#This is going too far for the challenge. One-quarter of your heart is buried somewhere in Tehran，he implies，and I feel I should witness it.

[faaun]

think i like him a lot

[kyloren-theprince]

Feral

What makes Hux more feral than Ren? Lack of consent? Maybe, but Kylo isn’t one to always adhere to your every plea; sometimes what he needs is to fuck you hard and fast and without remorse and he never really asked to do that. But deep down, you and Ren both know what you want is each other.

Warnings: smut, edging, inappropriate use of the Force, swearing, brief mention of assault, blood

“Damnit, Ren!” He stands between you and the door, his body solid and taut with barely – just barely – contained rage. He could kill you no problem. But it's not about whether or not he could, the matter at hand was would he. You clench your fist, steeling yourself. “Move.”

He takes a jagged breath, bracing, everything about him so barely controlled. The air hums with an electricity that makes your hair stand on end, makes the lights buzz a little louder than before. Without his helmet, the dark tresses of his hair fall over his face, curling handsomely around the edges of his cheekbones.

“No,” he growls lowly. His left eye twitches. “You’re not leaving.”

“Like fucking Kriff I am!”

“Where are you even going to go?” He’s challenging, squaring off. You roll your eyes. “Are you running to the resistance? Go fuck off with whoever’s left?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Don’t be a fucking child. I’ll stay right where I’m needed-“

“And yet you want to leave,” he interrupts.

“Yes!” You manage to sidestep him, closer to the door, but not yet there.

There’s pressure on your wrist, not warm enough to be his hand, but firm enough that it’s clear you’re not getting out of this quite yet.

“Why? Give me one good reason why.”

You turn on a credit, the hair that managed to free itself from it’s braids flying wild. “You are a lot of things, Kylo, but a man of reason is not one of them.”

“One!”

You watch the way his chest heaves, his fingers twitching. A pain taps the nerves in your arm. You must flinch because he releases only a hair, but it's enough that he’s not hurting you. You look at him, in his eyes, and your heart aches at the sight.

They’re red, glistening enough to know that he has tears in his eyes. You were the only one to ever see him cry (and live), but now you were the cause. Your voice softens.

“I need you to understand that I am not you little fuck toy. You don’t get to use me and then leave for days – weeks – and then get pissed off when I’ve left these quarters during that time.”

His lips press together tightly. You consider the idea of continuing to talk, but you just swallow, feeling the ghost of a hand trail across your palm, pulling on your fingers just enough to have a sense of longing. But then it’s gone, and Kylo lets you walk through those blast doors without another word.

––––

Two, almost three, weeks have passed since that night, and while the ache of Kylo’s absence weighed heavy on your spirit, other issues have arisen. These ones, however, you never realized the extent of before now. Most personnel on the Finalizer recognized your authority, and regarded you with the same respect as before, but there were few outliers.

Take General Artimage Hux for example: he’s a man of some power, and with the idea that he is irreplaceable in his head, he’s proven himself quite the pain in your ass.

He was always on your heels, offering you comfort you didn’t ask for, kind words you didn’t want to hear, gentle reassurances that made you want to pull your hair out, grab him by the ear and thunk him on the forehead, right between his eyes. Either that or kill him.

Right now, as he’s calling your name from the other end of the otherwise empty hall to your temporary quarters, you’ve decided on killing him.

“What is it, General?” You slow enough to glance over your shoulder, hating how close to you he always wants to be. “I’ve somewhere I need to be.”

“And where might that be, darling?” He teases, smoothing over his uniform.

His voice. It’s grating on your ears, makes your head hurt in the worst way. Stars, debriefings with him were awful but this was outright torture.

Maybe that’s how we should interrogate the prisoners, you think. Make him talk to them for a few hours. Melt their brains with his bantha shit.

“None of your concern,” you reply curtly. You don’t give him the courtesy to look at him, you don’t have to. “You’re supposed to be on the bridge.”

“I’ve got a few minutes to spare.”

Your door is in sight, but he’s still here. “Actually General,” you snap, turning sharply to face him, “you don’t. Report to your post immediately.”

The cocky motherfucker has the audacity to stop as well, flash his teeth in a smile, bend at the waist and ask, “Or what?”

A beast within you runs rampant, gnashing its teeth, scratching, writhing in his presence. You don’t move, only watch as he flinches, clutching his neck as he chokes.

“You seem to have forgotten your place,” you snarl. “Or you’ve forgotten mine. Which is it?”

He garbles around the pressure on his throat, usually so pale face having taken on a red tone, ripening into a purple. You release him, and he sucks in deep, lungful of air. He’s panting when he looks at you again, his eyes no longer teasing, but dark and dangerous. In a moment, your head throbs upon its impact against the wall, your arms pinned between your bodies. Hux’s breath on your face makes your skin itch.

“Your place has been Ren’s whore.” You thrash, and he takes hold of your chin, knocking your temple into the support pillar. Your vision goes spotty, but you still push against him. “But now he’s thrown you out like the cheap thing you are.”

So many emotions are screaming through you, your fight or flight going haywire. Was your brain even processing? Ren’s whore, you hear him say. His hands are moving, dragging, feeling across the planes of your torso.

Spiraling, your consciousness produces the image of walking into your quarters, the one you shared with Kylo, and burying yourself in his chest, running your hands through his hair. Even in the daydream, you’re crying, apologizing over and over. You imagine him saying your name.

Maybe he hates you for what you did, and that makes it worse, so much worse, because that’s the only place you want to be. You want to be in the arms of the person who hates you so fucking much. You’re slipping under, drowning in whatever nightmare this is, shutting down, but you don’t want to. No, no this is not going to be how this turns out. You’ll die before then.

“What was that?” It’s Hux again; grating, disrespectful, disgusting Hux. “I thought you said something, darling.”

You pry your eyes open. You bring your knee up, but he pins both legs with his own, amused by your struggle. He opens his mouth to say something, but you spit right there on his face, wishing it were poison or acid instead.

“You,” he says lowly, leaning close to your face, “are going to regret that.”

You bare your teeth. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Without further warning, you bite down on the bridge of his nose, forcing your teeth down tight around the bone until there’s a resounding crack, copper on your tongue. He shouts, smacking at your face until you let go. He prods at the break, flinching, staring at you with wide and pissed off eyes. He shifts his weight towards you, the very beginning of a step, but you throw him back with the Force. He crumples to the ground, rolling slowly to his hands and knees.

Ever on time, the patrol of the evening comes into view, and with one little flick of your wrist, Hux is sent flying to their feet. They stumble to a stop, looking to you for orders.

“Take him,” you instruct.

They move without hesitation, binding his wrists together, and escorting him to the brig eight levels down. You stand there, in the middle of the otherwise empty hallway, just breathing.

Kylo, you think, hoping – knowing – he can hear you, meet me at the throne.

––––

He’s come home from battle looking better than he does now; the bags beneath his eyes are prominent, shoulders slumped with their own weight. He doesn’t move when you enter the room, doesn’t say anything as you walk towards him. He just watches with those sad and tired eyes. You stand next to him, inches from the throne, studying its intricacies that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Do you understand why?” Your voice is soft, fragile even. He feels his heart twist in his chest, guilt sinking lowlowlow. There’s another moment of silence save for his breathing, and you pull him from his thoughts with the gentlest call of his name.

“I do,” he answers, fearing he’s spoken far too loud for the moment. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t defend himself in anyway, he just knows these last three weeks have been eating him alive. He was rotting in ways he hadn’t expected to. And maybe to say he understood was a lie, but he knew he’d at least try to accommodate, to listen to you a little more than just your moans.

You nod once, eyes somewhere else entirely. Gentle is not his forte. You knew this, you didn’t expect him to console you, you didn’t ask him to, but carefully – awkwardly, even – he reaches out, pulling you into his chest.

“Kylo,” you mumble against the fabric of his shirt, feeling every thump thump thump of his heart. It felt good to say his name, feel it roll on your tongue.

His hands move from your back to your face, ducking down to kiss you deeply. “Say you won’t leave.” You run your hands through his hair, fingers spread wide over his scalp. “Tell me you wont leave again, ever. You can go wherever the fuck you want, but you’ll come back to me.”

Ren’s whore.

“If you promise me the same.” His brows are twisted, and you know with that one look that he’s heard Hux’s words. You shake your head. “I don’t know what I’m-“

He kisses you, short and fierce this time. “You’re Empress. You rule beside me.”

“Wha-“

“And you’ll stay by me.” His words are sharp, but he softens when he says, “Please.”

Though weak, you smile. “How could I ever refuse you?”

His sinks, smashing your lips together in a flurry, and you take it as an apology. Words he was terrible at, but he could show you, Kriff could he show you.

There more he kisses you, the more you dissolve into his touch, shaking, melting away at his fingers. His grip turns a little harsher, nose scrunching up.

He spins, sitting on the throne and pulling you with him, onto his lap. “You-“ he runs his hands up your thighs, thumbs drawing harsh circles “-fuck.”

You cup his face, kissing him, letting his hands roam, but keeping his lips firmly against yours. He’s jumpy, hips rocking, grinding his covered cock against your heat, growling when you don’t move more than your lips against his.

He wants control, needs it; can feel it scathing beneath his skin, but you’re not backing down this time. You need this just as much as he does, more maybe.

You tug at his belt, pulling away to tear off his pants, hands sliding up over his thighs, the thick muscles would tight and jumping at the press of your thumb. His eyes burn into yours, nose scrunched up.

“If you don’t sit on my cock—“

“You’ll what?” He doesn’t flinch at your sharp tone, but his face relaxes, lips parting so pretty, pupils blown wide. You push his arms down to the throne, pinning him by his inner elbow as you shift back onto his lap. His fingers flex. You gyrate your hips, barely dragging your heat over his aching erection, and he visibly shakes.

You’ve never felt this powerful in your life; not when you cut down enemies, had troopers obey your every command. No, having the mighty Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the galaxy, trembling beneath you was what made you feel fucking invincible.

Almost drunk on it, you lean forward, daring, “What will you do, Kylo?” He swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Bend me over? Fuck me stupid?”

Poking at the beast is fun. He locks up, every muscle drawn tight, and he gives a clipped, “Yes.”

You reach out with the Force, seeing bind to his arms, and falling heavy with weight. You knock the snarl off his lips when you take a fistful of his hair and tug, pushing his head against the back of the throne, baring his pale throat. His lips part again, arms taut against the invisible pressure.

“Then you,” you taunt, leaning in close, “haven’t learned your lesson.”

All the ways you could bind him flit through your mind, and you know he sees them too, you make sure of it. His eyes grow darker. Every heavy breath makes his chest puff, flexed, bracing for something that might happen, might not. Nearly lost in it, you bring him back to reality, letting only the head of his dick slide into your wet hole.

“Is this what you wanted?” You sink, just enough to watch those pretty lashes flutter, before rising again. He growls through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna have to use your words.”

He hates this, hates you’ve turned the tables. Or maybe he likes it. Fuck if he really knows. He does know he likes seeing you like this, all commanding, rich with… stars, he’s not sure what this is. But you’re flushed, focused, articulate even as your cunt drools all over his lap. It’s a tug of war, whether or not he submits, so he gives back what you’re so good at: being a brat.

“Is this what you wanted?” He lets his tongue drag over his teeth, watching your head tilt as you follow his eyes. “You wanted to come prove something to your Supreme Leader?”

“No,” you hum and oh, he’s in for it now. He holds his breath when you lean forward, the pressure of hands working over his hips and pressing down at the tops of his thighs. “I wanted to break you.”

His back arches, breath coming in harshly, eyes squeezed shut, jaw slack as he moans, wishing he could hold your hips down on his, your cunt sheathing him so suddenly he’s keening. He groans, the sound catching on the back of his throat, reverberating. You wigglegrindclench, and he gasps, willing you to move. Your grip on his hair loosens, running your hand through the dark tresses, stopping only at his jaw to tug his lower lip. Kylo’s eyes are glazed over when he looks at you again.

“Please,” he breathes, the plea surprising you both.

“Please what?”

“Fuck!” He snaps weakly, breath leaving in a big sigh. “I don’t know, just please move. Please.”

You roll your hips, biting your lip when he chokes on his own voice. “Will you be good?”

There’s a moment of mixed emotions, clarity returning to his eyes. He blinks, face scrunching up, shaking his head of whatever thought occupying it.

You click your tongue, “What a shame.”

Pressure at the base of his dick and he jerks his hips up, eyes wide, flitting between a plea and a threat as you tighten the grip, fucking yourself on his hot length. He swears, pants, leans forward to bite at your breasts, but you take hold of his chin, pushing his head back against the throne.

“Uh-uh,” you chide. “You didn’t want to be a good boy, so this is what you get.” Breathless but determined, you lean forward, still bouncing. “I’m gonna use you like some dumb fuck doll, and you’re not gonna do a thing. You’re not gonna touch me, taste me—“ you make a point of tightening the invisible cock ring, earning a low, gutteral moan “—and you’re not gonna cum in me either.”

The threat almost makes him scream. He tries to bite it back, but your walls are hugging him so tightly, making this obscene squelching noise everytime you move. Sweat drips down to the hollow of your throat and stars does he wish to drink it down. He breathes your name, husky and desperate for you, for release, both.

“Please,” he begs again. He closes his eyes, nearly melting when your lips ghost over the smooth skin of his neck, nose following the line of his scar. “P-please! I’ll be a good—“ his throat clicks “—good boy! Let me cum, fuck, let me cum please!”

Those words felt foreign on his tongue, but how his whole being sings when your fingers dig into his shoulders. He’s almost there, would be if not for your hinderance, but he can feel the way your walls flutter and clench, and he knows he’s not the only one.

“Do you think you deserve to?”

“No!” Spitting that out was easier than he expected. So was, “I don’t deserve you or your cunt!”

You hum, but don’t acknowledge it further, chin dropping to your collarbone as you pant shudder shake, heat coiling at the base of your spine, muscles flexing. Kylo’s back bows, chest and face angled towards the ceiling, a loud, low moan rumbling through him.

He tries not to think about it — how fucking badly he wants to cum, fill up your pretty cunt — tries breathing, counting, squeezing his eyes shut. He forces his mind away from his orgasm, and of course it goes to you; his conscious seeks out the thread intertwining the two of you, the shared bond through the Force.

A new sensation zips through him, flitting through his thoughts, makes his brain buzz on his own skull. You sigh, moan, and he feels it, feels it against the planes of his face, feels it hum through his head like a tidal wave. Everything is so bright and electric, but there’s something there.

It’s small, tucked away, felt by numb fingers. It’s young and fleeting and yielding and disappearing melting hiding gone behind the eruption of your orgasm, and Kylo feels all of it.

