Price of Being a Mikaelson
CÉLINE ARCHED BACK, clinging onto the sheets that covered her body. Her eyes sat at the back of her head. Uncontrollable moans erupted from her lungs. Their was movement under the blanket, Kol's head buried between her legs, his tongue working its magic on her clit.
Her toes curled and grip on the sheets tightened as she felt the pleasurable rush shoot through her body and dampen the mattress beneath her.
Kol used his tongue to mop up her arousal, before poking his head out from beneath the sheet. He chuckled, dropping beside her.
Céline turned on her side to face him, cupping his cheek, a blissful blush lighting up her cheeks, "I could get used to this," she beamed, bringing him in for an affectionate kiss.
"Me to," he smiled, pulling back and caressing her cheek. "I do think we'll have to leave this room soon though. We can't stay hauled up here too much longer otherwise the maid will come across our desiccated bodies."
Céline leaned closer, wrapping her arms around his neck, "Now, why would I leave this bed to feed on some steroid injuiced jogger when I can stay right here and sample my husband?" She inched a little closer till her lips were hover over his. "And I don't just mean your blood," she whispered seductively, lust glistening in her eyes.
Kol mocked gasped, "Just when i thought I couldn't love you anymore."
A squeal left Céline lips as Kol moved on top of her, pinning her to the mattress with playful force. He captured her lips with his own. He kissed her with that fierce desire they held for one another. Their tongue came into play within seconds, moving in sync. Kol's hands wondered, needing to feel himself inside her.
Céline moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him closer. She arched her back, urging him to take her right then and there.
But before they could go any further, the sound of Kol's phone vibrating against the mahogany bed side table broke them apart—his ring tone blaring through the room.
Kol let out a groan of annoyance, dropping back down to the mattress, his hand running down his face, "Whoever invented these things is rotting in hell!" he roared into the ceiling.
Céline bit into her bottom lip as a cheeky idea came to mind, "You know..." she said, moving to lay on her side. "...you could just ignore it," she suggested, running a finger over his hard and ready shaft.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Kol's mouth as his eyes darkened with desire, "Oh, really?" he asked, inching closer.
Céline hummed, nodding head as she laid back down on the mattress, taking him with her, hands cupping his neck.
Their lips were locked once more in a fiery tango, but it wasn't long before the phone was blaring once again.
Kol let out a frustrated scream, angrily grabbing the phone and answering the call, pressing the device against his ear, "What?!" he hissed.
There was a pause on the other end, almost like they didn't appreciate his tone, "I need you in Denver."
When Céline heard Klaus' voice on the other end, she rolled her eyes and snatched the phone, pressing it against her ear, "Klaus, we're on our honeymoon."
Klaus groaned, "Don't remind me. That's all Rebekah has been talking about all week. Bickering and sulking about not being invited to her own brother's wedding. I for one, couldn't care less. I've been too busy trying to track down our mother. Who may I remind you, can kill us all in one fell swoop as long as long as we are all still linked. I formulated a plan to fix that problem. Elijah won't answer my calls and has been MIA since he left to officiate your ceremony. So, I need you both in Denver. Now!"
Kol took the phone back from Céline and held it to his ear, "Why?"
"Leverage," came Klaus' response before the line went dead.
Céline sighed, snuggling up to Kol, her head resting on his chest, "I guess the honeymoon is over then?" she said with a pout.
"Appears so," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead, before he moved, pushing himself up into a seated position, his legs sitting over the edge of the mattress as he simply stared at the wall.
The ease Kol felt mere moments ago had drained from his face. His shoulders squared unconsciously—like armour sliding into place. His eyes lost their warmth first.
The spark—the boyish mischief, the softness that only Céline ever saw—dulled into something sharper—guarded.
His mouth was pressed into a thin line, tongue dragging slowly over his bottom lip as if tasting something bitter, "I'm going to go grab a bite," he declared. His grip tightened on the edge of the bed—enough for the tendons in his hand to stand out. The faintest tremor rippled through his fingers before he stood.
His shoulders dropped a fraction as he stood there for a moment—jaw clenched, eyes distant—as if he felt the monster coming out.
He looked over his shoulder, meeting Céline's worried gaze. The smallest, almost imperceptible exhale escaped his nostrils. A humourless half-smirk touched his lips—the kind he wore when he was pretending he wasn't hurt.
