hearth of longing, as he kisses George again, and again, and again. George emits a soft noise that makes Dream melt. He can feel George's hands in his hair, then on his neck, then on his chest.

Dream pulls away to capture brief puffs of air. His chest rises and falls rapidly, as he looks at George's flushed cheeks and mouth kissed red. Because of him. A low feeling stirs in the space just below his ribcage, the first flickering of a dangerously hot flame. All of it, all of George, just for him.

Dream parts his lips to say something, anything—and promptly wakes up.

I have heatwaves saved on my computer it doesn't phase me anymore I've read this several times you can't hurt me with this

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sardinesandhumbugs · 3 years

Note

If you're still doing the musical writing prompts, could you do 45, maybe with Mole?

Of course I can! 45 was “Home. I've heard heard the word before, but it never meant much more than just a thing I've never had” from a Very Potter Sequel. Sorry for the long delay, nonny, but hopefully it was worth the wait! It certainly turned out longer than expected.

"The important thing about having lots of things to remember is that you’ve got to go somewhere afterwards where you can remember them, you see? You’ve got to stop. You haven’t really been anywhere until you’ve got back home."

The Light Fantastic, Terry Pratchett

If someone had asked Mole what home was before that fateful spring morn, his answer would have been easy.

Home was the cosy, still air of beneath-ground. It was the door jamb that stuck and the window that leaked. It was the carols that alighted his porch each winter, the smell of jams being prepared in the autumn, and the dust that made him sneeze every spring cleaning. It was found in solid things that marked the passage of time as surely as clockwork in the sunless tunnels. (Clockwork marked the hours, and seasons marked the year, and everything else between was of little consequence.)

Several months on, and his answer is no longer so sure.

The first hint – at least, the first hint he takes notice of – that it is no longer the clear-cut divide of holiday verses home comes in the fright of the Wild Wood, so far from either.

(If he had been taking notice, he perhaps would have seen the spare glasses that now live at Ratty's riverside residence, the household chores that are shared without comment, or the divide in the larder that Ratty has made for Mole's more species-specific snacks. But he hasn't been taking notice, and such things have passed him by in the comfort of a new normality.)

So Mole is far from home (either, both) when Ratty finds him. They are both scared and shaken, but there is no doubt in Ratty's voice with the question, "Wouldn't you rather just go home?" as if home couldn't be anywhere but the river. Maybe (probably) for Ratty it's true (he had certainly once proclaimed it to be his food, his drink, his company – his world) but for Mole, the word is an altogether more complicated affair.

In that moment, however, he longs for the sunlit riverbank.

It is only later, when they settle into the familiar underground air of Badger's sett, that Mole remembers Mole End at all. It lasts only briefly – they have so many other issues at hand, namely that of the disastrous Toad – but it is enough to give him pause. It leaves him stranded between betrayal and mutiny. Betrayal, for his hasty abandonment of his home, and mutiny as he realises he does not want to give up his newfound riverbank life.

But when it comes to it, it doesn't really matter – not in Badger's sett, nor in his brief yuletide return to Mole End – because in the end, at Mole End, he looks to Ratty and knows that he'll follow wherever his friend goes.

(The feeling, though Mole does not realise it at the time, is mutual. Although in Ratty's case, the stubborn loyalty had made itself known months ago, back when he chose the open road over his river – if only for a passing season. Even so, he has never had cause to doubt (not even on the open road, not really) that his river might not be enough to tempt even the most stalwart undergrounder to linger a while longer – but Ratty looks to his friend, surrounded by his titular home, and realises Mole is as much of the earth as he is of the river and that one day it may reclaim him.)

It is the week following Toad's grand party that life eventually settles back to the point that Mole can finally turn his mind to more homeward bound matters. For as life has calmed – as adventures and escapes and daring retakings have made way for the more mundane reality of day-to-day living – he realises another spring is on its way out, a year has passed, and he is in danger of becoming rooted to the riverbank. There is the scent of summer on the horizon, thick and heady, and a strange sensation he hesitates to call homesickness lingers in him. It whispers of dirt and earth and it makes his claws itch until he can stand it no longer and he knows – he knows he must return.

He attempts to casually bring up the subject as they clear away dinner.

"I'm thinking," he says, "of returning to Mole End." Ratty's step falters, if only for a moment. "Just for a few days," Mole adds. "I thought I might get some of that spring cleaning done that I never finished from last year."

"We'll make a trip of it then," Ratty suggests brightly, and if Mole knew him just a little less well, he might believe the forced cheer – but he does know him that well and he reads past the façade. "I've never picnicked underground before, but there's a first for everything–"

"Just me, I think," Mole interrupts. "It's just a little tidy up; there's no reason to drag both of us there."

"Oh." Ratty falters again. There's some unease at the sure exclusion, but there's a trace of relief too; underground is still a discomfort to the riverbank-born animal although, if Mole is being brutally honest with himself, his reason for returning alone is more to do with his own needs than Ratty's.