In every cell in his body, he feels you clamping down on his cock, gushing, cumming all over his lap, moaning loud loud loud for him. He feels your release through you and his mind is spinning because Kriff his cock is still so full and aching as you pull away. He whines, low and pitiful.

“Go on.” His whole being hums with your voice, the pressure of the cock ring relieving into a stroke over his shaft. “Cum, Kylo.”

And he does, he fucking cums; thick spurts that touch his chin and splatter on his chest, such a big load that lands all over him. His body sags against the throne, breathing deep through chapped lips.

Fuck, maybe he blacks out for a moment, dragging his eyes open when his cloak is tossed over his lap, the fabric making his over sensitive cock twitch. When the blast doors hiss open, and troopers march in escorting Hux, Ren doesn’t move.

You briefly admire Kylo; the sweat makes his hair curl into his eyes, everything about him draped so leisurely across the ancient seat, thighs spread. The flush of his usually pale skin, little marks across his neck, make him glow. His gaze meets yours, unchanging, but curious. Hux clears his throat.

“Supreme Leader,” he acknowledges almost reverently, falling to one knee.

That something is back, scathing and scratching behind the walls of your mind, and Kylo sees it, turning to Hux slowly. “Your business here is not with me.”

You turn, and it’s now that Hux swallows thickly. At the bottom of those steps, he looks so small and scared, as he damn well should be. His back straightens when you walk forward, the troopers moving back as you approach.

“Empress,” he says lowly, far less reverently. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Something dark clouds your eyes, and Hux’s façade fades further. He reaches out, just the barest lift of his fingers, and that’s it.

Kylo’s saber flies easily from its hilt, landing in your palm, burning hot as it cuts through the air, through skin and bone, Hux’s hand falling to the floor in a sickening heap. He cries out, cradling his arm, wailing, face red. The smell of burnt flesh curls at your nose.

“If you touch another woman without her permission,” you promise, low, dark, and deadly. You put the tip of the saber beneath his trembling chin, forcing him to look at you. “I will take more than your hand.”

He nods as best he can, whispering hoarsely, “Yes, ma’am.”

What a sight to behold: an empress wielding a blade to a feral man’s throat, threatening his life with little effort and full understanding.

When Hux is half carried away on tremebling knees do you turn back to your husband. You kill the saber, slowly retuning to him, offering it for him to take. Your heart was hammering in your chest. Whether that’s from the exertion of fucking him or the adrenaline of Hux’s punishment, you weren’t sure.

Kylo’s lips remain parted, eyes wide as he pushes the saber away with the side of his pinky, his focus zeroed in on you.

“Is that what possessed you?” His voice is low, hoarse despite the way he tries to clear it. Your lip twitches and that’s all he needs to know.

He urges you forward, the Force gentle at your back, but buzzing with anticipation. You stand between his parted legs, letting his hands touch your waist, sliding up to your ribcage as he sits up. His thumbs move soothingly. He angles his head upwards, almost your height, but not quite given he’s still sitting.

He wants to say something, he should, but he’s replaying that moment in his head over and over and over until he’s dizzy with it. The power and radiance of you always left him so hard, and now was no different; with his shifting, his robe falls, revealing his cock, already flushing a deep red, precum falling from the slit.

“You are exquisite,” he breathes finally, loving the way your pupils blow wide at the sight of him. And while he doesn’t have words beyond that, your lips meet fiercely in a kiss that you both moan into, and stars he can show you just how much he needs you.

[imissjoongsmullet]

My Prince (3)

Pairing: Minghao x reader

Genre: fluff/(angst)

Summary: Life is not exactly easy being the royal gardeners’ daughter but at least it’s simple. When you’re suddenly called upon to serve as the prince’s personal servant, things get a little more than complicated, especially considering the secret history you and the prince share.

Part 1

Part 2

Warnings: general angstiness, a bit of a slow burn, very romantic, very soft, the fact that this will most likely become a long series cause I have no chill

Word Count: 3.5K

Author’s Note: it’s here finally! Sorry this took so long, (computer problems ehh) Also, I really love this series and I don’t just wanna keyboard smash it ^^ I hope this fluffy little chapter brightens your day/night ♥ to everyone supporting this, thank you, I love you!! ♥

Alsoooo any kind of feedback literally makes my day, like serotonin through the roof I’m telling you, so please feel free to let me know what you think ♥

►

You slept terribly that night. The distraught look on Minghao’s face covered the walls of your mind like some gruesome mural. It occurred to you then, that even though you saw so much of the young prince’s life, you hadn’t fully understood the weight he’d been carrying all this time. It wasn’t only the weight of his father’s expectations; it was the weight of a hole empire. Millions counted on him to be their savior. No one had ever even asked him what he wanted.

When you brought him his tea the following morning, you were all the more prudent. You opened the door noiselessly and tiptoed in. He was fast asleep. You set down your tray and began preparing the tea as you considered your next course of action. You carefully cut up the fresh herbs you’d taken from the garden before sunrise, hoping their properties might alleviate some of his stress, and added them into the mixture as well. Your eyes kept finding him in the sheets, so serene and content; so unlike him, surely, when he would wake.

Gingerly, you made your way to his bedside, small cup between your fingers.

“Your highness,” you said so softly it was nearly a whisper, though it still felt intrusive to the dead quiet of morning.

His brows furrowed but he did not wake.

“Minghao.” His name slipped out before you could catch yourself.

The prince let out a drowsy moan and shifted, pulling his sheets close to himself.

You couldn’t do it.

With a sigh, you set his tea down beside the bed and rose. You weren’t sure about the consequences of your actions but knew it was the right thing to do.

“The prince isn’t feeling well,” you explained as the emperor and his wife sat down for breakfast.

Xu Yilan looked at you in silence for a while, his eyes piercing. Then he raised his eyebrows and said in a cold voice, “very well,” before turning to his food, indicating the conversation had ended.

You spent the rest of the morning in the prince’s quarters. You remembered Minghao had told you to leave him alone but you were worried about him, so you sat in the corner of his room, doing random chores. You polished his crown and jewelry until they shone like mirrors. You folded his robes and sheets, finding you were finally starting to get better at keeping the creases out. More than often you looked toward the bed, but the prince was clearly enjoying the extra hours of sleep, for he did not rouse.

It was nearly noon when you heard movement behind you. You laid the newly folded sheets in his dresser and turned to see Minghao shift. Your heart lurched and your whole body began to prickle with nerves as you watched him slowly but surely wake up. Flustered, you bent back over your work, folding sheets in the corner on the floor as if you’d heard nothing. The rustling behind you came in bursts until it finally stopped.

“What time is it?” His voice was gravelly.

You steadied your breath before answering. “It’s noon, your highness,” you said, “I’ve alerted the emperor you’re not feeling well.” Hearing the words come out of your mouth now, you felt foolish. You hadn’t asked permission to do anything. Who knew the kind of trouble you’d thrown upon him by doing this. And the silence that followed your explanation wasn’t reassuring in the slightest.

“What did he say?” Minghao responded at last.

You turned to him, still on your knees, keeping your eyes on the floor. “Not much,” you said, “but you’re excused from activities for the time being.”

Another silence followed in which you stared at the shiny wooden floor hoping it might swallow you whole. You were so caught up in your own nerves you barely heard his response when it did come.

“Thank you.” 

You looked up at him, finding his eyes on you. He didn’t smile but there was a genuine kindness radiating from his face that made the tension ebb from your shoulders.

He let you prepare some of your fresh tea and while he drank, you hurried to the kitchens to fetch his breakfast.

“Have you eaten?” he asked as you set the tray down onto his bed.

You hadn’t; you’d forgotten all about it, worrying about him.

“Have some,” he went on, gesturing to the food, “you’ve brought far too much for me to finish by myself.”

You felt your face heat up. “I couldn’t,” you mumbled, looking away.

To your surprise, you heard him chuckle softly, “it’s really fine, don’t worry. Have some.”

Hesitating, you sat down on the edge of his bed. He slid the tray your way so it sat between the two of you.

“Here,” he said, offering you his chopsticks.

Your eyes went wide as you stared at his hands. A prince sharing his cutlery with a servant was about as unheard of as a snowstorm in July. There was no way you could let him—

Without warning, he took hold of your hand and placed the chopsticks in your palm. Then he proceeded to pick up a dumpling with his bare hand, putting it past his lips.

You were dumbfounded. You hadn’t seen him this improper since— well, since you were children. The tiniest smile crept onto your lips. You stifled it as you picked up some fried egg and allowed yourself to have breakfast with the prince.

After you were both stuffed with comforting breakfast foods he took you to the library, where he huddled over his books and you continued your search for his missing book. A Vast Unfathomable Secret, brown cover, gold foiling, lily on the cover… it was a near impossible challenge but you wanted to succeed now more than ever. You pulled out book after book in the beautiful, tall-ceilinged room, only to put them back where they came from. You were getting quite tired and your eyes hurt from peering at all those symbols you didn’t know how to read. But you kept going, knowing how much it’d mean to Minghao if you managed to locate it.

After hours of searching, much of you initial gusto had died out, buried under repeated disappointment. The sleepiness was getting to you as well; you’d woken up so early. You were so out of it, it took you a few moments of dead-eyed staring before you noticed the little flower on one of the covers. Realization hitting, you let out a tiny gasp as your fingers wrapped tight around the brown covered book.

“I—” you breathed, starting to step down the ladder, “I think I found it.”

Minghao tore his head from his book, looking to you expectantly.

“Is this it?” you asked, holding out the brown, leather thing.

He glanced at it and the momentary excitement in his eyes died out.

“That’s not the title,” he said, frowning up at you from his seat, “see?” He took the book and showed you the cover, where a string of symbols read what was apparently not A Vast Unfathomable Secret.

“I’m sorry,” you said simply, not knowing what else to say.

He continued to look at you quizzically. After a long pause he let out a long sigh. 

“you don’t know how to read.”

Embarrassment washed over you as you stood there, fumbling with your hands. “I was never taught.”

Something in him softened. “You should have said something.”

“I’m sorry,” you replied, cringing at yourself.

“Don’t apologize.” He shook his head as his eyes searched yours. “Sit down.” He gestured at the small space next to him at his table.

Without a word, you got down on your knees and sat beside him, feeling all of a sudden very hot. Minghao slid aside his own book, then opened the book you’d given him and laid it open on the table between you.

You stared at the countless symbols on the page, brain going haywire.

“It’s not that hard,” he said, small smile playing at his lips. And then he began reading out loud, his velvety voice filling the air around you. This was a children’s book, you realized; a fairytale. Your parents had told you this story when you were a child. It was about a farmer whose onions came to life and stole people’s toenails. There was a lesson in there somewhere about greed, but you didn’t really remember. Minghao read the first page, slowly, before sliding the book a bit closer to you.

You shook your head. “I can’t—”

“I’ll teach you,” he interrupted and without pause started explaining the meaning of the various symbols.

It was a slow job, and you were sure the prince had better things to do, but he sat there with you all afternoon, going over the story sentence by sentence, character by character. By the time the sun started to go down and natural light was fleeing the room, your head was drowning in new information in the best way possible. You never thought you’d be able to learn something like this.

“We should probably continue this some other time,” Minghao said, looking up at the darkening room.

You nodded, feeling a little guilty for taking up so much of his time.

“Thank you, your highness,” you said quietly.

“I’m glad to help,” he replied. Then he cast his eyes downward, thinking for a moment. “Actually, I wanted to apologize.” He sighed and looked back up at you. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you last night.”

“I—” you stuttered, “It’s okay, I understand.”

He gave a weak smile.

You could tell there was a lot going on behind those warm brown eyes of his. Part of you wanted to reach out and comfort him in some sort of way but you realized you’d have no idea where to start.

“Minghao—” you spoke up but the boy was already rising from the floor.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said.

You trailed behind him along the deck outside the library, wondering what had gotten into the young prince. He felt more like he did years ago, like a carefree boy with all the time in the world. But there was something else as well, you couldn’t help but notice. You were practically watching him bury it deeper within himself with every footstep.

“You want to go see the orchards?” he said, turning around to you with a mischievous grin.

Exhilaration rushed through you at the thought; you hadn’t visited the orchards since you’d come to the castle.

“It’s nearly time for dinner,” you said but the prince wasn’t fazed. He merely continued smiling at you and reached out his hand.

Eying him with suspicion you took his hand — a gesture that set about a million butterflies loose in your stomach.

“Come on,” he said, flinging a leg over the railing of the deck. You watched him crawl to the other side as you clung to his hand, hoping he wouldn’t loose balance and fall down to the grass below. Then he was pulling you over as well. You felt tremendously awkward in your long robes and flimsy slippers. Minghao took notice and grabbed your other hand as well, keeping you balanced until you slid to the other side right next to him.

“I used to do this a lot as a child,” he said, smiling into the evening sky.

“I can tell,” you answered unable to stifle a nervous laugh.

He looked at you, amused. “It’s not that far down,” he promised, “on three?”

You barely had the time to think for he was already counting, then taking your hand again and jumping off the deck.

The fall to the tall grass down below was soft and once your heart had calmed itself, an overwhelming glee filled you. You were out.

Minghao pulled you up by the hands, laughing. “See? It’s not so scary.”

You walked through the unruly grass until it gave out to a large row of bushes. You slid between the branches, trying not to rip your clothes, finally entering the vast area that was the royal gardens. From there, you knew exactly where to go. You walked up a naturally pebbled path, over the wooden bridge of a narrow stream, through the famous rose gardens, until you reached the start of the apple orchard. It looked enchanted in the full moonlight, the ripe apples near glistening on the trees. You felt yourself relax in their presence.

“Dinner is served,” Minghao said, strolling up to the first tree and pulling a perfectly round apple from its branches. He bit into its flesh, the sound of it’s crisp juiciness penetrating the night’s quiet.

You walked up beside him, taking an apple for yourself. The moment your teeth dug into the fruit, you remembered the countless times you’d done this, back when you tended the gardens on a daily basis. The joy of picking your food right from nature’s generous hands overwhelmed you. In the last few months you’d nearly forgotten all about it. So much had changed.

Minghao was already sauntering through the trees towards what you knew was the orange trees. He’d always liked those best. You followed him up the small slope and around a bend where about a dozen trees stood in a circle. It was easy to hide away here.

He threw you an orange and immediately continued picking more for himself. You waited for him in the center of the clearing, smiling when he finally joined you, carrying a hefty amount of fruit in his arms.