But his eyes betrayed him.
They displayed something.
Just that old, familiar knowledge:
'They didn't call because they love me. They called because they need a monster.'
And for a split second—just one—the man within the monster vanished—the real Kol gone.
In his place stood the brother they summoned when something needed breaking.
Another sigh slipped from Céline's lips as sadness and sorrow filled her eyes as she watched a wounded Kol walk out the door to let out all his anger, frustration and pain the only way he knew how—drowning himself in blood.
Céline stood at the small kitchen counter of the Denver Airbnb, the steady rhythm of her knife against the chopping board the only sound filling the quiet space. Fresh herbs and sliced vegetables lay neatly arranged before her, the domestic calm almost convincing enough to feel normal.
The front door clicked shut.
A second later, Kol was behind her, brushing a kiss against her cheek, "Miss me?" he murmured lightly as he passed.
He crossed to the fridge, tugged it open, and retrieved a beer. With an effortless flick of his thumb, he popped the cap free—it clattered against the countertop and spun to a stop—before he lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a slow sip as he leaned against the bench, watching her prepare their dinner—like it was the most beautiful thing he ever seen..
"You find the boy?" she asked, her eyes meeting his.
"Yes. Out walking his precious new puppy," he mocked, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"So, Bonnie will unlink you guys?"
"Well, Klaus didn't really give her a choice."
Céline quickly spun around, "He didn't hurt her, did he?!" she asked, her concern for the young witch evident.
"He didn't need to. That's where Jeremy came in. Now, he wants us to stay and befriend the teenager." He rolled his eyes, taking a bigger sip of his beer this time.
"He said, 'we never know when we'll need him again'."
Céline sighed, "Okay. Well, we'll go find him after dinner," she stated, going back to chopping up vegetables. "You have someone keeping tabs on him, right?"
"Yes." Kol frowned in confusion. "But you don't have to—"
Céline placed her knife down and turned to flash Kol a smug smirk, "No offence, darling, but I think we'll have a better chance to get close to the boy if I'm there."
Kol gasped in mock defence, placing a hand on his heart, "I'm likeable."
"Sure you are, darling," she sent him a sweet smile, but her eyes gave her away.
Kol's jaw dropped dramatically, "I am!" he argued.
Céline simply hummed as she picked up the chopping board and turned to dum the vegetables into the pot of stew that sat cooking on the stove.
Céline didn't hesitate. The moment she entered the small diner, she walked straight up to the bar, sliding gracefully onto the stool beside Jeremy Gilbert.
Kol on the other hand, stood a safe distance behind her, making no attempt to sit down, earning some weird looks from the other patrons.
Céline smiled softly as Jeremy turned to her with a confused frown, "Is this seat taken..." Her French accent coming through. "...or are you happy brooding alone?"
Jeremy's eyebrow shot up—not expecting her to be that forward, "Uh..." he stammered. "No. I mean—it's not taken."
"Good." She paused, leaning in closer as her tone drop to a seductive whisper, "I would hate to steal something that doesn't belong to me."
Kol's jaw tightened as he came to stand beside Céline, his hand sliding possessively to the back of her chair, clearly implying ownership.
Jeremy noticed the new presence, shifting slightly in his chair, feeling uncomfortable under his sharp gaze, "Your...boyfriend?" he asked Céline, motioning to Kol with his head.
Kol flashed him a charming, razor-thin smile, "Husband."
Céline tilted her head back onto Kol's chest, "He does enjoy clarifying that," she said, amused. "Céline," she introduced, offering him her hand to shake.
Jeremy hesitated only a second before taking it.
The moment their skin touched, a pulse shot through Céline—like she just brushed against cold steel.
A sharp, metallic chill crawled up her wrist and settled into her bones. Not the dead-cold of a vampire. Not the lingering echo of a witch.
As though something had been written into him—something out of his control.
Her thumb barely brushed the inside of his wrist when it felt like the air was getting sucked out of her lungs.
There was a rhythm beneath his pulse that didn't belong to him.
For a split second, she felt as though she were standing in ruin—stone walls crumbling, wind whispering through something impossibly old. A presence that did not breathe yet somehow endured.
It wasn't darkness the way she'd sensed it in others—this wasn't corruption.
"Jeremy," Jeremy smiled politely, unaware.