He is not brutally honest. At least not this time. But he suspects Ratty has him figured all the same, for he lingers by the door, watching as Mole packs up a few choice belongings to accompany him to Mole End. Ratty's stance is nonchalant, but the way he talks of their plans after Mole's return feels like he is eking out a promise he isn't sure Mole will keep.

Mole senses enough of this to hold his tongue when it comes to the strange homesickness that has stolen over him. He has learnt enough of his friend to know the comment, however innocuous, however true his intent to return to the riverbank, will do little to help. And it will recede, if only he can ground himself in the underground existence that has served him well all the years previous – but for that, he must go alone. Ratty would bring with him the reminder of the sunny shore above, of rivers and boats that turned his head in the first place.

And the strange homesickness does settle back in Mole End – momentarily. Beneath the ground, the muggy summer loses its grip and the air is steady, constant. It is a refuge from the humidity that stifles Mole – Mole, who has never considered claustrophobia, but when the air grows heavy and airless in the sway of summer, it is all he can do to retreat to north-facing rooms and wait out the heat. But in the bowels of the earth, the seasons are muted and he sleeps sounder for it.

He oversleeps. He assures himself that it is the comfort of a long-familiar bed, but part of him wonders if he has grown too accustomed to the wake-up call of the morning chorus and the sunrise – if he is not so much an undergrounder as he was a year ago.

His underground instincts sated, he turns his attention to more practical considerations. The door jamb that sticks and the window that leaks is all well and good through the lens of nostalgia, but it is quite another kettle of fish when it comes to tending to them. And as he adds yet another chore to the list (a home neglected, he realises, continues to decay with, or perhaps because of, its owner's absence) Mole End seems to shift from cosy to tired. He knows it not to be as grand as Toad Hall, nor as chronicled in history as Badger's sett, and certainly not as comfortably ship-shape as Ratty's place, but the reality settles in about him as he stands, frozen, with the chore list in paw.

What Mole End is, is dark and dim and shabby.

And, worst of all, that homesickness has returned.

He is an underground animal – or was, once upon a time. Now he is not so sure, for while his burrow calls, so does the bright sun-filled air above... and he doesn't think there is a word for an animal that holds both worlds in their soul.

Home. this place is home, he tells himself, but the definition has shifted, expanded, grown in his year's absence, and he doesn't know what to do with that.

His reverie is broken by a knocking at his door, and he finds his porch crowded by four very familiar animals. Mole gapes for a moment until Toad bounces in.

"So this is Mole End, eh? Naturally, it's not as grand as Toad Hall but then, of course, what is?"

"Toad, be civil," Badger warns.

Mole squeezes out of the way as the large mammal enters. "It's only a small home," he says, apologetic. "I'm afraid it's going to be a little snug with everyone here–"

"Don't you worry about that, pet," Mrs Otter assures as she follows after the others. "Snug is my home with the pups on a regular day."

Mole turns to the last animal yet to enter. Ratty stands at the threshold, hesitant as if wary of a boundary overstepped. "I know you said you wanted to attend to this alone," Ratty says – he shifts the trusty luncheon basket between his paws – "but it's been three days and, well" – a wan smile – "I've seen your attempts at spring cleaning. I figured you might appreciate the help if you were still at it."

"So you brought Toad along?"

Mole's humour seems to mollify Ratty's nerves, for the water rat's smile turns rueful. "Toad brought himself along."

Mole leans in with a conspiring whisper. "Do you think he even knows what a broom is?"

There is an almighty sneeze from Badger as Toad unsettles a layer of dust from the kitchen cupboards.

Ratty grins. "Do you?" The humour, however, is as quick to go as it was to arrive, and as he watches the other animals descend upon Mole End he glances back to his usual housemate with unease. "Of course, if you'd rather we left you to it, naturally we can–"

Mole commandeers the basket. "Stay." He doesn't mean it to sound such like an order, but for all his previous bluster, he suddenly doesn't want the newcomers to leave. For despite the extra shadows they cast, Mole End somehow feels brighter than before in a manner not quite tangible. "And, just between you and me," he adds as he ushers his friend inside, "I hadn't got that far with the cleaning."

There's another sneeze from Badger that sets the lanterns swinging, and a fresh falling of dust scatters down from above.

Another grin from Ratty. "You don't say?"

Badger wastes no time in assessing the undertaking ahead. He settles back into that same role as in the retaking of Toad Hall, distributing the chores with little fuss, and quietly Mole is glad for it, because the task of Mole End has become overwhelming in the past few days.

Regardless of the nature of the housework, it is humour, not tedium, that springs up. And at some point in this collective effort – between the idle conversations and the laughter and the "Where's the duster – I swear I left it here just a moment ago" – Mole End sheds its overcrowded air. Nothing palpable changes, for the occupants continue to fall over one another and Badger still has to duck his head through doorways, but somewhere in the midst of all this it has become cosy, not cramped.