You spent a good part of night there, between the trees. You sat, peeling and sharing oranges, gazing up at the sky and recollecting stories of times long past. The whole thing felt like a dream, too good to be true. It felt like a big, fat rock had been plunged into the lake that was your feelings for Minghao, sending the water flying everywhere. His smile made you deliciously lightheaded and his laugh had you feeling like you wouldn’t feel an ounce of sadness ever again. You wanted nothing but to spend more time with him. You knew it was a path destined to lead to destruction but you shut out those thoughts stubbornly because every time the prince looked your way the stars came out inside of you, lighting you up from within.

The days of summer seemed endless. They belonged to you and the prince alone. Minghao was still avoiding his parents and determent to spend most of his time with you, either in the library, teaching you to read, in his quarters, having dinner in bed, or in the extensive gardens, where you could hide away from everyone. You did hear words of concern here and there. The maids whispered amongst themselves when you walked by and Tou Ma had even ordered you to talk some sense into the prince. But no matter how good of a point the head servant made, you refused to take in the advice.

“—and his toenails had disap—”

“—disappeared,” Minghao completed your sentence, index finger underlining the text.

You exhaled and shifted on your little floor cushion next to him. “It’s hard.”

“You must be tired. Let’s end it here for now,” he said, breaking out into a sheepish smile, “sorry, I tend to get carried away with books.”

“I know,” you said, glancing his way. You loved way he immersed himself in his books. It had always fascinated you, especially considering how foreign the idea of reading had always been for you. The fact that he was sharing something so dear to him meant more to you than you’d ever admit to his face.

“Why do you love it so much?” you asked out of the blue.

Minghao scrunched up his nose in thought. “Reading? I don’t know.” He closed the book, letting his fingers graze it’s sot leather cover. “I suppose it’s a way for me to travel outside the castle, to do different things, be different things.” His eyes narrowed as he let silence take over again.

You nodded, letting the information sink in. You felt an overwhelming urge to put your arm around him, to lay your head on his shoulder, but you just sat there, picking at your nails under the low table. You wanted to ask him more about the kind of traveling he’d like to do but, here too, your bravery failed you. In the end, you decided to ask him a different question entirely; one you’d been meaning to ask for weeks.

“What’s A Vast Unfathomable Secret about?”

He clearly hadn’t expected the question.

“Nothing,” he answered at last with a wave of his hand.

“Nothing?”

“Yes, nothing.”

You eyed him shiftily. “But it’s important?”

“It’s important.”

A chuckle escaped your lips.

“Don’t laugh,” he said with feigned disdain, “you’re making a fool of a royal.”

His fake-proper tone only made you laugh more.

“Oh I’m quite serious,” he went on smirking and pointing a finger at you.

“Uhuh, yeah I’m listening,” you giggled, nearly falling over on your cushion.

He reached out and took your wrists, trying to still you. “I could have you executed for treason.”

“Oh no!” you let out before breaking out into another fit of laughter that sent you both to the floor.

For a moment he was unbelievably close, hovering over you, laughing. But the next, his eyes went wide and he pulled away, scrambling up and starting to clear up the table without another word.

That evening, he took you or a short stroll around the gardens, where you picked as many pears as you could carry, and headed for his room. He ate as you finished up some of the chores you’d been procrastinating. You hurriedly dusted his entire quarters, knowing Tou Ma was notorious for random check ups of your work. After that, you rearranged the items on his desk, refilled his ink bottle, cleaned his brushes and finally put away his fresh laundry. The sun was well on its way down by the time you finished. All the while you’d felt his eyes on him.

You’d been talking of random things, keeping the conversation light, but your mind was esewhere. Your mind was still in the library where his lips had been so close to touching yours. It was hard to focus on anything when all you saw was his perfect face hovered over you.

“I should go,” you said as you closed his closet doors, knowing you probably wouldn’t be able to sleep anyways. You put on your slippers and headed for the door.

“Wait—” you heard him say, followed by his muffled feet on the wooden floor. You turned around just before reaching the door, finding Minghao looking gingerly at you.

“Um,” he started and it occurred to you just how different he felt from when you first became his servant. You thought for a second he would continue to stare at you forever, eyes swimming with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Here,” he said at last, holding up another pear timidly, “you should eat.”

The pear sat perfectly between you, the only thing separating you from one another. Once again, the closeness of it all flooded you and you found no voice to answer him with. Slowly, you reached up and wrapped your hand around the fruit, fingers brushing his in a way that was so paralyzing you thought you’d never come to your senses. You heard him say your name; a soft whisper from his lips. You looked up at him, startled to see he was just as zoned out as you were, like he wanted to say something but had no idea of where to begin.

Then out of nowhere his hand let go of the pear, letting it tumble between your feet so it could hold your hand instead. His fingers were so warm and soft yet slightly apprehensive in their touch.

Your lips parted as you stared down at the space between you, where the bruised pear now lay.

“Minghao—”

Just then, there was a loud knock on the doors. The both of you jumped; Minghao never had visitors.

The prince opened up as you took a few steps back, blending in with the walls as a servant should.

“You’re expected in the conference hall,” the broad-shouldered guard said coldly, “immediately.”

“It’s night time, can’t this—” Minghao started but the guard wasn’t having any of it.

“It’s urgent.”

You watched the dread wash over the prince as reality sank in. Without another word, he followed the guard out and all you could do was trail behind him, hoping for the best.

Part 1

Part 2

[andorerso]

I have a rebelcaptain prompt for you if you wish to take it: Pirates (You can use it any way you want, feks the gang dresses up as a pirate crew, or that they are pirates)

Thanks so much for the prompt! I wasn’t gonna write anything for Halloween but it really inspired me. I'm really not a pirate person though, so I don't have a lot of knowledge about... pirate stuff, I guess. Basically, I just based the setting on my memories of playing Assassin's Creed: Black Flag. Italics are flashbacks, the rest is present day. Hope you enjoy and happy Halloween, guys! :)

She’s close, after all this time, she’s finally close to finding the goblet. She can taste it in the air, in the saltiness of the water; something is coming, something is changing.

Bodhi says, as he’s been saying for years, that she should forget about it. Move on and pillage other ships like normal pirates do. But how could she? She’s spent the last nine years looking for Captain Skywalker’s chest and she can’t give up before the finish line. No matter how dangerous it gets.

Bodhi, bless his heart, is just a little superstitious. Most pirates are, to be honest.

“It’s haunted,” he often warns her.

“I’ve heard,” Jyn responds every time.

It doesn’t scare her. She’s haunted too, has been her whole life, and she’s managed just fine so far. A few more ghosts won’t bother her. It’s the absence of them that might.

Jyn stands barefoot in the sand at sunrise, watching the waves crash against the bank. The early morning sun paints everything in a lovely shade of pink and gold, its warm rays like gentle fingertips across her skin, the soft breeze caressing her body. Nothing exists but her and the water – and memories long-gone of a life she never truly got to live.

She’s buried them all at sea, and times like these are when she feels most connected to her dead, each of them waiting below the surface. She feels almost as if they’re calling out to her from the deep, asking her to join them.

She couldn’t, not yet, but when the time was right, she would walk into the sea and disappear for good. Let the waves claim her body, let her become a part of them forever. It’s a peaceful thought. She’s always belonged to the sea, and she belongs with the rest of them, the ones that the water has already claimed for itself. It’s home to her, and home is calling her back.

For now, she settles for the sunrise. Just take a moment and watch the sunrise, a voice whispers in her ear, in her memories. Just come watch the sunrise with me, Jyn. Come on and be with me. You’ll have time for sparring later.

Jyn lets out a quiet breath and kneels next to the bank, her fingers grazing the water as if touching skin she’s once worshipped, as if reaching for a lover she’s once had. It’s a connection between them, this water. A link to him, a link to the past, a link between her and wherever he is now. Somewhere peaceful, she hopes.

A soft but sad smile tugs at her lips. “This one’s for you, my love.”

Jyn sits in a seedy tavern in Havana, eyeing Captain Andor with suspicion and a glare that screams, ‘try me and see what I can do.’ She has a hand on her knife in her pocket, the other lazily resting on the pistol in her holster. It’s an open warning, almost a challenge, but Captain Andor doesn’t rise to the bait.

If anything, he seems unbothered. Almost frustratingly calm.

Jyn would think that’s foolish or cocky, or perhaps he’s underestimating her simply because she’s a woman; but somehow, she doesn’t believe this is the case. There’s something about him that’s genuine. It’s not cockiness, she thinks, it’s confidence – and his confidence is earned.

He’s a dangerous man if the stories are true, but she’s a dangerous woman herself. If they could learn to trust each other, there would be no one better to find the hidden treasure of Captain Skywalker than the two of them.

The trust part, she’s not good with. But although she’s not sure yet what to make of the man in front of her, she’s willing to see if it works out in her favor.

“The goblet is haunted,” he comments lazily, though he doesn’t sound like he believes it. Jyn raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve heard.” Her tone is dismissive.

“According to legend, it brings back the dead you’ve lost,” he continues. “You find it and it gives them back to you.” A wry smile twists on his lips. “But then they will drag you down to hell with them.”

Jyn holds back a bitter laugh. How many times has she heard that story? How many times has her father conveniently forgot about the last part? How many times has she been left at strange ports with strange people while he went on his wild adventures to find the goblet that would bring back her dead mother? Her father had been a man of science once, but the loss of his wife weighed heavily on him, and sinister voices whispering in his ear convinced him that finding the goblet was a way to make their family whole again.

In truth, Orson Krennic was probably just a money-hungry, cruel, and bored aristocrat who had nothing better to do than manipulate vulnerable men into doing the dirty work for him. Jyn resents both him and her father for that.

No, she doesn’t want the goblet to bring back dead people from the grave. She doesn’t believe in those childish stories anymore. She wants the goblet to sell it.

And she wants it to prove that she could do it. Do what her father couldn’t. Finish what he started.

But she isn’t about to share that with Captain Andor.

“It’s a golden goblet with ruby stones. It’s just money.” She pauses, shrugging her shoulders. “And the legends make it easier to sell. What naïve and wealthy widow wouldn’t want a relic that brings back their beloved spouse?”

Captain Andor’s lips quirk up, barely noticeable. “If you leave out the part about being dragged to hell.”

Jyn finally lets go of her pistol and reaches for the jug of beer on the table. “I find that part,” she begins, her tone conversational, “is very easy to forget.”

This is the one.

Jyn knows in her heart that she’s found it. The island is unmarked on any maps, and the entrance to the cave is underwater, hidden by seaweed and algae. Her lungs burn when she breaks surface, gasping for breath as she pulls herself up to the cave floor.

This is the one.

It sings in her veins, pulses through her body. She’s going to find it, finally, the goblet, the treasure – everything she’s been looking for in the past nine years.

“It’s haunted,” Bodhi’s voice echoes in her mind.

Jyn stands, undeterred, and marches forward to the heart of the cave.

She hopes it is.

Jyn glares menacingly at the cruel-faced guard as he opens her cage and walks towards her. Her hands might be shackled but she has a mean kick, and if he tries anything –

To her surprise, the man reaches for the chains behind her and unlocks her hands. They clatter to the floor with a loud noise, but Jyn continues glaring at the guard in suspicion.

“You’re free to go,” he grunts.

“What?” She doesn’t trust this one bit.

Where’s the catch? Henry ‘Scar Face’ Whitlock is not known for his mercy. She stole his goods, blew up one of his (smaller) ships, and stabbed three of his crew members. One of them bled out. Another lost an arm.

She expected to be hanged or quartered for it – made an example, for certain.

He can’t just be letting her go now. It has to be a trap.

But what would he gain from such a lie?

“Move,” the guard says and gives her an unnecessarily forceful shove that sends her flying against the walls of the cage. If it wasn’t for the small chance that she was about to walk out of here scot-free, she would have kicked his legs out for that.

But if she’s really free… could it be true?

As she gets up and uncertainly walks up to the main deck, she half expects to be stabbed in the back. It’s just too easy – but she can’t figure out why they would trick her like this when they could just tie stones to her feet and throw her overboard. It’s only when she sees Cassian waiting for her next to Captain Whitlock that the situation begins to dawn on her.

He’s saved her somehow. Of course he has.

For a wild second, she thinks he traded himself for her – he would be entirely capable of it, but where’s the profit in that for Whitlock? He has no grudge against Cassian, only against her, and she can’t see why he would accept such a deal unless he realized that Cassian’s death would be a greater punishment than her own.

But she’s not that transparent yet. She thinks.

She hopes.

Then Whitlock gives her a foul grimace that says he would still very much kill her if he could, and gestures, with some reluctance, towards the ramp leading to the harbor.

“Get out of my sight, Erso. And don’t fuck with me or my crew again, or even your captain won’t be able to save you next time.”

Jyn doesn’t say anything until they reach the shore safely, burning with a thousand questions. A part of her still expects them to be ambushed at the last minute, but Whitlock and his crew watch in silence as they walk off the ramp and disappear into the night. How Cassian managed to pull it off is beyond her, but if anyone could, it would be him.

When they’re an appropriate distance away, Jyn can’t hold herself back anymore. She stops and rounds on Cassian, eyes wide and demanding.

“What did you give him?” she asks because if she’s sure of one thing, it’s that Whitlock didn’t just let her go for free.

Cassian lets out a quiet sigh and shrugs. His eyes, glowing in the soft light of the moon, won’t quite meet hers. There’s something strange about him. Like he’s trying desperately to underplay it.

Which doesn’t bode well for them. Jyn’s heart lurches – what the hell did he do?

“I gave him my ship,” Cassian admits quietly. For a moment, Jyn hears nothing but the song of the cicadas as she tries to process this information.

“You gave him your ship?” she echoes, breathless and eyes wide.

“Yes,” he confirms, very even, very steady.

“Cassian,” she begins, her words slow as if she was talking to a child, “captains need a ship. We need a ship. Where are we going to get a new one? We don’t have that kind of money! What about the crew? Kay is going to kill you –”

“Jyn, he had you,” he cuts her off, his tone leaving no room for argument. As if that trumped everything else. Jyn blinks at him in shock, half delirious with – with –

“You’re crazy,” she breathes in awe. She can’t take her eyes off him. Nobody has ever…

Nobody has felt – nobody has done –

Nobody has made her feel like this before. Like she matters. Like she’s loved.

“You treated your ship for me?” she asks, half laughing, hardly daring to believe it.

Cassian shrugs again, but there’s a smile on his lips, a smile just for her. It’s small and kind and full of devotion.

“It’s just a ship. What kind of captain would I be if I let my first mate die?”