But Céline felt the faintest sting against her skin—a warning almost. As if her very nature rejected something in him...or recognised it.
For the briefest moment, she felt hunted.
Her fingers slipped from his a fraction too quickly, but she was able to mask it with a smile, but something in her blood stirred uneasily.
And in that moment, Céline wondered if she had just shaken hands with someone destined to end creatures like her.
Kol noticed the shift, and grew concerned, but he didn't react, taking a mental note to ask her about it later.
Céline tilted her head slightly, "Jeremy," she repeated thoughtfully. "That's a strong name. It suits you."
Kol exhaled sharply through his nose.
Jeremy smirked a little, "You always this forward with strangers?"
"Only the interesting ones," she said, batting her eyelashes seductively, while grinning innocently.
Jeremy gave a small, awkward laugh.
Kol stiffened, his eyes locked on Céline's hand as it briefly brushed Jeremy's arm. Kol gripped Céline's chair tight enough that it mad the wood crack slightly, "And what, pray tell, is so fascinating about this one, love?" His eyes darkened as he squared Jeremy up.
Céline didn't flinch. She simply leaned back into Kol's chest—reassuring him, "Don't be rude. We were just getting acquainted."
Kol's jaw clenched, "I'm sure you were."
Céline laughed lightly, placing her hand over Kol's—as if calming him. She turned and gave Jeremy an apologetic smile, "He's so dramatic. It's an accent thing."
Kol leaned down, lips brushing just beneath her ear—intimate enough that Jeremy definitely noticed, "If you bat those lashes one more time, I shall remove them," he whispered in a hush hiss, so only she could hear.
She smiled widely, amused by his words, "You're jealous," she murmured under her breath, loud enough that only a vampire would be able to hear her.
"I'm territorial," Kol muttered back, matching her tone. He straightened and offered Jeremy a sharp grin, "So tell me, Jeremy...do you often let beautiful women flatter you in diners? Or is today just your lucky day?"
Jeremy shrugged awkwardly, "I'm just being friendly."
Kol's eyes darkened, taking a step toward Jeremy, "That would be your first mistake."
Céline squeezed Kol's hand gently—a subtle warning not to escalate things. Then she turned back to Jeremy, "We're new in town. It's nice to meet someone...grounded. Perhaps you could show me around sometime?"
Kol's grip tightened once again, making the chair squeak, "She's joking."
Céline looked up at him innocently, "Am I?"
For a moment, it looked like he might actually drag her out of there.
Instead, he leaned down and kissed her temple, "Enjoy your evening, mate."
Jeremy nodded stiffly as he watched Kol take Céline by the hand and help her off the stool, before wrapping his arm around her waist and guided her toward the door.
The second they were out of earshot, Kol spoke, "You're enjoying this far too much."
She smirked, "You're the one who said we needed leverage."
"Yes, leverage. Not courtship."
She ran a finger down his chest teasingly as they made it to the alley outside of the diner, his back leaned against the brick wall, "You're adorable when you're jealous," she cooed, batting her eyelashes as she bit into her bottom lip seductively.
Kol caught her wrist, and changed their positions in a flash, slamming her against the wall, pinning her hands above her head. His dark veins appearing under his eyes, "You may flirt with him. You may smile at him. But do not forget who you belong to."
Céline eyes darkened instantly, and she shoved him back, scoffing, "I don't belong to anyone," she spat, turning to storm off.
The room smelt of paint and turpentine. Late afternoon light poured through the open balcony, spilling gold across canvases stacked against stone walls. Half-finished landscapes. Violent swirls of red and black. Portraits with eyes that seemed to follow you.
And at the centre of it all stood Niklaus Mikaelson—director of the brush.
His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms. Fingers stained with charcoal and cobalt. Head tilted as he dragged his brush across the canvas with precise, almost tender strokes.
Céline paused in the doorway, watching him before he noticed her, "You know...most artists request their muse to sit before them."
His brush paused mid-stroke. A slow smile curved his mouth, "I find..." he replied without turning. "...that I paint you far more honestly when you're unaware."
She arched a brow, "That sounds vaguely unsettling."
He glanced over his shoulder, his smile now forming a smirk, "And yet you're still here."
She stepped into the room, the soft rustle of her dress barely audible against the wooden floor. Sunlight spilled across her hair, catching the red tint to it.