Somewhere in that space, that strange homesickness has quelled.

Mole realises this midway through restoring the peeling wallpaper back to its proper place, teetering on a stepladder while Ratty applies paste to the paper's underside. He falters in his task to take note – to truly take note – of his friends. To listen to the bustle of Mrs Otter as she strips the beds, and the jabbering of Toad as he regales her with some loosely-related story. (Mole believes it is his experiences from the open road; a period in which Toad categorically did not take to the chores like a duck to water, whatever he is emphatically telling Mrs Otter.) Further off, there is something that sounds suspiciously like humming, coming from Badger as he inspects the tunnels for natural wear-and-tear, partnered with his sure steps and the tap of his cane.

Mole lingers too long in thought, and his balance flounders. Ratty catches the ladder before it can tip and his laughter is both familiar and new as it bounces across the earthen walls in an echoing reprise.

Home. this place is home, Mole realises, and the definition has shifted, expanded, grown in his year's absence.

And he's okay with that.

#wind in the willows musical #witw fanfic #cat writes #replies #and with that I'M ALL CAUGHT UP #this was an interesting one 'cause Mole evidently does feel warmth for Mole End #although not enough to give up living on the riverbank apparently #also just dumping in that terry pratchett quote for reasons #I really want to use it further for witw things due to how perfect it is #but this will do for now #if I was a better gif editor I'd probably do something like that #also since this is predominantly mole's pov I'm sticking with 'ratty'#bleeeeegh tenses got away from me here #forgive me for the tenses and grammar issues #sometimes you just stare at a ficlet for so long you go 'ehhhhh good enough'#and throw it out into the wide world to fend for itself #anyway it turns out I'm WEAK when it comes to the whole #'home is where your friends are' trope #also on the idea of personal development and growth

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imaginaryelle · 3 years

Link

I realized a few weeks ago that I made my first posts in this fandom, both on tumblr and on AO3, in November last year. Happy anniversary fic! Many thanks to @morphia-writes for the title suggestion.

This established relationship/early relationship wangxian, set post-CQL.

Read it on AO3 or below the cut!

One year after leaving Gusu, Wei Wuxian meets Lan Wangji at an inn on the border between Yunmeng and Yiling.

It’s not their first meeting—there have been a few night hunts when Lan Wangji happened to be nearby, a few arguably chance encounters when Lan Wangji arrived somewhere Wei Wuxian had just not quite left, in the days before some all-important meeting between the Chief Cultivator and a local sect leader. Perhaps two handfuls of moments, all together, as the spring passed into summer, and summer to autumn, autumn to winter and winter back to spring again.

Lan Wangji has reserved a room, and ordered food—local flavors to Wei Wuxian’s taste, steaming in the cool night and red with chilies—and has produced two bottles of wine and brewed what Wei Wuxian is certain is the best tea the Lan Sect buys, which is very good tea indeed.

“Lan Zhan,” he says as he finishes the meal, “You spoil me, really.”

Lan Wangji says nothing, but he looks so quietly, smugly pleased that Wei Wuxian laughs.

“You look like you’re getting away with something, Lan Zhan,” he says. “Does your uncle know you're spending Lan funds on me? Does he know you’ve bought me wine?”

It’s Emperor’s Smile, because of course Lan Wangji would just have a pair of bottles ready, even though Wei Wuxian knows he’s been traveling for weeks now, putting out little metaphorical fires and one real, actual fire, almost since the moment the Spring Festival ended.

“Uncle is not here,” Lan Wangji says, which isn’t anything like an answer and they both know it.

“Mn,” Wei Wuxian agrees, because he wasn’t really looking for an answer anyway. “Just us here.” An illusion—there are other people in the inn itself, of course—but an illusion helped along by silencing talismans on the shared walls and the door. It’s not quite as quiet as the Jingshi in Cloud Recesses, but it’s close.

Lan Wangji looks back at him and softens in that small, sudden way that always makes Wei Wuxian feel like his heart’s trying to climb out through his mouth. Not just—informal and relaxed for the evening, the way he was when Wei Wuxian arrived, but present. Open and bared like a flower whose petals have just unfolded.

Wei Wuxian wants to cradle Lan Wangji’s face between his hands and pull the last of his ribbons out of his hair, wants to kiss every part of his face, and then the palms of his hands and his knuckles and the pulse in his wrists, and then see if there’s any other skin he can manage to reach.

It is unfortunate that he is still seated on the other side of a dark-lacquered dining table, his hands already occupied with a wine cup. He sets it down with a soft click and that’s it. That’s enough to break the moment. Lan Wangji goes back to looking like he’s maybe enjoying a quiet evening after a long day instead of like he’s made of light and warmth and eggshells.

Wei Wuxian throws himself around the table, ending with his head in Lan Wangji’s lap. He’s the shameless one in this—whatever they’re doing, it’s not fair that Lan Wangji can make him feel like he’s going to come unraveled from more than arm’s-reach away and then turn it off.