“You’re crazy,” she laughs again, and that same second, impulsively, springs forward to kiss him. It’s been a long time coming, she thinks as Cassian kisses her back without hesitation, his hands tangling in her hair. Two years of working together, two years of building a relationship that couldn’t be betrayed, couldn’t be replaced. Jyn doesn’t remember a time that his presence didn’t leave her breathless, that a soft comforting touch on her shoulder didn’t make her long for more. Maybe in those first few days, in the beginning – but quickly, very quickly, he became everything to her, and she could never go on without him.

It’s been a long time coming, yes. And now she’s going to enjoy it.

It doesn’t bring her peace.

She didn’t think it would. But she thought it would give her satisfaction, at least. Look, Krennic, I got your little treasure. Look, Papa, I finished what you started. Look, Cassian, I did this for you. For us.

But it’s just… underwhelming. She can’t even bring herself to sell it. It would be worth more than the rest of the treasure combined, but she stares at it in her cabin during the night and she can’t sell it.

What use is it? Nothing would bring them back, bring him back. The money she’d get from the goblet, it’d just feel tainted, wrong. Blood money.

Maybe she’s irrationally attached but who can blame her? Her father spent half his life looking for the damned thing until a storm swallowed his ship whole and he was never heard from again. His obsession with the goblet had killed him and Jyn had hated it then, hated it more than ever, but still, she’d become similarly obsessed. Just to prove something.

And then it brought her Cassian. It gave her something after it took so much. The years they spent looking for it together, that was her treasure.

And now that he’s gone, she can’t relinquish it. If she does, what else is left of them? Only her memories – and memories rot.

Jyn sighs under her breath, sitting at a corner table of an inn with Bodhi, drumming her fingers on the wood as she stares out of her head. What is she meant to do now?

Bodhi watches her in silence for several minutes and Jyn is distantly aware that he seems contemplative, but she’s too lost in her own head to question it. Eventually, he lifts a hand to still her fingers.

“Liana,” he begins, and Jyn’s eyes snap to his. Bodhi is a good man and she trusts him more than she trusts anyone else, but even he doesn’t know her real name. It’s just easier this way – Jyn Erso dropped off the face of the earth five years ago, and she had to stay gone. But she thinks Bodhi has always known it’s not her true name, and he doesn’t mind. “Have you noticed anything weird since?”

She rolls her eyes and begins drumming her fingers again. “Don’t start, Bodhi. I’m not haunted.”

“I’m just asking. You should really sell it.”

She knows why he’s saying that. The legends, of course. Whoever is in possession of the goblet will be dragged to hell by their dead loved ones. Well, she’s been the proud owner for a few days now and she’s seen no signs of ghosts and no signs of hellfire. But if any is yet to come, Jyn is sure it’ll be entertaining.

“I can’t.”

“Isn’t that why you wanted it?”

“Yes,” she says, then stops. “No.”

“I don’t understand you sometimes.”

Jyn snorts, looking away. “I don’t understand me sometimes.”

And that should be the end of it. Jyn with her goblet and her money and the lack of purpose in her life now.

But fate has a different plan for her. And maybe she is fucking haunted.

Because when her gaze sweeps over the tavern, she swears she sees a familiar face push through the crowd and disappear out into the night.

Jyn stares at the door for long a time, frozen in place, her heartbeat running wild in her chest. The white noise in her head blocks out everything else. She thinks Bodhi might be calling her name, asking if she’s okay, but she can’t answer, can’t even turn her head to look at him. She stands on trembling legs, her body carrying her towards the doors – and then she’s running, taking off in the direction that she saw him heading.

The streets are dark and deserted. Only the sound of waves and the singing of cicadas break the silence. She looks around wildly, looking for a retreating shadow in the night or perhaps the sound of footsteps nearby, but there’s nothing. Nothing but the wind and her loudly beating heart.

She couldn’t have… did she imagine it? Perhaps she had too much to drink, Bodhi stuffing her head with his nonsense, but she could have sworn…

Jyn shakes her head, trying to let the fresh air clear her hazy mind of these childish thoughts. Bodhi is panting behind her, calling her name, her fake name, and Jyn finally turns to look at him, seeing his wide eyes filled with worry.

“Are you okay?”

Jyn gives a sharp nod, trying to ignore the wild beating of her heart. Better not to plague Bodhi with her hallucinations, he’s worried enough about her as it is. No need to fuel the fire.

“Just thought I saw someone who owes me some money,” she lies, ignoring the skeptical look he gives her. “It’s not a big deal.”

It can’t be.

She would be very cross with Cassian if he was really here to drag her to hell.

Cassian’s fingers are soft on her cheek, stroking her skin, carding through her hair. Her own hand rests on his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady under her palm. They’ve been silent for minutes but she hasn’t stopped looking at him, couldn’t stop touching him. She’s never felt intimacy like this before. Like someone could look at you, see your soul, see all the darkness and pain that you hide inside, and still choose to stay. Still decide that you’re worth the trouble.

She’s naked in front of him in more ways than one and she’s never thought it would feel so wonderful. So freeing.

Cassian has taught her a lot more than just love.

“Did you think we’d end up here when we first met?” she wonders, her tone quiet, matching the tranquility between them. Cassian chuckles.

“I thought you’d kill me in my sleep one day.”

She scoffs at that. “You didn’t seem afraid.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Hmpf. So ready to throw yourself at death’s door. You know, I actually thought you might have traded yourself for me.”

“I would have,” he admits, honest as always. “If that’s what it took. But not unless there’s no other choice.” His eyes bore into hers, dark and deep and almost frightening in its intensity. Her heart beats a little faster at the sight. “I don’t want to leave you behind.”

She swallows. “Please don’t.”

Cassian strokes her cheek, a gentle smile on his lips.

“I love you.”

It’s not a promise but it’s enough. Jyn beams back at him.

“I love you too.”

Who cares about the stupid goblet as long as she has him?

Jyn wakes to the sound of music in the middle of the night. For a second, her mind is pleasantly blank, merely enjoying the soft melody filtering through the window of her room.

Then she thinks:

Cassian. Cassian used to play like that.

And then:

Cassian is gone.

Blinking herself awake, Jyn sits up in bed. Her eyes dart around the room she’s rented for the night but nothing seems amiss. Her hand hovers above the lantern on the nightstand but a strange irrational part of her doesn’t want to draw attention to herself. She blames Bodhi for that.

His words, and Cassian’s, ring in her mind.

It’s haunted.

You find it and it gives them back to you. But then they will drag you down to hell with them.

Thinking about the sighting of Cassian from earlier, she gets out of bed and ambles to the window. The curtains are drawn and her fingers hover above the fabric, hesitant, somehow, to withdraw them. She’s trembling.

Jyn takes a deep breath and pulls back the curtains.

Cassian sits on a bench on the street, his eyes trained on his banjo. Jyn gasps in shock and reels back from the window like she’s been burned. He seems… so real. Sitting there, his fingers flying over the instrument, playing some slow, sorrowful melody that tugs at her heartstrings. A song of lost love.

He’s come for her after all.

Frozen on the spot, her breathing harsh and gasping, all she can do is watch as he plays his banjo. He never takes off his eyes the instrument and he doesn’t seem to notice her. Her room is on the second floor so she has a perfect view of him sitting outside, illuminated by the moonlight, while she remains shrouded in the darkness of her room.

But if he’s come for her… surely, he knows she’s here.

Jyn’s legs give out, and she sits under her window, pressing herself tightly against the wall to just… listen. She listens to his song. Listens to the melody, haunting and beautiful, like he is himself. Every sound, every note pulls at her heartstrings. A song for the lost and the dead.

And Jyn sobs. For him and for herself, for her parents, for everyone she’s ever lost. She sobs, quiet and gasping, until she has no more tears left, lulled back to sleep on the floor by the melancholy tune that Cassian’s ghost is playing.

Cassian comes to her in a dream. It’s a familiar one; one she’s seen many times before, and one she will see many times more. He’s not dead and not alive – he’s a revenant and he’s hers, just for tonight, until dawn breaks and morning takes him away.

But he’s different this time. Sturdier, steadier. Buzzing with a kind of unquiet energy that she’s not used to. Like he’s waiting for something. Jyn doesn’t want to mention it, their stolen moments together too precious to tarnish, but it weighs her mind with questions.

When their time comes and he gets up and heads to the door, she reaches after him. She does this on every occasion, tries to convince him to stay, tries to forcibly, physically make him stay – but her words are different this time, her desperation becoming an inferno, and his response is a mystery.

“Cassian,” she calls out to him, struggling to sit up and catch his arm. He’s already at the doorway, between life and death, between her and the sea, looking back at her and hesitating. “Don’t go. How could I live in a world where you don’t?”

He takes a step through the door, where nothing but the empty awaits him and gives her the strangest of smiles. “It’s almost time, my love. Almost time.”

“I think I’m haunted,” Jyn admits to Bodhi the next day, and he gives her a hard look. She thinks it’s the tone of her voice, sad and defeated, that stops him from telling her “I told you so.”

“What happened?” he asks instead, and Jyn shrugs, eyes downcast, looking at the mug on the table, the tea untouched and growing cold.

“I saw… someone,” Jyn admits slowly, pausing before she adds, “Him.”

Bodhi never had the chance to know Cassian. She met him after Cassian was already… gone. He knows a little about him; she’s admitted to having a dead lover in her weaker drunken moments, but she’s never talked about him much. Jyn always has preferred to live in denial, and Bodhi knows better than to ask.

Still, she knows with the way she says it, the way she gives him a meaningful look, that he knows who she’s talking about.

“I think he’s come for me.” She pauses, a bitter laugh escaping her mouth. “It makes sense. The goblet always was our adventure. It’s how we met, you know.”

The look Bodhi gives her is a mix of pity and worry. Jyn is uncomfortable with both, even though she knows he means well. Luckily, he doesn’t try to say anything stupidly comforting like “I’m sorry” or “it’s all going to be okay” because he knows her better than that, and he knows she might punch him in the mouth for it.

Instead, he looks her in the eye and tells her, “You should really get rid of it, Li. Before it’s too late.”

Jyn nods. She knows he’s right.

But some part of her is not ready to let go yet.

It takes less than an hour for everything to change.

Jyn wakes up that day like usual in the captain’s cabin she now she shares with Cassian and goes to sleep that night in a holding cage of a navy ship, alone in the world once again.

Krennic has a personal grudge. And so does she. So naturally, she can’t resist the opportunity to raid his ship, steal his cargo, and leave him wounded and nursing a broken ego.

In hindsight, she should have killed him then. But she thought the humiliation would be a more suitable punishment.

Six months later, he comes back with a vengeance and a small navy fleet, blowing a hole through their ship with his cannonballs. They fight valiantly when his crew boards their slowly sinking ship, but it’s a lost cause – Jyn knows it’s a lost cause, Cassian knows it’s a lost cause, and Krennic, especially, knows it’s a lost cause. He seems very pleased with himself too, and Jyn would punch the smirk right off his stupid smug face if her hands weren’t bound behind her back by one of his henchmen.

“Well, well, well. Didn’t think I’d catch up to you, did you?” Orson Krennic asks, strutting in front of her like a peacock, hands clasped behind his back. Jyn spits in his face.

Krennic blinks once, twice, before he slowly wipes at his eyes with a headkerchief he produces from his breast pocket. The backhanded slap he gives her stings, sending her sprawling to the floor.

“You touch her again,” Cassian growls, straining against the guards holding him back, “and I’ll break every bone in your hand one by one.”

The glance Krennic gives him is dismissive, like Cassian isn’t even worth the time to look at. He gestures to the guards next to Jyn who haul her back to her feet. She stands proud, chin high, glaring at him even as her hands are tied behind her back. His ring has left a mark but she’ll be damned if she’ll let him humble her.

“Very feisty, aren’t you? I wonder if you’ll keep the same attitude once I have you locked away in Wobani for life.”

Jyn doesn’t react outwardly but her heart beats faster. Wobani is infamous for its cruelty and inhumane methods. Nobody leaves, not unless they’re dead. Only the worst of the worst, the most dangerous criminals end up there.

She supposes she belongs among them.

Another gesture from Krennic and the guards haul her towards the railing to transport her to Krennic’s ship. Stardust is slowly sinking and she knows it’s the least of her worries, as most of her crewmates lay dead at her feet, as Kay lays dead at her feet, but her heart aches at the sight. They’ve bought this ship together, Cassian and she, after he gave away his old one to Whitlock. It’s theirs. And it hurts to see it go down.

“What about him?” asks one of the guards holding Cassian.

“Leave him,” Krennic answers easily, a sick sort of smugness in his voice. “Let him go down with his ship, as all good captains do.”

“No!” Jyn shouts, struggling against her captors harder. She shouldn’t give away her weakness – she knows, she knows she shouldn’t give him ammunition – but Krennic has made up his mind anyway, so what difference does it make?

Too upset to think rationally, she begs him. “Don’t do this. He’s worth a lot more to you alive. He has a bounty on his head higher than mine.”

“I don’t need the money, you silly little girl,” he tells her, dismissive. “I just want you put away for good.”

“No!”

Jyn continues struggling as she’s dragged away, followed by Krennic and his guards. She watches the men holding Cassian tie him to the mainmast, making sure he can’t escape, before joining the rest of them. Krennic’s ship pulls farther away and Stardust sinks lower and lower into the ocean, but her gaze never leaves Cassian as long as she still sees him.

His eyes are regretful, apologetic. He looks resigned to his fate, a man who’s more concerned about leaving his lover behind than dying. Jyn knows he remembers their conversation in bed just as much as she does.

I don’t want to leave you behind.

Please don’t.

She watches until she can’t see him anymore, until he’s just a dot on a faraway slowly sinking ship. And Krennic, perhaps to drive the nail home, fires once again.

Stardust goes up in flames, pieces of wood scattering into the ocean, the mainmast falling with a loud splash. It takes a second and it’s all gone.

Jyn wails until she no longer has a voice. That night, a part of her too is gone.

She can’t bring herself to sell it so she settles for a compromise. She’s going to return it to the cave where it belongs, let some other poor clown find it if they can. It was never meant to be hers, never meant to be anyone’s, perhaps, but everyone has to learn from their own mistakes.

It should be fine, except the cave is gone. Which is ridiculous because she found it not even five days ago and it was here, she could have sworn the entrance was here, but somehow, she got lost or confused and disoriented, and the damn cave is gone. She dives underwater looking for the entrance several times, resurfacing periodically to catch her breath. All the while, the goblet weighs heavily in her hand, almost like –

It’s a stupid thought, but it’s almost like it’s trying to drag her down. Down into the deep where Cassian awaits her. And the more time that passes, the more she feels like this was a bad idea. She should have told Bodhi where she went, she should have brought him with her – she should just go back and sell the damn thing, but when she looks around, all she can see is water and water and more water. When did those dark clouds roll in? How could she have not noticed a storm approaching?