Klaus took notice of how the light clung to her, enhancing her beauty, making her look almost angelic.
"Careful, Mr. Mikaelson. Stare too long and people might get the wrong idea about us," she teased.
"That's staring with delusions of grandeur."
He chuckled under his breath and finally stepped aside, "Come see."
Céline approached slowly.
On the canvas was a beautiful painted portrait of her.
But not the Céline she presented to the world.
Not the composed princess. Not the careful witch. Or sheltered daughter.
There was a fire in her eyes.
A soft breath left her lips as her hand found her mouth, "You make me look braver than I am," she whispered.
Klaus studied her instead of the painting, "No, love. I paint you exactly as you are."
She lowered her head, unable to meet his gaze, "And how is that?"
Klaus reached for her, lifting her chin with his finger, "Fierce. Loyal." His voice lowered slightly. "Capable of breaking kingdoms if you chose to."
She laughed gently, moving her head away from his touch, "I prefer gardens to kingdoms," she said, nervously rubbing her arm.
"You prefer pretending you're smaller than you are."
She turned, meeting his eye, and the air shifted between them.
Klaus stepped closer—close enough that she could feel his breath against her cheek, "Tell me, Céline..." he said softly, liftting his hand and brushing her hair behind her ear. "...if we had met first...would our story have been different?"
That rare vulnerability flashing across Klaus' eyes—a vulnerability he never let anyone see but her.
She searched his face—the boy who once sketched by candlelight to escape his father's wrath. The man who now killed, maimed and tortured to prove he could not be broken.
He gently cupped her face, brushing his thumb over her skin, and then leaned in, pressing his lips against hers. He kissed her tenderly, testing the line neither of them dared to cross.
And for one suspended second, Céline let herself feel it—let her lips move in sync with his. But it didn't feel right. There was no fire. No hunger. Not eruption of passion building up inside her.
And his eyes searched hers—already guarded, bracing for rejection.
"I love him, Nik," she murmured.
The name hung between them like a truth they both already knew.
Klaus exhaled, eyes fluttering shut as he rested his forehead against her, cradling her face in his hands, "I know," he muttered, pressing a kiss to her forehead, before taking a step back.
But before he could, she took his face in her hands firmly, thumb brushing the sharp line of his jaw, "But you...I hold you in high regard as well. You are my confidant. The one I come to when I wish to discuss art and beauty. My safe place when the world becomes too loud."
A faint smirked tugged at his lips, "Safe is not a word often associated with me, love."
He studied her for a moment.
"And you will always have my loyalty," she added. "My affection. My friendship. Even if we do stand on opposite sides of a war."
Klaus' jaw tightened, "You are infuriatingly devoted," he said with a sigh.
Céline lifted her chin with pride, "I am."
"And if he breaks your heart?"
She smiled knowingly, "You can tell him you were the one who captured me best," she said, motioning to the portrait.
Klaus snorted, amused, "He'll hate that."
Céline smirked, "Exactly." And with that, she turned on her heel and headed for the door.
Klaus' eyes never left her, "Céline," he called.
She paused in the doorway.
"You will always be my favourite muse."
She glanced over her shoulder, "And you...will always be my favourite artist. I hope Aurora appreciates how you capture beauty as much as I."
Céline stopped in her tracks, second guessing herself. Her features softened as she turned back to him—she knew why Kol acted this way. He would never admit it, but deep down he was insecure, especially when it came to Céline. He secretly believed he didn't deserve her, and she should be with someone a lot better than him.
"But I chose you," she confessed, cupping his neck with both hands, searching his eyes. "And I will always choose you."
Kol's jealousy and insecurities melted away, and he smirked, "Good. Because if he so much as breathes incorrectly in your direction, I'm breaking something."
She laughed, throwing her head back, "You're impossible," she teased, gripping his collar and backing him into the wall, her fingers threading through the hair at the back of his head.
"And yet...you married me," he shot back, pulling her into his chest, hands cupping her ass.
And within seconds, their lips collided into one hunger, desire driven kiss.
And back inside the diner, Jeremy had no idea he had just become a pawn in a game centuries older than him.
Céline adjusted her panties and tugged down her dress as she straightened her posture, while Kol stood behind her zipping up his fly and buckling up his belt. Their cheeks equally flushed.
"Oh..." Kol breathed, adjusting his boner. "I've been waiting to do that from the moment I saw you in that dress."