“Lan Zhan,” he whines, “You can’t look at me like that, it’s too much, I can’t stand it.”

Lan Wangji hums thoughtfully and brushes hair out of Wei Wuxian’s face. The quirk of his lips is insufferably amused.

Wei Wuxian pouts at him

“What if I want to spoil you sometime, hmm?”

It’s difficult to do, both because Lan Wangji has so few things he actually lets himself be attached to, and because he’s rarely content to sit idle while others act. Wei Wuxian has tried, twice before, to spoil him for an evening, and both times he’s fairly certain Lan Wangji was merely indulging him rather than actually enjoying the experience.

There’s a difference. He hasn’t been able to explain the difference even to himself yet, but he knows it matters.

Lan Wangji finds his hand and squeezes his fingers.

“Wei Ying is here,” he says, and the look on his face—as if Wei Wuxian’s mere presence is in any way comparable to the effort and care Lan Wangji has put into this evening so far—Wei Wuxian turns and buries his face in Lan Wangji’s side, which probably does nothing to hide his blush in the end. He can feel his ears burning.

“Lan Zhan,” he groans, dragging out the second syllable. “You—” He sits up. “At least let me comb your hair,” he asks, because it’s the one thing he knows Lan Wangji really does enjoy having someone else do for him. Hair combing. That’s what he has.

“If you wish to,” Lan Wangji says, which is so not the point, and then he reaches up to start undoing his topknot himself. Wei Wuxian grabs at his hands.

“I want to,” he agrees. “But we could be somewhere more—come sit on the bed,” he suggests, tugging on Lan Wangji’s hands as he sits up, then stands.

Lan Wangji has that terrible amused tilt to his mouth again, but he stands and walks obediently to the bed, and waits while Wei Wuxian rummages through his bags for a comb and tries to find the most comfortable position for them both.

He does relax as Wei Wuxian undoes his topknot and starts drawing his fingers through his hair. The blue hair ribbon and white forehead ribbon are carefully wound into small coils and set safely aside, and then Wei Wuxian presses his fingertips to Lan Wangji’s temples and draws them slowly back, dragging light circles over his brow and the crown of his head and down, behind his ears to the point at the back that always aches when Wei Wuxian himself spends too long hunched over books and letters, and then down again, to the base of his neck. He sweeps the motion out to Lan Wangji’s shoulders and then starts again, just a spark of spiritual energy in the touch to smooth away the cares of the day.

Lan Wangji sighs, a quiet note of tension released, and Wei Wuxian smiles to himself. He sets his fingers on that same path again and again, until a quick glance at Lan Wangji’s face reveals his eyes closed and his lips parted, the strain around his brow and mouth loosened.

He starts combing at the ends of Lan Wangji’s hair, working out small snarls as he moves upwards. It’s soothing work. Meditative. Sometimes he thinks Lan Wangji does meditate when they do this, but not tonight, or at least, not in any visibly discernible way. He even relaxes again, just a little more, his shoulders drooping just slightly, as Wei Wuxian reaches the top of his head.

There’s a while where the only sounds in the room are the slide of the comb through smooth hair and the slow pulse of their breathing. Wei Wuxian keeps steady, light pressure on the comb, another round of massage for Lan Wangji’s scalp, and counts the strokes until he passes one hundred.

Lan Wangji lets him get all the way into the one-twenties before he straightens slightly and turns to tug the comb from Wei Wuxian’s hands.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian protests, “you really needn’t—”

Lan Wangji is looking down at the comb. There’s a hint of puzzlement to the expression.

Wei Wuxian looks. The rest of his protest dies on his tongue.

The comb in Lan Wangji’s hand is not his usual peachwood comb with the lotus flowers motif; The one Lan Wangji watched him buy in Yunmeng, over a year ago, before they’d started on their separate paths. No. This is the other one. Sandalwood. A pair of cranes in flight. The one Wei Wuxian has been holding onto for three months now, cradling it between his hands on long evenings with no one but Little Apple for company and thinking—wondering—

The merchant had said his young lady was very lucky to have such a beautiful gift in store, and up until that moment Wei Wuxian hadn’t even thought—he’d just seen it, as he passed by, and the sandalwood reminded him of Lan Wangji and quiet evenings in the Jingshi, and the cranes had reminded him of a summer morning when he’d woken as Lan Wangji slid out of their shared blankets, and he’d watched him stand against the sunrise, white robes and black hair limned in dawnlight and he’d thought, yeah. Forever.

“You can keep it, if you want,” he blurts. And then he keeps talking as Lan Wangji looks at him, that hint of confusion still pulling between his brows.

“I bought it for you,” he admits, “I just—”

He waves his hands, trying to encompass the small comfort it had brought him in lonely places even as fear had grown under his ribs, and the whole tangled mess of how forever meant something different when only one of you had a golden core, meant something different when you were living such different lives—but always with the same goals, so it was still the same, somehow—

Lan Wangji looks down at the comb again.