As soon as she realizes what’s happening, it’s like the sea comes alive around her. Jyn knows she’s in trouble. The waves toss her around like a ragdoll as she fights to stay above water. It keeps pulling her under, spraying saltwater in her eyes and mouth as she gasps for air and moves her limbs desperately to try and find land. She’s an excellent swimmer, but nobody can win against a storm.

She’s not sure how long she fights against the waves, but she’s getting exhausted. Her legs feel heavy, and it’s harder every time to push back to the surface when she goes under. The goblet weighs her down – distantly, she realizes she’s still holding it but she can’t make her fingers let go. Her strength is fading and still, her fingers remain locked tightly around its hilt like they have been welded together.

Then she hears it. Jyn! A voice calling her name, loud and desperate, a voice that sounds like…

Cassian. He finally called out to her.

She sees him in the distance before she goes under, blurry like a mirage. She knows why he’s here. It’d be so easy to join him, she realizes as the water engulfs her again. So easy to let go. Maybe it’s time, she thinks, and her fingers finally loosen around the goblet.

I’m coming, my love.

And just as she’s about to sink down into the deep, a hand seizes hers and drags her up, above the surface where she gasps and takes in large gulping breaths, coughing up water from her throat. Her lungs burn and her head feels dizzy, her vision blurry and darkening. But she can still make out Cassian’s face above her, staring at her with what seems like worry and relief at the same time.

“Are you here to take me with you?” she breathes, half resigned to her fate. She doesn’t hear his answer, if there is one, and she falls under with the comfort that at least her last moments were spent in the embrace of Cassian.

Jyn spends four months at Wobani before she and a couple of inmates manage to escape during a riot. The news spread quickly, causing unrest across every island from there to Havana. Nobody escapes Wobani, but they do and that doesn’t sit right with anyone. The people are scared, the authorities under pressure; there’s a massive search on every port across the Caribbean Sea. It means Jyn Erso must disappear. For good.

She takes on the name of Kestrel Dawn and returns to the place where she’s last seen Cassian alive. It’s the only thing she can think to do – he’s gone, Stardust is gone, Kay is gone, and the only person left alive who knows that a man named Cassian Andor once existed is her. It’s not enough, but as she stands on the beach at sunrise and places a bouquet of wildflowers on the water, she feels it counts for something.

It’s there, somewhere in the sea, that he lies at the bottom, waiting for her. As she looks out at the never-ending body of water, she feels a calm wash over her. He’s one with the sea now, everywhere, all around her, always with her.

The waves lap at her bare feet, the tide rising higher and more insistent. She feels like it’s trying to tell her something, trying to call her home.

She smiles, taking a deep breath. “Not yet, my love. Not yet.”

Jyn wakes up in her cabin and for a moment, all is normal. It takes a second to remember the storm, her losing battle against the waves, and… Cassian.

She sits up slowly, and Bodhi is suddenly by her side, pulling the blanket higher up her body like a worried mother hen.

“Thank god you’re awake! How are you feeling? You gave us quite the scare, Li,” he says all in one breath, and barely stops before adding. “Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”

“I…” She squints, still a bit disoriented, staring off into space as memories slowly trickle in. She turns her head towards Bodhi, a realization sitting on her tongue. “I think he saved me.” Tears fill her eyes, too emotional to hide them. “He wasn’t here to take me with him, he was here to save me.”

She believed the legends, she’d given into thinking that he was here to drag her down. Appropriate revenge for a man who had been sacrificed like that for no good reason at all.

But that wasn’t Cassian, it couldn’t be. He’d never harm her, and he didn’t – not even in death. He wasn’t her grim reaper, he was her guardian angel.

“Liana,” Bodhi begins slowly, then awkwardly trails off. She can tell he’s not quite sure how to say what he wants to say.

“What?”

“I did save you,” says a voice from the doorway, and she knows who it belongs to even before she turns her head. Heartbeat in her throat, she lifts her head towards him, slowly, half-afraid that she’s not going to find anyone standing there.

But there he is. Leaning against the doorframe in all his glory, brown leather pants, and a loosely tied white shirt hanging from his frame, dark strands of hair curling against his neck. It’s longer than in her memories, and he’s thinner, too – too thin.

But he doesn’t seem so ghostly in the daylight, with the sun behind his back, and Bodhi looking at him too. He seems quite real, in fact. A gasp is stuck in her throat, her mouth dry at the sight of him. How is it possible…

When her gaze finally meets his, he seems just as shaken, awed, disbelieving. Jyn sits up fully, unable to look away as she methodically moves her legs off the bed. His eyes are misty and his hands are trembling a bit – but god, the way he looks at her… it’s the look of a man finding shelter in the middle of a storm.

He used to look at her like that in their private moments – when he was inside her, when they were in bed basking in the afterglow, when she cut down enemies with a single swipe of her sword before he even lifted his pistol.

It’s that look, more than anything, that convinces her this is real.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she says at last, the only thing she can think to say. How are you not dead? Where were you?

“I’ll leave you two be,” Bodhi says. Shamefully, she’s forgotten he’s even in the room. He squeezes her shoulder in comfort before he goes, and she watches him give Cassian a small but encouraging smile as he passes him.

Once he’s gone, Cassian clears his throat. His gaze finally drops, the loss of its intensity making her chest tighten.

“I did save you,” he repeats, his voice rough with emotion. “I saw someone in the water. I didn’t realize it was you until… I was looking for the goblet.”

“I don’t understand,” Jyn gasps, shocked at how high her own voice sounds. She can’t swallow around the ball lodged in her throat.

“I’m not a ghost. I’m not dead, I never was.”

He still hasn’t moved from the doorway, almost like he’s too afraid to come closer. Jyn’s hand tightens around the bed frame.

“I saw the ship sink.”

“It did. And I almost drowned,” Cassian admits, his voice strained. The small laugh he lets out is humorless. “I don’t know how I survived, I really don’t. I guess I was just lucky that those idiots didn’t tie my hands well enough and I was able to break free before the last cannon hit the ship. I don’t remember much after that. I grabbed a plank floating in the water, just trying to hold on. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever make it to land, I must have been out there for days. I was trying so hard not to give up… for you. I had to make it back to you. But I was getting so tired. Eventually, I just…”

He shrugs, a small defeated gesture. His eyes drop to the floor, his shoulders hunched. He looks guilty, ashamed, and Jyn wants to get up, gather him in her arms and never let go, but she has to hear the rest of his story.

“I was washed ashore the next day, barely alive. It was a small remote island, no cities, no villages, no ships. No one lived there. I had no way back home. I was stranded there... for five years.”

He lifts his head up, and the despair she finds in his eyes almost has her doubling over.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again,” he admits, small and heart-wrenching. Jyn closes her eyes, letting her tears run down her face and onto her lap.

“And then?” she croaks, her voice trembling.

“A merchant ship came by about three months ago. They took me back, brought me to Havana. I tried to look for you. I heard you escaped Wobani, but I couldn’t… well, there were no more mentions of Jyn Erso after that. No word of you for five years. I figured you had gone into hiding but I didn’t know how to find you. All I could think to do was… find the goblet.”

A sad smile plays on his lips, his eyes glassy.

“But you found it first. And I found you.”

Jyn takes in a shuddering breath, her whole body trembling.

“It’s gone. I think I let go of it in the water.”

“Good,” he breathes. His eyes find hers again, looking for a sign, an answer. When Jyn gives it to him, inclining her head just so, he cuts across the room in long strides and kneels in front of her. His tear-stained cheeks now match hers.

Tentatively, he takes hold of her hands, and a small desperate sound escapes her mouth at the touch. Her eyes flutter shut when his other hand reaches up to cup her cheek, trembling as she presses her face against his palm.

“Jyn,” he begins, voice hoarse. She can hear the fear in his tone. “Do you still…”

“I do,” she breathes without opening her eyes, without waiting to hear his question. “I do still. I do.”

She tugs on his hand to pull him up, and he goes willingly, his mouth finding hers like it was five years ago and they hadn’t been broken by the world and its cruelty yet. She clings to him desperately, clutching at the collar of his shirt, fingers slipping into his hair, trying to pull him closer as much as she can. The only thing that matters is that every part of her is touching every part of him.

She breaks away, the sound on her lips a strange mix between a laugh and a sob. His lips find her forehead instead and she buries her face in his chest, tears still in her eyes, but listening to his heartbeat steady under her hand.

There’s so much to talk about. So much to catch up on. It feels like a fever dream – she’s afraid to wake up and realize it hadn’t been real. But Cassian holds her tighter, and she knows that in his arms, nothing can hurt her.

They’re finally home.

[padawan-jiejie]

My Choice [3 / 3]

Summary: You are Anakin’s twin sister and Mace Windu’s apprentice with forbidden kind of interest in Master Kenobi. You’re there to witness your brother’s turn to the Dark side and have trouble dealing with the consequences. Five years later, you visit Obi-Wan on Tatooine…

PART 1   |   PART 2

Word Count: 5.8k

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x reader

Warnings: !MyEnglish!, ptsd talk, talk about regrets, angsty!reader, but also comforting!Obi and fluffy!Obi and baby!Luke + one more character has a cameo and overly fluffy ending  the reader is a bit of a crybaby in this one, sorry

A/N: THIS TOOK ME SO LONG - I SINCERELY APOLOGIZE!!! Also I haven’t read the comic about Obi-Wan and his time on Tatooine so… I just hope all of you are doing the best you can and enjoy 💖💖💖

Tagged:  @retrobhaddie​ @multi-madison​ @treestarrrrrrrr  @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13​ @lysawayne

Five long years since the tragedy of the Jedi. Since their failure and the purge. After all those years, here you were. Flying in your stolen ship, fleeing away from your inevitable destiny. You ran out of supplies and had to take a break, stop somewhere safe. You had a planet in mind, it was close and you were certain no one from the Empire would be looking for you there if you don’t stay for long. It was the hole of the universe after all. But somethin- no, someone was calling for you to land there. So you set the coordinations to Tatooine. You used your connection to the Force to find the perfect place to hide your ship nearest the pull you sensed. You shut down all systems and took a deep breath. For the first time in years, you would step into the harsh, dry and sandy grounds of the planet you were born on. It wasn’t your home for a long time and you felt bitter and nostalgic looking outside. Yet as you were sitting there in the cockpit, you saw a familiar cloak walking towards your position from behind a mountain. At that moment, all your worries and doubts faded like a mist.

You ran out as fast as you could and stayed staring at the figure few feet away from you. Your heart was beating quickly from the excitement and when he pulled his hood off and looked directly into your eyes, it definitely felt like coming back home.

“Y/N?”

“Obi-Wan…”

Your voices were nothing but a whisper. A whisper that told a million words and more. Obi-Wan Kenobi was standing there in front of you and it was like yesterday when you said your last goodbyes. And he was stunned. He came to the conclusion that it was very likely he would never see you again in his lifetime after Order 66. He never quite made his peace with that and couldn’t believe in what was happening. He thought he was hallucinating. There you were, in all your beauty and grace. Your y/h/c hair was messy, y/e/c eyes red from fatigue and your brown robes dusty. Even like that you still managed to look as elegant as always.

Kenobi took a hesitant step towards you, fearing that you might disappear any second. You didn’t. He took another step closer and you jumped into his arms.

“I’ve missed so much, Obi-Wan!” You blurted out as tears of joy started streaming down your face. You held onto him tightly and sobbed and cried your heart out. As he came to reality, he too embraced you and buried his face in your neck. It wasn’t just a dream. You were indeed here. In his arms. Right where you belong.

“Y/N… I am so happy you’re actually here. You can’t imagine how bad it was being alone like this!” He lifted you up and spun around before putting you back on your feet.

You dried your tears, while he was holding you close to him by your waist. “Master Jedi, I… You… Just… Me…” You spent hours thinking about all the things you wanted to talk about with him but now as you finally had the chance to express yourself, your own mouth was failing you. You could not even make up one proper sentence.

“I-I’m… Umm… It’s been so long.”

“I know, I was afraid I would never see you again. I’m so glad that will not be the case.” He said with a blissful expression. You smiled at him and he kissed your forehead, sending a warm feeling to rush through your body.

“Obi… I could sense you. With the Force, I sensed you. I think.”

“I sensed you too. That’s why I came. I thought I was losing my mind. What would you be doing here, right? But now I see that my senses have not abandoned me yet.”

“No, they are still pretty decent.”

“Oh, decent you say? Well, what are you doing here anyway? I guess you’re not just stopping by to say hello to an old friend.”

“Actually, I ran out of supplies so I need to get some food and stuff. And I think I need to check this beauty for any damage.”

Obi-Wan frowned and touched his beard. “That is not the ship Bail Organa had given you. What happened to it and how did you get this one? It looks ancient.”

“Yeah, you really don’t wanna know how I got that. Maybe I’ll tell you later but it’s a long story that I don’t wanna get into right now.”

“If you think that would be for the best, I’ll leave it be. But come on. We’ll go to my little house and I’ll get you something to eat.”

“That would be so nice! I am starving! Um, but I shouldn’t leave her here unguarded.”

“Don’t worry about it. Nothing will happen to it. Trust me. And if anything does happen, I have my methods of getting it back.”

“Alright then. But um, I actually call her Soka. Because of the blue and white stripe there on the side.” Obi-Wan paused for a second, then smiled. With one of his arms around your shoulders, you two walked over to the house that he was apparently now living in. The place looked poor and you couldn’t help but think about the Jedi quarters you spent half your life in.

“That’s a whole another level, Kenobi. Even for you.”

“There wasn’t really much to be picking from.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’ll get you some soup.”

You sat down near a tiny window and pulled your legs to your chest. The heat reminded you of your childhood. How you used to help your mom with cleaning, cooking and then would go to play with Anakin and the other local children. Looking back at it now, you could tell that as much as it sucked, those were good times. Just you, your mamma and your big brother Ani. You signed at the thought, pictures from the past running through your head. Padmé, the handmaidens, Qui-Gon and young Obi-Wan with his cute padawan braid. He certainly did not enjoy it when you hopped next to him and started playing with it, asking him questions why is he letting grow only so small piece of his hair. A sad smiled appeared on your lips as you remembered the moment you met. He didn’t really believe in neither you or Ani and none of you could see how important you would become for each other. What a wonderful team you would make in the future. It wasn’t fair that it all fell apart out of nowhere.

“Here you go,” Obi-Wan said, holding out a bowl of soup, waking you up from your trance.

“Thank you.”