Céline hurried to tidy her hair as a man walked past the alley, "We really have to stop doing that," she whisper-yelled, adjusting her dress to hide her cleavage.
"Oh, relax darling," he cooed, wrapping his arms around her waist, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her perfume. "We're married now. We are no longer living in sin." He brushed his lips softly against her sensitive skin.
Céline spun out of his grip, shoving him hard in the chest, "That doesn't mean it's appropriate for me to allow you to bend me over and take me in a dark alley like some common strumpet," she declared, folding her arms over her chest.
Kol couldn't help the laugh that tore through him, "You were the one who initiated it."
Céline narrowed her eyes, "I kneeled down to pick up a fallen quarter."
"You kneeled down to suck my dick," he shot back.
Céline gasped in offence, "How dare you? I most certainly did not."
Kol reached out to cup her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb, "Darling, you've had a lot of things in your mouth tonight, let's not make lies one of them."
Céline scoffed, slapping his hand away.
Kol simply chuckled, enjoying this way too much.
But before he could continue to mock her, his phone rang from his pocket.
He groaned, noticing the name that flashed on the screen, but answered it anyway, pressing the device to his ear, "Like always, your timing is impeccable, brother."
The weight of Klaus' words hung in the air for a moment.
Kol face paled. Words caught in his throat. As he just stared straight ahead—like his soul had disappeared into the distant.
"How?" he asked, voice barely audible.
"It doesn't matter," Klaus replied, though it clearly did. "He's gone."
Kol simply laughed—a hollow, disbelieving sound, "You mean to tell me our sanctimonious, self-righteous elder brother has finally met the end he always wanted?"
Kol's humour faltered when he asked, "Was he alone?"
Something in Kol's expression cracked.
Klaus sighed, "He was finally happy, Kol."
Kol turned away slightly, running a hand through his hair, "So, he was no longer suicidal then?"
Even when they'd fought. Even when Finn had judged him, despised vampirism, loathed what they were—he was still his brother. The one who used to read by candlelight while Kol tried to distract him. The one who protected him from their father's wrath whenever Kol had spoken out of turn.
"He and I...we never saw eye to eye," Kol muttered. "He thought me reckless. I thought him insufferably dull." His voice thickened with raw emotion. "But he was still our brother."
"He will be avenged," Klaus declared. "You have my word, brother. The Salvatores will pay."
"Make it hurt," he replied softly, and ended the call.
Céline was in front of him, steadying him, before he realised he had stumbled. She didn't ask what happened—she heard every word—perks of being a vampire.
"I spent centuries resenting him," Kol admitted. "Resenting his judgment. His sanctimony. The way he looked at me as if I were a monster." His eyes were distant yet again. "And yet...he was there when our father beat me for sneaking out to the village. Finn stood in front of me. Took the blow instead." He let out a strained breath. "I'd forgotten about that."
Céline stepped closer, sliding her hands to his chest, grounding him, "Differences don't erase blood," she said gently. "Or history."
Kol's jaw flexed, "He despised what we became," he sneered.
Céline grabbed hold of his face firmly, "That doesn't mean he despised you."
Kol looked at her then—truly looked at her—and whatever sharpness usually lived in his expression had softened into something vulnerable, "I should have told him," he murmured. "At least once. That despite everything...I didn't hate him."
Céline reached up, cupping his face, "You still can," she said quietly. "Not in the way you want. But you can honour him. Mourn him. Show your respects some how."
Kol's eyes glistened, though no tears fell, "They're coming for us, love," he whispered. "First Finn. Who will be next? Bekah? We pretend we're immortal, untouchable...but turns out we're not as immune as we thought."
Céline pulled him into her arms as a sob tore through his chest and the tears fell uncontrollably.
He resisted for half a second, before folding into her completely, burying his face in her shoulder, and let it all out.
"I'm sorry," she murmured against his hair. "I'm so sorry, baby."
Kol's arms tightened around her waist, "I never thought I'd grieve him," he confessed. "And yet here I am."
She stroked his back slowly, "You're allowed to grieve," she said. "He was a good man. He just had too many convictions he couldn't live with."
After a long moment, Kol exhaled shakily, "Yes," he whispered. "He was." He paused, searching his wife's face, noticing the tears that welled in her own eyes. "Do you know he kept that ribbon?" He reached forward, wiping the single tear that rolled down her cheek.