“Thank you,” he says, and his face does that thing again—a slight softening. Light and warmth and the fragility of eggshells.

Wei Wuxian kisses him, because he’s close enough to do it this time, kisses his eyebrow and his cheekbone and his lips as if that can make up for the words that crowd under his breastbone, unspoken and smothering with the bound-together weight of Thank you and I want and please.

It’s not fair to ask when he has so little to offer. That was the conclusion he’d come to, those nights watching firelight flicker over carved wooden cranes—so perfectly paired, so equally matched. He won’t ask until he has something more—a golden core, or a home, or a promise that doesn’t feel like it will fall to ashes as soon as it leaves his tongue.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, his lips moving against the flushing skin of Lan Wangji’s jaw, “Don’t you know how much I like you?”

It’s enough, for now, that Lan Wangji hums against his temple and nips kisses that are half teeth down his neck, that Lan Wangji’s hands wind into his layers and pull at his belt, that he says Wei Ying like it means something more than just a name.

It’s enough, for now.

#wangxian #wangxian fic #the untamed #cql #chen qing ling #lan wangji #wei wuxian #alex writes

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nad-zeta · 4 years

Text

Pancake Wars

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairings: Theo van Gogh x reader

Genre: Slice o life

Warnings: Mild swearing plus shenanigans

Words: 1650

Comments: So obviously I'm new to these prompts so forgive me if it sucks(˶◕‿◕˶✿) Also sorry to all the Dutch people for butchering the language! 🥺😳Lol also just had to throw in some Afrikaans!😏😏😏 Also props to Nemo for the cute endearment❤❤, hehe it's legit my fav, much much better than hondjie if you ask me🙌😳! Hehe so I am hella excited for Theo’s route, and I just had to participate in this Theo route countdown! Thanks, @delicateikemenmemes for setting up this fun lil party hehe so it goes without saying I am posting this as part of the #Theo Route Countdown Party! Whoop whoop so without further ado....... my interpretation of the prompt Theo and Pancakes

｡.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’ .*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’･ﾟ｡.*:・’ﾟ: ｡.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’ .*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ

The pitter-patter of tiny feet could be heard running through the hallways early on one summer's morning. The large front door of the mansion swung open to reveal an angelic little girl with long blond golden locks and ocean blue eyes.

The determined little girl went running through the mansion’s garden barefooted as she jumped over the wooden fence, making her way through a familiar forest with an excited golden retriever in tow.

Her eyes lit up in delight when she had spotted two familiar silhouettes in the distance. She ran towards the two men as fast as her tiny legs could carry her, hoping to make it to the top of the hill in time. The sun had yet to make its way over the horizon to mark the new day, and the little girl was determined to watch the sunrise with her favourite uncle.

She wore a broad smile as she finally neared the two tall figures.

“Daddy!” the girl exclaimed as she launched herself straight into Theo’s arms, sending him tumbling backwards. Theo had no time to even recover from the blow as soon a fully grown golden retriever jumped up to greet his beloved master, sending the father-daughter pair tumbling backwards onto the soft patch of flowers beneath. “Oi popje, wat doe je hier buiten?” although his tone was stern he was wearing one of his rare smiles.

The little girl pouted and crossed her arms with a huff, “You promised we could make pancakes for mommy today.” Theo’s smile turned into an amused smirk as he ruffled his daughter's hair and draped his coat over her tiny shoulders, “Did I now.”

Sending her father a disgruntled look, she put her hands on her hips as she sent him a challenging gaze, “Ja, jy het belowe.”

Theo rolled his eyes at his daughter, as she spoke Afrikaans to him. His daughter had a talent for picking up languages rather quickly, being able to speak at least six different languages, thanks to all the residents. He also knew that she would only speak Afrikaans to him, just as a way to get under his skin, something she had picked up from his beloved wife.

The sun finally came peeking up from the horizon, and with a satisfied smile, the older van Gogh brother put down his paintbrush and stretched his arms above his head. That is when he spotted his favourite little niece. He crouched down and opened his arms as he sent the little girl a smile that could only be described as brighter than the sun itself.

The little girl wasted no time in flinging herself into Vincent's arms, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck. “Goedemorgen, Kleine zonnebloem! Shouldn't you still be in bed this early,”

Vincent's eyes were laced with concern as he looked at the little girl questioningly.

She shot her dad a threatening glare before turning her attention back to Vincent, wearing a soft smile, “Daddy promised to make pancakes with me this morning before mommy wakes up.”

Vincent's eyes lit up in excitement as he tickled her sides, sending her into a fit of giggles, “Oh that's wonderful I'm sure your mother will be so happy to receive such a thoughtful surprise.”

She beamed up at the older van Gogh and tightened her arms around his neck, “Plus I wanted to watch the sunrise with you.”

Angelic smile never faltering, Vincent held the girl in his arms as he turned to watch the sun coming up, "Well then let's not waste another moment.”