After you finished your meal and your stomach felt better and you and Obi-Wan were sitting next to each other, both trying to get a grasp of this situation. You haven’t seen each other in 5 years and it didn’t look like you accomplished much. Quite the opposite. Former Jedi Master looked dragged from his current life, you could see the wrinkles forming on his face. He looked a lot older now. For you, it was your eyes. Obi-Wan remembered how they would always light up whenever you had some crazy idea or simply when you were happy and oh, how he loved your smile! Your eyes had a sparkle in them whenever you smiled or laughed. Now? Your eyes felt cold, tired and filled with sorrow. As if you’ve grown tougher during the time of your separation. He pointed that out.

“That’s because I had to grow up. Suddenly I had no one to look after me and as you know my entire life I had someone by my side. Whether that be my mom, my brother or my master or… Padmé or you. Life had been hard on me, Obi. That’s just how it is. In my core, I feel the same but on the outside, I lost a lot of my faith. But don’t play it on me. You’re damaged too.”

“I am not denying that.”

“Speaking of which, how do you like living on Tatooine?”

He laughed. “Like isn’t the word I would use. More like tolerate. But as you can see, I manage. Nobody’s visiting but sometimes I go to check up on Luke - much to your step-brother’s distaste when he notices me.”

Obi-Wan would swear on the Force that as he mentions Luke’s name, for a split second your eyes filled with that spark he thought you lost. Maybe you weren’t that doomed after all.

“Luke? My nephew? How is he? Is he tall already? I mean, I know, he’s 5 but is he okay? Are they taking good care of him?”

“Not to worry, milady. They are maybe too protective of him but he’s not actually lacking anything. He’s in good hands.”

“What does he look like? Does he have brown hair like Padmé or is he blonde?”

Obi-Wan was amused by your interest in your nephew. He knew you would ask him about Luke but he didn’t realise how eager you would be to find out more about him. “As far as I am concerned, he is blonde. He’s just like his father with blue eyes and I am sure he’s going to be an excellent pilot. Not like someone.” He gave you a side-glace and you looked at him in disbelieve. Is he really challenging me like this?

“Of course! Make fun of my flying skills! You know, I got better since the Clone Wars and I no longer crash-land as you could see back there.”

“I am never going to forget the moment when you almost killed us while landing and Anakin turned at me and said: ‘See, master? And you complain about my flying!’ I will always remember the face you made! And you didn’t want to talk to us the entire day.”

“You two totally deserved it! Don’t try to sugar-code it!”

“Silent treatment never resolved anything, Y/N. Besides, you could have us all killed.”

“No, we are not going down that road. I did save you so shut it, Jedi! I too have some tricks up my sleeve - you are not as perfect as you think you are.”

“Oh is that so? I thought I was being completely irresistible!”

Your body unintentionally reacted with a flush on your cheeks to his statement. Mostly because it was absolutely true and thanks to the fact that you ran out of ideas of how to out-sass him, you just proclaimed: “Okay, I give up.”

“And what were you doing this whole time? I suppose, you still don’t want to tell me the story behind the ship.”

“Well, no. But I was mostly just moving around the Outer Rim. Nothing too special. I wanted to stay off the radar for as long as possible and I think I was quite good at it. You know, putting my stealth-mastery into practice once again. You wouldn’t be proud of me though. I tried to be true to what I was taught since I was nine. To be a good person and to protect peace in the places I went to and I tried to suppress my emotions about all this but… I couldn’t do that. I thought that the Republic were the good guys and I thought that the Jedi, although not exactly always right, were too the good guys. We had each other’s back and now all of that is gone and call me stupid or naive for having hart time adjusting to that. Sometimes it just gets too rough and too much to take, knowing that all of what I was fighting for tumbled down… I’m sorry, it’s just been getting to me lately.”

Obi-Wan put a hand on your shoulder. “I understand. It wasn’t easy for neither of us but it was worse for you. I know how miserable you were when Yoda told you that you should stay out of Luke and Leia’s lives.”

“That’s not the only thing that’s bothering me.”

“What is it then? I am here, you can talk to me about anything. I might not have the solution but I am listening. If that’s enough?”

You were tense. How would you tell him this? How were you supposed to say it out loud? You could still see it in front of your eyes and it was haunting you in your dreams. Never in a million years would you thought that this would happen. After all that you’ve been through you thought he knew better and a part of you still felt like he didn’t deserve it. You closed your eyes to calm yourself down.

You swallowed. “Have you felt… something? Even if it was just in the back of your head…Do you know anything about Anakin?”

Now Obi-Wan knew what you meant. His hand rubbed your back as he sighed. He heard about him a couple of weeks ago. Anger, sadness and helplessness were boiling inside him. He thought Anakin died on Mustafar and when he overheard that Darth Vader was actually causing some problems out there in the Galaxy, he was horrified.

“I found out some time ago. I couldn’t believe it.”

You bit on your lip to stop the sobs coming out from your throat. Salty water blurred your vision. Your heart was aching. You somehow always felt that he wasn’t killed, the feeling of your brother was still present but to learn that he is now a huge threat in the galaxy was not only shocking but also tragic and traumatizing. You blinked and teardrops fell down. You quickly brushed them away and took three deeps breaths.

“Forgive me my sentiment but… It’s hard to deal with that because I remember all those times during the Clone Wars and despite the fact that it was a war, it was actually… Some of the best time of my life. We lost our friends, we were shaken and not once and we risked our lives for a better cause and we were heroes thanks to that but we… We had each other. Me, Anakin, Padmé and you. Even Ahsoka and Rex and Cody! It felt like a family. Yeah, a very dysfunctional family but… It was something to let you know where you belong… Where home is. If I wasn’t on a mission with Ani and Snips, I’d be with Padmé or you, just having the time of my life. It wasn’t perfect but if I knew what was to come, I would certainly more appreciate it then! Now I just…” You covered your face in your palms, crying. “I wish I could just forget that this is happening.” Echoed your voice from behind your hands.

Kenobi felt your despair and pulled you into him, letting you cry your feelings out while holding you in his arms. He himself didn’t exactly process the events yet, but he knew that you needed his support right now much more than he needed yours. He waited for you for five long years and he was ready to wait for next 50 if it meant he could see you one more time. Now he didn’t want to make your issues seem smaller because he felt betrayed too. He wanted to help you get through this so he kept on rocking you back and forward until you looked up. He caressed your cheek and lightly kissed your forehead. He was well aware of what your supposed family meant for you so he decided to let you feel like you still have at least a part of it. Because you do. Dispite his Jedi teaching, he would never let you go.

“Tomorrow I’m going to take you to see Luke. Owen will probably throw us out but if it is going to help you, I’ll take you there.”

“Thank you, Obi-Wan. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it, Y/N.”

You melted into his embrace and listened to his heartbeat. He was a soothing presence to you. He’s always been. After getting over your depressive emotions, you found a warm feeling creeping up from inside you. You buried it deep down so it wouldn’t bring you pain while you and Obi were apart. As you were so close there, it was coming back up to the surface. This time, though, there was no Code, no Jedi Council, no forbidden attachments to make you feel wrong about what you felt. Obi-Wan sensed this change in mood and smiled to himself. He felt it coming back too.

After you both showered - separately, may I add, we’re not there yet - and changed into more comfortable clothes, you decided to go to sleep. He insisted you keep the bed to which you replied: “Obi-Wan, there’s no way you’re sleeping on the floor and I want to feel like I am not alone in here so just… Are you up for cuddles? Please? I need my cuddling buddy back.”

He just shook his head in amusement and didn’t say anything. He couldn’t reject you at this point. Not to mention that when you were together on missions to deal with some Jedi business with no one around, snuggles were on a daily basis. Although I must say, there was one time when Anakin appeared out of the blue, saw you two getting way too close for friends and wouldn’t shut up about it for a week. It was kind of cue though.

Obi-Wan tugged himself under the sheets next to you on his not-so-comfortable bed and lay on his back. You put your arm around him and placed your head on his chest. His heartbeat was steady and calming. Even though you were tired, you couldn’t close your eyes to fall asleep. You had to wonder what is Luke like and what will you feel when you see him. You held him once when he was born and couldn’t help but wonder if he is Force-sensitive too. It would be only logical.

“Obi-Wan?”

“Umhm…”

“Do you think that Luke and Leia should be raised to be Jedi?”

“Well, I hope so. I don’t know about Leia but Luke is so much like Anakin when he was a child, it would surprise me if he wouldn’t grow up to be one.”

“Who’s going to show him?”

“I am. If you’ll stay, you can help.”

You tighten your grip around him. “I don’t know. The problem is that I and Ani had such a bond through the Force and I still feel him and I fear that if I stay here, he may be able to find me.”

“Why would he come back to the planet that represents everything he despises? Slavery, his mother’s death, sand.”

“I know but he had the chance to kill me before as a Vader and he didn’t. What if the Sith have some plans with me? What if they want me to turn to the Dark side?”

“I highly doubt that would happen.” He protectively put his arms around you. “Mace Windu taught you about the Dark side and when they could turn you to it completely, they had no interest in doing that. Why would they suddenly change their minds?”

“I don’t know. I guess you’re right but the possibility of hurting you or Luke is making me go nuts.”

“I understand that but again, Anakin knew that even with your knowledge of the Force and with our feelings for each other being strictly against the Code, you stayed loyal to the Order. Even now when things are so uncivilized, you still decided not to turn, that shows your strength and even if Vader senses you, he will see that.”

“You mean he would rather kill me than try to turn me? Yeah, cool, can’t wait.”

“You know what I meant. You don’t need to worry about him. If he comes, which he won’t, he’ll have to get over me first, anyway.” He kissed your hair and whispered: “Good night, my love.”

You spent so much time in space and on cold planets that now walking around the sands of Tatooine was an absolute horror. You were sweating and thirsty and the two suns high on the sky were blinding your vision. You and Obi were on your way to Owen and Beru’s moisture farm. You never saw or met them but Ani told you about them. He blamed them a little bit for not searching for Shmi and you couldn’t help but feel the same. You were sure they were good people but at the same time maybe if they did something more, your mom would be still alive. You knew these thoughts were not the Jedi way but let’s face it, you and your brother were never the perfect examples of the Jedi.

Obi-Wan stopped and pointed into the distance where you could see a small dot on the horizon.

“That is where they live but maybe you should go on your own. Owen isn’t really fond of me and if you arrive alone and say that you are his step-sister, he’s probably gonna let you in. I’ll wait for you somewhere here.”

“Okay. Thank you, Obi-Wan. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome but umm, I changed my name.”

“You changed your name? To what?”

“I call myself Ben Kenobi now.”

You sighed. “Satine used to call you that.”

He just nodded and you smiled at him. She meant so much for him when they were young that you understood why he did that. He wanted to pay her some tribute. Besides, you would have done the same if you were at his place.

“Well, Ben, wish me luck.”

He squizzed your hand and started to walk away. You swallowed and walked the other way, towards your distant family house. You were nervous and excited at the same time. You desperately wanted to meet Luke but you didn’t know what would Owen and Beru think about you being there. As you almost reached your destination, a sight in front of you made you stop in your tracks. There was a little blonde boy sitting in sand playing with some droid parts. He didn’t seem to notice you so you stood there amazed. He looked exactly like his father. You felt tears of happiness mixed with nostalgia burn in your eyes. You covered your mouth as Luke’s toy fell apart and he mumbled under his breath. You sniffed and made your way to where he was sat.

Luke turned around startled. “Hello. Who are you?”

“Hi…” you whispered, gaining strength to speak more. “Umm, you’re Luke Skywalker, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. But I asked you first.” He made a grimace of childish anger and you had to smile. You dropped to his level and held out your hand. “My name is Y/N Skywalker.”

His expression changed. Obviously he knew that name and kept on wandering his eyes between your hand and your face. 

“You are my dad’s sister?”

You nodded.

“Uncle and aunt told me about you. They said you would never come.” He took your hand and held onto it.

“I am sorry. For everything. I am so sorry, Luke. You were supposed to live with your parents somewhere else and enjoying your life very differently.”

“I like it here.” He was genuine but you knew that one day this place would be too tiny for him.

“Okay.” You stroke his cheek and you sensed the Force in him but he pulled away.

“I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

That hurt. You were a stranger. He didn’t know you and even if you loved your nephew so much, this was the first time he saw you.

“That’s right, you shouldn’t. I hope that one day I won’t be a stranger to you anymore but for now… It was lovely to meet you, Luke.”

“Sure. It was lovely to meet you too, umm…Should I call aunt Y/N?”

“That’d be great.”

“What would be great?” 

Both your heads shot up as you heard a voice. There was a man with scruffy in grey robes and he looked mad.

“Luke, come here.”

“It’s okay, uncle. This is Y/N. She’s my dad’s sister. You told me about her.”

You stood up and Owen frowned at you. He shook your hand, though he was suspicious.

“Luke is telling the truth. I am Anakin Skywalker’s sister and just came to say hello. I never had a chance to properly meet him and I stopped by and I couldn’t go without meeting my nephew. You too. From what I understand, you are my step-brother. Thank you for taking care of the boy.”

Owen crossed his arms over his chest. “Kenobi told you where to find us?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. I’m glad that we finally met but I don’t want your Jedi stuff anywhere near Luke. His parents had life bad enough and I don’t want him to get hurt like they and you did.”

You blinked confused. You sensed Luke’s connection to the Force and you knew he would become aware of it sooner or later. “We got burned. Many times, I admit but neither Ben Kenobi nor I mean any harm to him or to you.”

“I believe you. On the other hand, why add insult to injury?”

A sandstorm was raging outside. You were supposed to be on your way by now but something always came into it, making it impossible for you to leave the planet. You’ve been living with Obi-Wan for 9 days now and as much as you were scared something unfortunate was going to happen because of your sibling bond, you couldn’t deny how your mood improved over time. You finally had a moment to breathe, to live, to drop the worries because when he was around simply being himself, it was so easy to forget the reality. It would come back to hit you later but when he was telling you stories, he heard in the Mos Eisley Cantina and you two would laugh, it didn’t matter. When you two cooked and tried to combine both of your (anti)talents, sometimes it resulted in friendly arguments and spilt tea. At night, you would fall asleep in each other’s arms only to wake up to the warmth of the body next to you and the calming feeling of safety. If there would be anyone to witness it, they’d say they’re watching a married couple doing normal things. It felt right being there, being like that, although it was a bit strange at first. It made you feel wanted, welcomed and loved. It gave you a sense of much-needed belonging. Little did you know that Obi-Wan felt the same.

It was already late at night but you couldn’t sleep and the sandstrom made you feel uncomfortable. It had been 15 years since the last time you experienced one and you didn’t like remembering it. It brought up old fears to the surface. Lucky for you, though, former Jedi Master managed to stay up as well to keep you company.