Céline's eyebrow raised in surprise, "Really?"
Kol nodded, "Through villages, through plagues, through the one bloody century he actually walked the earth. Finn, of all people...truly adored you. Said you reminded him of someone. I don't know who though. Maybe that's why he despised me. He believed I would ruin you."
Lanterns flickered to life along the garden paths, casting soft halos of light over marble statues and climbing roses. Music and laughter spilled faintly from the open ballroom doors—a celebration in full swing.
But far from the noise, beneath the arching limbs of an old olive tree, Céline stood alone.
She had slipped away from the festivities—from the suffocating expectations, the watchful eyes, the endless procession of men who smiled too eagerly and whose hands wondered too low. The cool breeze toyed with the loose tendrils of her mahogany hair as she closed her eyes, enjoying the peaceful music of nature.
"Are you hiding as well?"
He stood several steps away, tall and composed, dressed in dark fabric that marked him as foreign yet noble. His posture was rigid, hands clasped behind his back as though he feared taking up too much space.
"I prefer the word escaping," she replied gently.
A gentle smile touched his lips, but only for a moment, before it disappeared, "As do I."
There was no arrogance in him. No desire for admiration. He did not approach her as men often did—with appraisal in their eyes. Instead, he turned to leave, not wanting to intrude.
"You may stay," Céline called out to him, stopping him from leaving. "Only if you promise not to drag me back inside of course."
"I have no desire to return," he admitted quietly.
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the distant music drifting through the air.
"I find these gatherings...exhausting," Finn said after a while. "So much noise. So much...indulgence."
Céline tilted her head, "You disapprove?"
"I question the purpose of it," he corrected softly. "If we are to live—truly live—should we not strive for meaning rather than distraction?"
Her eyes lit with intrigue, "Meaning?" she echoed. "And what does that look like to you?"
He did not answer immediately. He studied the lanternlight flickering across the gravel path, the roses climbing toward the sky.
"Purpose—living in a way that honours something greater than oneself."
Most would have called him dull.
"I think..." she said carefully. "...that meaning can also be found in stillness. In reflection. Not everything must be loud to be important."
Finn looked at her then—truly looked at her.
And something in his guarded expression shifted.
He had lived with chaos all his life—siblings who burned too bright, who laughed too loudly, who chased pleasure without thought. He had always felt...like the odd one out.
But here, in this quiet garden, stood someone who did not mistake thoughtfulness for weakness.
"You are not what I expected," he murmured.
"And what did you expect?" she asked.
"A princess who would rather be admired than understood."
A soft laugh escaped her lips, "Admiration is fleeting. Understanding is rare."
For the first time that evening—perhaps for the first time in a long time—Finn felt the tightness in his chest ease. The constant vigilance, the quiet frustration at a world that seemed perpetually reckless...it softened in her presence.
She did not mock his seriousness.
Instead, she matched it—intelligently.
He found, unexpectedly, that he liked the sound of his name on her lips.
"And you are Céline," he said. "Your father spoke of you."
"Did he?" A faint teasing smile touched her lips. "I hope he was kind."
"He spoke of your mind," Finn answered. "Not your beauty."
That—more than flattery ever could—warmed her.
They began to walk the path together. She asked him about his homeland. He asked her about the books she read. Their conversation drifted from philosophy to faith to the weight of expectation placed upon firstborn children.
By the time one of the king's guard came searching for the princess, they were both laughing, falling into comfortable conversation.
Finn felt an unfamiliar reluctance settle in his chest.
"I suppose we must return," Céline said softly—feeling reluctant as well.
"Yes, I suppose we do," he replied—though neither of them moved immediately.
Before she stepped away, she reached to her hair and untied a narrow ribbon of pale silk embroidered with gold thread.
"For your books," she said, placing it in his hand. "So you can always find your place."
His fingers closed around it as though it were something fragile.
"I will keep it," he promised.
Because in a world that often felt unsteady and chaotic, Céline had been a sense of peace.
And for the first time in a very long time, Finn had not felt so alone.
Tag List (People I thought might be interested in this story. If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, let me know) : @viovicente @icarusofathousanddays @fireismyelement97 @horrid-corvid @coldenthusiasttimemachine @xoxogroovygirl @lilith-rhiannon