Once the sun had fully risen above the mountain top, he gently put the little girl back down onto the soft grass, and clasped her small little hands in his, “That was fun, shall we do it again tomorrow. That way, you can be the first to see my painting when it's done.”

Not even thinking twice about the offer she excitingly jumped up and down wearing a big grin, “Yes please!”

Vincent and Theo quickly packed up the art supplies as the little girl played in the field with King. “Hey popje, we are leaving! You better hurry up, unless you want to be left behind.” Upon hearing her father’s voice bellowing in the distance, she quickly hiked up her nightgown and excitedly ran to Theo’s side.

Smiling she carefully took hold of her father’s hand as they leisurely walked back to the mansion.

Once back, Vincent had disappeared to his room to continue painting while Theo, and his tiny daughter made their way to the kitchens to start on the meal.

The little girl put on an oversized apron and stepped up onto the step ladder beside her dad, to start on the batter. Having inherited Theo’s love for sweets, the child already knew the pancake recipe by heart.

Despite her angelic appearance, she had also inherited her dad's sharp tongue and stubborn attitude. She bossed her dad around the kitchen, instructing him to collect the various ingredients needed to make the sugary treat. With a satisfied nod at the different ingredients and equipment placed before her, she began to make the batter.

She dumped out the flour into the large bowl in front of her with a big puff. Theo burst into laughter as the little one was now covered from head to toe in the white dust. She wore a displeased scowl as her father laughed and teased her dubbing her the ‘spookje’ of the kitchen.

But soon girls scowl morphed into a mischievous smirk as she decided to enact her revenge. She picked up a small handful of flour and launched it straight into Theo’s face as he continued to chuckle.

The second the flour puffed into his face, the little girl let out a triumphant giggle as Theo was left staring after her, flabbergasted. “Why you little,” he picked up his own hand full of flour and playfully threw it in his daughter's direction.

It was now an all-out war. Flour was flying across the kitchen, covering everything in sight as the pair laughed and teased the other. Once the bag of flour was empty, Theo ran over to his daughter and picked her up, tickling her as he threw her up into the air.

She squealed and laughed, refusing to give her dad the satisfaction of winning the playful battle, as she tried her hardest to tickle him back.

Soon the laughter died down as both of them caught their breath, remembering the reason they were in the kitchen in the first place.

“Geez, daddy! Can you stop distracting me, I'm trying to make pancakes here,” her tone was dripping with sarcasm as she sent her dad a wide smirk. Theo shook his head and smiled as he moved to heat up the pan.

The little girl carefully broke a few eggs into the bowl followed by a splash of milk, and finally the secret ingredient….. 2 full bags of chocolate chips. She then summoned her dad to mix the batter for her, as she prepared herself for the next phase of the pancake making operation.

She moved her ladder over to the stove and fished out a spatula from the drawer. She was overjoyed when she spotted two pans warming up on the stovetop. Once the batter was mixed, Theo looked over at his daughter wearing a devilish smirk, “I bet you I can flip these pancakes without a spatula.”

The girl met Theo’s challenging gaze with one of her own, as she followed suit by placing a small amount of batter into the hot pan, “Game on, old man.”

Soon a whole second round of giggles had filled the kitchen as the two of them had started a new playful battle. The pancake wars continued as each of them were determined to out flip the other.

Theo shot his daughter a smug grin as he stood back and threw two pancakes high into the air, only to catch them in the pan mere seconds before they would hit the ground. He started getting a little cocky, showing off his skills by throwing the fluffy cakes into the air, turning around twice and then successfully catching them.

The little girl glared at her father, determined to wipe that cocky smile off his smug face. She now brimmed with confidence holding the pan securely between her tiny hands in an attempt to throw the pancake up high into the air to catch it.

She earned an impressed scoff from Theo at the height she managed to get, however, that scoff soon turned into full-blown laughter as the last pancake she threw up into the air hit the roof.

The little girl crossed her arms in disappointment as Theo chuckled and ruffled her hair, “That’s what you get for getting too arrogant, spookje.”

Her disappointment soon turned into excitement at the sight of the massive stack of pancakes the two of them had managed to make.

The stuck pancake was long forgotten as the little girl grabbed hold of a plate stacked to the high heavens with pancakes. She excitedly skipped her way to her mother's room with Theo following closely behind. She kicked the door open and bounded up to her mother's side, “Happy Pancake day!”

You smiled down at your daughter and husband who was covered head to toe with flour and pancake batter. “Wow, is this all for me!” you pulled your daughter into your arms and started tickling her while leaving playful kisses all over her face as a thank you for the wonderful surprise.

The three of you ate you maple soaked cakes in bed as your daughter excitingly recounted the events of the morning. She beamed with pride as she even pointed out, that she had added extra sugar to yours, knowing that you had a sweet tooth that not even your husband could match.

While the three of you enjoyed your drowned syrupy delights, the sound of Sabastian's shrieking could be heard in the distance upon the discovery of the gigantic mess made in the kitchen.