“Will you finally tell me where did you get the ship?”

You smirked. “From a friend.”

“A friend? What friend?”

“Don’t be jealous.”

“I am not! I am just… curious.”

You turned to sit on the bed face to face with him. “We’re not the only survivors of the Purge. There are more Jedi in the galaxy.”

“I knew we couldn’t be the only ones!” His eyes filled with hope.

“I met a guy called Kal Cestis. He was a padawan when it happened. He helped me to get my new ship. Not exactly new but better than nothing since my original one broke down.”

“Hmm… Interesting. Do you know anything about Ahsoka?”

“Unfortunately no. I haven’t seen her anywhere. Not that I’ve been to many places but if she’s alive, she’s hidden well.”

“I don’t think she gave up like that. She must be somewhere out there.”

“I really hope that she is. I miss her.”

“We both do,” Obi replied and caressed your cheek. You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes. It was an intimate moment that you decided to delve into.

Obi-Wan was watching you, trying to print this image in his memory. He never wanted to forget you and the way you made him feel. It was precious and sacred to him. You were captivating, graceful and he was thanking the Force every day for bringing you back into his miserable life. He didn’t deserve you and yet he never wanted to let go off you. He couldn’t. He knew it was selfish of him to want you all for himself but he was too attached.

“Y/N?”

“Um?” You opened your eyes to look into his. You were cantured by his intense gaze and your lips parted. You weren’t used to him staring at you like that as if you were the most devine creature in the galaxy and your cheeks turned the deepest shade of pink.

“Can I kiss you?”

Your stomach flipped and your held your breath for a second. You blinked several times before placing your hand over his, still resting on your cheek. “Yes.” was a simple word but there was so much more behind it.

Obi-Wan lowered his head to your level and cupped your face to pull you to him. You couldn’t believe it. After so many years of loving this man and having to hide it, you were able to finally express it. You waited for him to softly press his lips to yours. It was sweet, slow and filled with so much emotion. All of the unsaid ‘I love you’s, all of the suppressed feelings, all of it finally blossemed into this special moment. Electricity ran through both of you at the slight touch. It was new and you couldn’t quite put a finger on this feeling inside you. It was your first kiss after all! Obi-Wan was your first crush, first love, now first kiss and most definitelly he was going to be your first also in another way.

He pulled away to see your reactions but you didn’t let him. Your hands shifted to his neck and brought him back to you. He started kissing you properly this time and let himself loose. Deepening the kiss, he found himself hovering over you and soon you were lying under him. You both laughed as your back hit the bed. He kissed you one more time and lay down onto his side next to you. You stared in his eyes that reflected all the kindness in the world.

“Y/N, I know where you stand, I know Master Yoda told you to stay away from Luke and Leia and I know that you’re afraid what would happen if you stay here longer but please. We’ll figure it out somehow… I love you, Y/N. I have for years now.” He brushed your hair out of your forehead and played with it for a while. “I can’t let you go after this. I won’t. I wanted to be with you for so long and now that we are finally allowed to be ourselves freely, I am begging not to go. Please.” 

“I have already made up my mind and I am not backing up.”

He kissed the tip of your nose to shut you and took your hand in his. “Yes. It is up to you in the end. I can’t make decisions for you, I know. I don’t want you to go but the last thing that I do want is to be forcing you into something. Even if you'll leave… I promise that I will wait for you. I have waited ages, I can wait a little longer. I’d really rather not but you are worth it, stars.”

“Obi-Wan…”

He smiled sadly and it broke your heart. He was giving you freedom even when he was lonely. He was fully aware of your stubborness but this time you gave in.

“You are the love of my life. You’ve always been. I have loved you so much all this time and I always will. I want to stay but I am too scared that something’s gonna happen to you or to Luke so I… I thought about it and…” You squeezed his hand. “I decided to cut myself of from the Force so that I could have a life with you.”

“What?!”

“I have made my peace with it. I am like a beacon to Vader if he decides to search for me, this is the only way I can have what I want. You.”

Obi was staring in disbelief. You just decided what your faith was going to be and Obi-Wan was the happiest man alive. He was shooked at first but soon happiness and pure joy took over him and he hugged you, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. You pulled him even closer to you as you let the sandstorm outside be completelly forgotten. 

It’s been about a week since you and Obi were living officially together in your new home. It wasn’t ideal nor perfect but hey! What is in this galaxy, right?

You were walking hand-in-hand from a town where you successfully sold your ship, Soka. It was a little sad since she reminded you of your adveture with Kal and of your friend Snips but at the same time, you were most likely never going to need her again. Hopefully.

The two suns were shinning bright, tanning your skin. The course and rough sand was cracking underneath your weight as you walked. The dry air made you thirsty and at some point you couldn’t help but cough. You two were wandering around the place without putting much thought into it and before you knew it, you pauzed.

“Won’t we reach the spot were you first landed on Tatooine if you continue walking that way?”

“I think we will.”

“So this is where it all started. The Skywalker’s journey straight to the botom!”

“Not straight.”

You gave him a you-know-what-I-mean look.

“I’m just teasing. Sorry, Y/N.”

“You always are, I don’t mind but... Actually, you know what? I think I want to change my name too.”

“What? Why? Your name is so lovely!”

“Because it is my choice, not yours, mine. I guess I want to asociate myself with something different. I want to disconnect from my past and focus on the future. Luke’s gonna carry on the Skywalker legacy. It wouldn’t fair if no one carried on yours. Besides, Y/N Kenobi sounds pretty great, doesn’t it?”

Obi-Wan was staring at you with open mouth. “You want to take my last name?”

You put your arms around his shoulders. “I do. I mean, you’re not getting married but still you can take this as a sign of my devotion. I truly, deeply love you and I want to be all yours - body, soul, even the surname.”

He didn’t know exactly how to react to that, so he just crashed his lips onto yours. He was astonished. “I love you so much, my sweet Y/N. You are the greatest thing that happened to me. Although not the name, I am yours too. Body and soul.”

You pulled him into a tight embrace. People passing you by were giving you strange looks but it’s not like any of you cared. You simply stayed in the moment, forgetting all your worries. It was a promising day for you two, after all. Promising for your relationship but most importantly it meant a new start. It was an enterance to a brighter state of existance and a new stage in life. A stage where you could finally be a little selfish and build a life for yourselves. A life where your and Obi’s love, was the only thing that mattered.

[raleighcarrera]

saturday

ride or die | colt kaneko x mc (ellie wheeler)

~2.2k words | T

baby you look good, you look gorgeous / this right here your city, i’m a tourist

or, alternatively, ellie shows colt around the east coast. for @choicesjunechallenge day one! (wander)

rod tags: @choicesarehard, @lovehugsandcandy

they were invisible, out here. in manhattan, ellie was probably always at least a little invisible, but there was a certain freedom in knowing that absolutely no one was looking twice at him or them -- that they had a whole uninterrupted weekend to explore stretched out ahead of them. 

back home, he was starting to reach a level of notoriety that brought few places he could go without attracting stares with it. the new crew was coming together faster than he thought it would, and colt was admittedly pretty pleased with his progress, so far. when ellie came back home for the summer, there might actually be something to show her. something that might even have a shot at impressing her. 

her anonymity would evaporate as soon as he got the chance to show her off, back in l.a. -- so he figured they might as well take full advantage of this weekend, making the most of their time as nobodies while they still could. 

ellie lifted the hand that wasn’t twined through his and pointed up at a nondescript building on the corner, just a block from her apartment. “this is one of the buildings i have classes in,” she explained, “my biochem lab and my stats class are both in here.”

“you know, if you’d been at my college, maybe i wouldda considered hanging around.” there were few things he cared about less than the ins and outs of her coursework, but the thought of ellie in some lecture hall, with her nose buried in a book was something that never failed to endear him to her. she was almost unfairly cute.

“what, there weren’t any girls you liked in boston?” she asked playfully, shooting him a look as they waited at the corner for the light to turn. 

“there were plenty of girls,” he smirked, “but i wouldn’t say i liked them.” what he means goes unsaid, but he knows ellie is smart enough to read between the lines: she’s the only person to ever do this to him, the only girl he’s actually made room in his life for. 

she’d wormed her way in so effectively he’d hardly even noticed it. try as he might to push her away, she was always there -- challenging him when he did his best to shove her to the side with calculated barbs, comforting him when he didn’t think it was what he wanted at all, caring for him when he hardly felt like deserved it. 

before her, he hadn’t been interested in anything like this. people were always a disappointment -- without fail, anyone who could get close would find a way to take advantage. feeling the way he did about her was messy and painful and not something he was keen on exploring, at first. he knew it’d be a disaster from the moment he met her, but ellie didn’t let herself be deterred by a few casual insults. she dug her fucking heels in and blended into his life seamlessly, until he found himself in a suit dancing with her at her high school prom like an unrecognizable idiot. 

only a moron with no sense of self-preservation would’ve told her they loved her, so of course he had. for the longest time, it felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop -- for her to change her mind, for her to do what he’d long since expected and make him regret ever forcing himself to take that step out of his self-imposed isolation and into the sun. 

but ellie was nothing if not a master at proving him wrong -- at making him eat his words. at defying the expectations of everyone around her, including him, sometimes, when he was dumb enough to underestimate her.

the way she was tugging on their clasped hands recaptured his attention, shaking him out of his reverie. “this place has the best dollar pizza. there’s, like, forty pizzerias within a ten-minute walk but this one is the best and cheapest. during midterms i ate here twice a day for two weeks straight.”

“sounds like you’re getting spoiled,” he remarked, dropping her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders, instead, pulling her in close on the sidewalk. “what’re you gonna do when it’s back to l.a. burgers and tacos all the time?”

“i do kinda miss the street food,” she mused, leaning against his side. he’d been all over her last night, when he first arrived, relearning the curve of her body with his hands and his mouth over and over again, hardly able to get enough of her after so long without the real thing. pictures and videos and late-night facetimes were all well and good, but nothing could make his heart leap like pulling her into his arms in person. finally.

he still hadn’t had his fill, but she was adamant about showing him around the city, so -- they got out of bed. and even if they stayed inside all weekend, colt was certain they still wouldn’t be able to get through even half of everything he wanted to do to her.

“oh!” she exclaimed suddenly, guiding him to the right with the arm she had around his waist. he dipped his head on a smile he just couldn’t hold back when she slipped her hand into the back pocket of his jeans. “this was what i wanted to show you, come on.”

they ducked into an alcove between what looked like two office buildings. there was a small fountain and a few abandoned tables -- for a moment, they were completely alone, under an arch of spring flowers that provided a brief respite from the bustle of midtown, waiting for them just beyond the sidewalk. 

“i always come here to study. i feel like it’s so peaceful.” ellie was smiling up at the flowers, hardly paying him any attention -- so colt took a moment to let himself look, studying the sweet expression on her face with a smile. it’d been so long that he’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was, if that was even possible. but seeing her here, now, was like a kick to the stomach; she knocked the wind out of him just by doing nothing, just by being herself -- every goddamn time.

“it’s pretty cool,” he agreed, forcefully tearing his eyes from her to look around, too. “i mean -- we’re alone, so.”

ellie laughed, turning under his arm to face him. “is that all it takes for you?”

colt shrugged the shoulder she wasn’t tucked under, shooting her a wide grin. “what can i say? i’m a simple guy.”

“well -- we knew that.” she squirmed away giggling as he pushed her playfully in retaliation, rushing over to the far side of the fountain. colt followed, stepping up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, burying his face in the side of her neck.

he exhaled. there weren’t words for how relaxing it was to know he didn’t need to look over his shoulder, here, with her. for once, there was almost nothing on his mind -- just the blissful peace of a weekend spent with his favorite person. some of the leaden weight that seemed to be perpetually pushing on his shoulders was slowly starting to ease as he stood there with her, under the curtain of the peonies above them.

colt fished in his pocket for a quarter, offering it to her. “wanna make a wish?” 

ellie took it from his hand immediately. “you’re getting soft on me,” she murmured, huffing out a small sound of amusement when he nipped at the side of her neck in return. colt hooked his chin over her shoulder, watching as she flipped the coin into the fountain. 

“what’d you wish for?” he asked, just so he could see her do what she did, which was spin around indignantly in his hold, scoffing.

“i can’t tell you! then it won’t come true.”

he rolled his eyes at her. “that rule isn’t real.”

“well, i don’t want to risk it.” 

colt lifted both hands to her face, cupping her cheeks and drawing her in for a slow kiss. ellie melted against him prettily, as responsive as ever -- how sensitive she was never failed to light a fire somewhere within him that he had trouble ignoring. the little sigh that slipped from her mouth into his felt like water after walking through a desert, and he swallowed it greedily, tilting her face up with fingers at her jaw for an angle that would allow him to deepen their kiss insistently. 

ellie entertained him until she had to break away to breathe. he backed off at the first push of her hands, the expression on his face splitting into an obnoxious grin as soon as he noticed the light flush spreading out across her nose, creeping onto her cheeks. the way her nose turned red every time they made out, without fail, would probably never stop being absurdly appealing to him.

that was another annoying thing she’d done to him. colt constantly found his brain getting stuck on the most absurd shit, where she was concerned. things he’d never even thought about before, like an errant lock of hair, curling into her eyes, or the flash of a bare shoulder when her oversized sweater slipped down suddenly seemed more erotic than porn, just because it was her. 

“you’re gorgeous,” he mumbled, pressing his thumbs into her flushed cheeks. “i can’t stand it.”

ellie was still working to catch her breath, instilling him with a sense of pride he didn’t bother trying to push away. “sorry. i can try to work on that.”

“you’d better.” his eyes dropped to where her hands were fisted in the front of his sweatshirt, clinging tightly to him like she was afraid he’d slip away at any moment. colt could feel the expression on his face soften the longer he watched her, the pounding of his heart ratcheting up dangerously when she licked her lips and glanced up at him seriously.

“i’m really glad you’re here,” she said finally, shattering the sudden stillness that seemed to have surrounded them -- in the middle of manhattan, of all places. “you have no idea how badly i missed you.”

colt’s thumb stroked her cheek. he was pretty sure he had some idea. “you’re sure i can’t convince you to transfer, right? ‘cause... ucla is, like, a twenty minute drive on my bike --”

ellie laughed. the sweet trill of sound did little to temper his racing pulse. “shut up, come on. there’s so much more i want to show you.”

he let her spend the rest of the day playing tour guide, pulling him around the city, until they’d eventually wandered into some unfamiliar neighborhood downtown, far enough away from the main avenues that the foot traffic on the sidewalk was considerably less. finally, they could take their time, instead of ducking out of the way to avoid the rushing speed of people in a hurry, ignoring glares from busy new yorkers disgusted by the way they kept stopping to kiss in the middle of the crosswalk. 

colt bought her an ice cream cone because her excitement was too cute to ignore, grinning to himself as he snuck glances over at her, enjoying it. it was going to be pretty much impossible to tear himself away from her on sunday night, but he was trying not to think about that.