Theo and the little girl simply snickered at the sound of Sabastian angrily cursing in Japanese, as it had seemed that the pancake that had gotten stuck on the roof had landed straight onto the butler's head when he entered into the kitchen.

｡.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’ .*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’･ﾟ｡.*:・’ﾟ: ｡.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’ .*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ

Hehe, I hope yall enjoyed! 🌈🌻☺

#theo route countdown party #ikevamp theodorus #theo ikevamp #theo #ikemen vampire theodorus #ikevamp theo x reader #theo x reader #theo x daughter #theo with his lil girl #hehehe so this is day 2 #whooop whoop #love this man so much!#ikevam theo #ikevamp theo #Theodorus van Gogh #ikevamp theodorus van gogh

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craby-bouquet · 4 years

Text

Mate

Choi Seungcheol x reader

Werewolf!AU

2k words

Masterlist | Seventeen masterlist

You ran. Panting at this point. Was he still behind you? Had he given up? You didn’t know, but you knew it would be foolish to turn around and check.

It was surprising he hadn’t caught up yet, he seemed so much faster than you were. Then again, every werewolf would win against you. They were known for being fast creatures.

You hated yourself for not listening to your mother. Why did you have to get off the path just to take a short cut? Why didn’t you just walk a little longer like she always said?

Your lungs were burning, you knew you couldn’t go very much longer, you already slowed down tremendously. But you hadn’t heard any footsteps behind you for a while. Maybe he lost interest? Maybe he decided you weren’t worth it and looked for some easier pray to catch?

Something swung down from above you, making you fall back on the floor in shock.

“Gotcha!” the werewolf yelled, he seemed happy, as if catching you was a big game to him.

He was hanging upside down from a tree branch, watching you as you tried to crawl back, completely out of breath. The moment he jumped off the branch and walked up to you, you kind of decided to just let him win. You wouldn’t be able to get away anymore.

Your hand felt a stick, and before you could realise it, you swung it to him, hitting him against his side. It didn’t seem to hurt him, it didn’t seem to bother him at all. But he stood still, probably surprised that you would do something like that. It gave you just enough time to scramble back to your feet and start running again.

You heard him laugh from behind you “Running away just makes it more fun for me, you know! How about I’ll count to ten, and you run and hide?”

You didn’t respond, just ran.

“One..!” you heard him yell loudly so you could still hear him, “Two..!”

You were out of breath once again, blisters on your feet. Why were you still trying to get away? You knew you couldn’t.

The moment he screamed ‘Ten’ you hoped you would be far enough for him to at least take a while. But no, he was right behind you in no time.

He jumped you, throwing you on the warm, summer ground. A root right to your ribs.

He turned you on your back, as his legs were wrapped around you. Tears started rolling down your eyes, this was it.

The man gasped quite dramatically, and lowered the hand he was about to scratch you with.

He just sat there, on top of you, looking at you for the longest time while you were waiting for him to strike. This was the first time you actually saw his face, he was pretty, a scar on his right cheek, thick lips with little fangs sticking through them and long eyelashes. His hair was disheveled from running and climbing and whatever he did, but he was very handsome indeed.

And his eyes. Your heart started beating ten times faster as your eyes locked, he had been looking at your eyes the entire time he’d been silent, but you hadn’t looked into his until now. It was strange, a strange, warm feeling flood your veins, made your head all spinny. It was like his eyes drowned you, but in a good way, weirdly.

The wolf suddenly jumped off of you and bowed deeply, “I am so sorry, I had no idea it would be you! How could I have known? I’ve been waiting for so long, and suddenly you’re here?” He rambled, “And, wow, you truly are gorgeous! I am such a lucky wolf, unbelievable!”

You just layed on the ground, your elbows supporting you, your ribs bruised from the root you fell on. You had no clue what was going on.

He offered his hand “Oh! Let me help you get up.”

You didn’t take it, you weren’t gonna touch him, he just threw you on the ground, yelling that he would eat you. You instead got on your sore feet by yourself, almost falling down again. Your legs were too tired to stand up properly. You leaned against a tree “Aren’t you going to eat me?”

He scoffed, as if the entire hour before this didn’t happen at all, “Eat you? Are you crazy? Of course I’m not going to eat you.”

“Well, you kind of told me you would not too long ago. Forgive me for being confused.”

He made a dramatic hand movement, “That was then, this is now. I didn’t know who you were, back then. And I apologize deeply for scaring you like that.”

What was this whole ‘Who you were’ thing all about? “Have we met before?” you were sure you hadn’t.

“In the flesh? No. But in a dream perhaps. You certainly were in my dreams, granted I didn’t know what you looked like but wow! I dreamt about this particular moment so many times! I must admit: this is not, per se, how I pictured it, I pictured it more romantic. A sunrise, maybe. Bumping into each other during our morning walks, of course I pictured you as a wolf yourself, considering not many wolfs go with other creatures. But no matter, you are perfect regardless of how I met you or what you are.”

That creeped you out, what on earth was he talking about?

“Oh! Where are my manners!?” he bowed deeply again, "My name is Choi Seungcheol, son of the chief of a eastern wolf pack. And it truly is a pleasure to meet you. Once again, my apologies for scaring you, I hope you are not too scarred?”

You weren’t sure what to do with this creep, should hit him with a stick again? Run away? Scream? You felt your feet take little steps back automatically.

He realised you did and frowned, “You feel it too, right? Our connection?”

You scoffed “What connection? We don’t have a connection.”

He smiled patiently “Yes we do. We’re mates. Come on, you must feel it too. The moment you looked in my eyes it was like you were reborn, like your heart stopped while beating even louder, like warmth spread through your entire body? You know… The connection..?”

For some reason your heart believed him, but your head couldn’t get around that whole idea. Stupid. Your legs clearly thought the same, because the moment the wolf, Seungcheol, had his head turned away only slightly, they started running the opposite direction. Yes, they hurt, but they weren’t going to give in. Not now.

And then they did. You felt a crack in your knee, before falling over and hitting your head against something hard.

When you woke up, eyes still closed, you knew it had all been some weird dream and you would wake up in your own bed, get ready to go to your grandma and stay on the path. But that thought faded away when you heard voices you didn’t recognize, and as you opened your eyes, you were in some weird room you didn’t know.

Your leg was bound, and kind of hurt. Where were you?

You got up as quickly as you could, and stumbled to the door. You cracked it open a little so you could look at your surroundings at least a little bit, but it flew right open the moment you realised where you were.

You were in a building in a tree, and there were more of those around, all on slightly different heights, and all connected by bridges. The ground was very far down, but you could already see it was also packed with little houses. Everywhere around you were werewolves, they didn’t seem to have noticed you yet, but you knew that when they would you were in big trouble. How on earth were you going to escape?

One male werewolf walked right passed you, nodding his head at you politely “Mornin’.”

You nodded back, weirded out. You quickly checked your head and butt, to see if you turned into a werewolf yourself overnight. Impossible, you knew, but you needed to be sure. No ears, no tail. Great.

You took a deep breath as you stumbled to the railing across the walkway. You held on to it, trying to look as normal as you could, trying not to limp, as you slowly and carefully walked down the spiraling staircase that twisted around the tree. You had to go, you had to get away. These people were dangerous.

But every wolf you ran into just greeted you politely.

And then he stood in front of you. You remembered his name, Choi Seungcheol. The breathtaking eyes, locking you in once again, making your heart skip a beat and your head all spinny.

He smiled greatly when he saw you “I was just coming up to check on you! I’m glad to see you’re awake, and that your leg is doing better.”

You didn’t respond, just looked at him.

“It is doing better right?” he frowned, suspiciously looking at your knee.

“How did it get hurt?” you asked silently.

He gently brushed a stray hair from your face “You don’t remember..?”

You shook your head.

He shrugged and started walking down the stairs casually, probably expecting you to walk with him. But you stood still.

“Well, you ran away and then you collapsed because something happened to your knee.” He stopped the moment he realized you weren’t walking with him, looking down at your knee again “It’s not better, is it?”

You shrugged.

He walked back up to you, offering you to put his arm around you for support “Should I help?”

You pushed his arm away “Don’t touch me.”

He nodded while taking a step back “Of course, sorry.”

You took a deep breath as you leaned on the railing again and started walking down slowly.

“So… do you remember what I said before you fell..?”

You knew he was talking about the whole mate thing, but you didn’t want to talk about that. You knew he was right, the undeniable, and annoying, feelings you had for this dude you never met, kind of gave it away.

But you shrugged again “All I remember is you chasing me, wanting to eat me.”

He clicked his tongue “Yeah… I really am sorry about that. And, well, I was kind of hoping we could, you know, start over? If I had wanted to eat you, I would have done it already.”

You didn’t respond, just kept walking.

“Anyway… You know us werewolves have mates, right?” he asked, not waiting for a reaction, “Well, usually our mates are wolves, it doesn’t happen very often that a mate is a different creature. But you and me, we are mates. Which basically means we our each other’s everything. Now, back in the forest, I didn’t looked in your eyes yet, so yes, you were my prey… But the moment our eyes met the world stopped, you know?”

You sighed and turned around to face him, but you avoided his eyes “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“Look into my eyes and tell me what you feel.”

“Alright, I give up! I did feel the same thing. I just can’t fathom it, I don’t even know you! How can I love you?”

He clearly tried to hide his excitement “It’s just a feeling. What we should do now is get to know each other. Like it or not, we’re stuck together.”

You sighed “My mother is going to be so pissed.”

But not you. Sure, it was gonna take some getting used to, but Seungcheol seemed like a sweet guy, and your feelings for him were undeniable.

Masterlist | Seventeen masterlist

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