“anything special you want to do tonight?” she asked between licks, drawing his eyes to the way her wrist flicked to keep the swirl of vanilla soft serve even all the way around. 

“i have a few ideas.” she caught sight of the smirk on his face and rolled her eyes. “i’m open to suggestions, though.”

“well -- i did have a place in mind for dinner,” she said, though he hardly heard her over the way she licked a trail of melting ice cream from her wrist, “and then i thought we could walk around some more... and turn in early.”

“you know, that’s exactly what i was thinking,” he answered with an agreeable grin, already fantasizing about just how late she’d allow him to keep her up and all the things he could do to her with several uninterrupted hours holed away in her single. a part of him he did his best to ignore most of the time was also already dreaming about the inevitable lazy sunday morning that would follow, when he could wake up with her for the second time in too fucking long and put all his energy into keeping her in bed until the last possible minute. 

that guy was such a sap.

“should i be afraid of that look?” ellie questioned with a smile, the happy expression on her face doing wonders for his already calm mood. they continued slowly down the street in a direction that he thought might’ve been back towards her dorm, though once they dipped below the numbered streets all sense of navigation seemed to abandon him. whatever. it wasn’t like they didn’t have time to wander aimlessly some more, and he wasn’t too proud to admit he loved getting lost with ellie by his side.

colt grinned unabashedly at her, watching her finish off her ice cream cone with a few bites. fuck it. they were invisible here, so why not let himself indulge that other guy? once he was back in l.a., all of this was done for -- he’d be back to his rough edges like they never softened in the first place.

“nah,” he promised, reaching out for her again and pulling her in close, dropping a kiss onto her temple. “we’ll carb you up at dinner. you’ll make it through.”

[kpopchangedme]

Nocturna: Part V [M]

The fragile peace between undead and lycanth is imperilled your arrival to the Inferorum Castrum. Between the changing power dynamics of the wolf pack and the insatiable urges of the vampire king, you aren’t exactly sure where your loyalty lies.

Protagonists: Bang Chan & You | Im Jaebeom & You

Word Count: 5.4k

Genre: NSFW | *SMUT* | Supernatural!au | Vampires | Werewolves | Angst | Romance | Love Triangle

Nocturna Masterlist | HALLOWEEN

Your eyes are shut, brows creased in concentration, sweat pearls on your forehead. All you can hear is the sound of the two wolves’ beating hearts behind you; the bird yelling at the squirrel in the sycamore tree; someone rummaging in the Castrum’s kitchen; and…

You tilt your head, focusing. Unfortunately, right when you’re about to get it the Beta behind breaks the moment. 

“Come on…” Minho scoffs, irritated. “Louder Yeji, I’m dying over here!” 

On the other side of the Castrum ground, several miles away, a crystal high-pitched giggle echoes. One that you hear perfectly. You must actively fight your urge to run over and murder the younger wolf. You aren’t sure why, but it’s inherent, you simply cannot stand the girl.

“Is she even saying something?” You glare at Minho, and his eyes narrow in dislike at your animosity. His rank is way above yours, for now at least, and he’s been tolerant so far since you’re acclimating. It doesn’t mean he’ll always let your rudeness slide, you know that.

“Yes,” Youngjae assures, sitting on a wood bench with an open illustrated book on his knees, “again. What is Yeji saying?” 

“Do you even need me?” Minho whines, “We’ve been at it for hours!”

“I didn’t ask you to come.” The Delta points out, flipping a page. Minho pouts, craving being elsewhere, anywhere. He despises you and the feeling is very mutual.

You aren’t dumb, you know why they’re all training with you today, it’s not because they enjoy your company. It’s obviously Chan who asked them to keep an eye on you. You haven’t spoken to each other since that day he fought with the Omegas, but he’s still your mate, and somehow he cares. The following morning you woke up to find out he and Jackson had left for a ‘mission’ somewhere. Chan didn’t even bother saying goodbye. He either hates you now or believes you wouldn’t even have seen him. You might have… You’ve been feeling especially shitty since that day. There's a knot in your stomach, and you know it isn't about your bond. It's him. Even if you are rightfully angry, your old friend is the only thing that feels like home here. That’s why you’re trying to take your training more seriously these days, you need to belong. You are doing your best... But that Beta and that Epsilon are getting on your nerves, always laughing when you’re messing up! Earlier, you couldn’t distinguish colours on brightly lit targets, and they had a field trip mocking you.

Honestly, out of your five senses, your view has changed the most since the bite. It has decreased dramatically in the daylight, so you’re having trouble with colours, but you can see in perfect darkness. Also, your field of vision is way broader than it used to be. Even with Minho and Youngjae standing in your back, you can see them clearly.

“Yeji, focus.” Youngjae orders, not even raising his gaze from his book. “No, not louder, she needs to learn.” 

“But she’s so damn slow.” Yeji whines, 3 miles away. “It’s tragic Chan’s stuck with her. I can’t understand what he see-”

“Watch it, glob of snot!” Your lips stretch to uncover your teeth and a weird sound births at the back of your throat.

Behind, Minho’s mouth falls open. “The pup's hearing seems fine after all, she’s just very selective about it.” 

“Good.” This time, the kind Delta stands to join you. “After tomorrow night, you’ll be able to hear that from double the distance!” Youngjae playfully hits you with his book, and your cheeks warm. You feel weirdly proud, gratified to have managed to do this little.

“Will he be...” His brows raise and you stop, looking down at the tip of your boots in the grass, too embarrassed.

“The whole pack always goes out as one, once a month.” Minho replies with a smirk, amused you’re acting coy. “I would actually be excited for your First Full Moon if Chan wasn’t there to damage control.”

“Why?” You frown, unsure if a first transformation is anything special to watch. You’ve heard about the pain of the first turn, but not much after their ‘it feels amazing’ usual speech. You are genuinely curious.

“I’d love to watch you go berserk.” Minho snarls sarcastically, making Youngjae close both eyes disheartened. “Given your considerate nature, I bet you'd obliterate an entire villa-”

“I’d obliterate you first, wimp!” Vexed, you jump forward until you’re almost against the Beta's chest. You thought he was giving you advice or some sensitive information at last. Turns out he was just pushing your buttons once more. Every werewolf has been irritated and sensitive today. Anyway, ever since the bite, you’ve been continuously picking up fights.

“Try me.” The triggered older wolf uncovers his canines, holding your glare. He’s threatening without the need of a growl, Minho is still one of the pack’s warriors. 

“In its own time.” Youngjae stretches an arm to pull him back, not the least frightened bt the animosity between you two. 

“Yeah, challenge me soon, puppy.” The cocky Beta steps away, his weird dire smile still plastered on. “Let’s see you go at it. An Alpha is only as strong as his Lead Huntress after all.” 

“Jackson doesn’t have one, but you still run around with your tail between your legs whenever he barks!”

“Careful or you’ll never even make it to your First Moon, bitch!” Minho’s jaw snaps, and you snort, remaining unimpressed. There it is; that word again. “And we do have a Lead Huntress, trust me. You’re nothing compared to her.”

Youngjae steps between you two once more for the confrontation to end. You notice others have already started gathering at the entrance of the castle and on the outskirts of the wood. All lycanth really seem to love a good clash. You don’t even ponder on Minho’s cryptic words about the Alpha, you’re too mad to focus. Perhaps it’s real, maybe your level of irritation and hostility has more to do with the imminent Full Moon than any of your real frustrations. 

“The sun is setting.” Youngjae points out blankly right as Sana jogs up to you. “You should make it back to your room, y/n. You’ll need a lot of sleep. Tomorrow’s a pretty big day.”

Agreeing, you leave and no wolf makes a sound as you walk by. You still see the glimmer in their gaze though. Something like elation. No one approved of you the first week, but now they’re curious. They wonder about you picking fights with both Chan and Minho. Will you be a courageous and fierce Lead Huntress? Or are you simply as dumb as a post for continuously angering two of their most dangerous Betas?

The pack doesn’t know yet, but this whole mess is bound to get interesting. 

You don’t see anyone in the East Wing on your way to your room. As soon as you enter, you begin to wash off the traces of your long training day. Exhausted, you nearly miss the soft thumping on your door when someone knocks. Fighting back your smile, you hurry to change your dark shirt-gown for a clean nightgown. No doubt that this is Chan finally coming back and... For some reason, it is a relief. You’re oddly excited to tell him all about your progress. Unfortunately, one thing is sure as you open the door, that visitor is nothing like who you were expecting.

The newcomer is wearing all-black, special silky clothes, he’s one with the obscurity. Even with your perfect night vision, you can hardly distinguish his silhouette. There’s a mask from the same fabric covering up his entire face except for his sanguine eyes. No wonder you haven't heard him coming by, no wolf would be as quiet in their own quarters. Your mouth opens in shock as the undead gazes up and down at you. He’s lean and short, barely as tall as you. The first time you faced a vampire you were too human to notice, but this time it hits you hard; his scent of death.

“Y/n?” He inquires, voice as uninterested as it gets. Before you can decide if you should scream or reply, the ominous intruder tilts his head, perceivably. “It stinks of him in here, so I guess you're her.” His eyes skim over your body once more, severe. “The king has called upon you.”

“E-Excuse me?” 

“The vampire king.” He repeats, accentuating every syllable like you’re dumb. “Now.” 

“What if I don’t go?”

You cross your arms over your chest defiantly. Jaebeom has ignored you for days, what can he possibly have to say to you? You’re changing tomorrow, you don’t have to be at his beck and call, your deal was a one-time thing. You’ve moved on. The vampire snorts at your reply, apparently entertained. 

In an instant, you’re gagged and thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He’s indifferent as you struggle, kicking and biting. Without having turned and reached your full potential yet, you’re no match for his strength. Your captor moves fast, it takes him under a minute to cross the entire Castrum. It’s evident he isn’t taking you to the West living quarters you've been to before. Right before these stairs, he forks in a secret passageway, entering a dark corridor you are unfamiliar with. When he finally stops, you’re buried under the castle, so deep within, that you can’t even hear what’s going on upstairs anymore. If you were to cry or yell, you bet no wolf would hear. You're not entirely sure they'd come to your rescue anyway... The vampire tosses you on your feet, taking out the cloth he shoved in your mouth. As you're coughing for air, he knocks on a door that opens instantly.

“Mark,” Jaebeom’s eyes go from you to his scion, "Were you seen?" You haven’t looked at him yet, too busy glaring and growling at the second rude vampire. Mark. No wonder your fellow wolves don’t like them if they all act like such entitled assholes.

“It was boring and too easy. Even a newborn would've been able to get her, you didn't need a Shadow, Jeonha.” Mark’s words drip self-importance, making your skin crawl. Speaking, he pulls down his mask, revealing his diaphanous features. He is just as inhumanly perfect as the other undead you've seen so far. "Although, I think I vexed your pet..."

It takes you half a second to realize he's talking about you.

“I’m not his, you filthy leech!” 

“Oi, are you gonna bite me!?” The bloodsucker laughs, reaching to poke the middle of your forehead. You must be a fast learner because your current warning growl has nothing to do with how you were begging for your life when you first met one of them. If you don’t notice the slight change, Jaebeom certainly does. “Bad pooch.” Ok. That asshole is just straight-up asking to be gutted.

“Just wait a few days...” Your eyes reflect the torches, casting a supernatural light on the scene. “I’ll add your name to my list of priorities, Mark.” His smile turns to a thin line.

“Leave us,” done, the king dismisses his minion, "discreetly." Though he’s obviously annoyed, Mark obeys, hissing as he slowly walks back the narrow passageway. You don’t stop holding his glare until he’s gone. “What was that,” Jaebeom presses once you are alone, highly annoyed, “are the moon mood swings really that bad?”

“Perhaps I just hate being treated like a possession.” When you turn to face the king, he has already disappeared into a close dim-lit room. You ponder on whether to go back upstairs or follow, hesitating. In the end, you’re too intrigued to do what’s best and you enter, though keeping your guard up. 

You haven’t seen Jaebeom since your first and last night, and you had forgotten how beautiful he is up close. From his pellucid skin to his bloody dead irides. You feel a betraying shiver run down your back, remembering how his body felt all over yours. If you thought you could face him without any second thoughts, you were wrong. The hypnotic power he seemed to have on you hasn’t wavered the slightest. You could still run, but curiosity anchors you down.

When you enter, the vampire king is standing in the middle of this tiny darkroom, ominous. There’s a chair and a twin size bed in a corner as only furniture, and it smells of mould. Obviously, this isn’t his usual hang out spot. This is a misery chamber, you expected a secret office or something. This is closer to a dungeon than... Oh, turning to take another look at the door again, you notice the large silvery bars on a square framed window. 

“What is this place?” Feeling stuffy and trapped all of a sudden, you take a step back.

“My dungeon, a secluded place. I thought it better to talk privately.” Jaebeom replies swiftly, like forcing you down here is perfectly mundane. His motives remain unclear, but you get what he means; walls here don't have ears. You already noted that. “We used it during the war, but I doubt Jackson remembers his old room and my leniency. If he did, that flea-bag wouldn’t go around doing as he pleases half as much.”

“He's my Alpha now, careful.” You cross your arms over your chest and he raises a brow. 

“Forgive me,” Jaebeom apologizes, overly sarcastic, “I thought you only had his tail-wagger’ back.” 

“Chan is a legacy Alpha,” you’re defensive at his evident disdain. “Won’t be tail-waggin’ forever.”

“Why do you care?!” Jaebeom snaps harshly, and his aggressive tone makes you flinch, “Defending him? Last I heard, you hated the dog for what he did to you!”

After that, you remain silent, too stunned. He is right, and you are still angry at Chan for taking your humanity. It’s just that… You've always cared deeply for him, and now whatever is said about him reflects on you. You’ve been inextricably linked since he marked you. It’s not something you can explain with words to an outsider. You just… Feel it in your bones. Jaebeom sighs, turning to press his open palms to one of the stone walls. “When you’re as old as me, you start to forget past enemies. I’ve seen a lot of werewolves go by, I never thought I should care about their bastards.” When you don't bite, the king presses you again: “I hadn’t made a mistake like that in many centuries.”

“A mistake like me,” you breathe out hollowly, starting to piece things together. 

“Yes...” He shakes his head, still facing the wall. “I messed up by intervening in the woods. I single-handedly jeopardized the status of the peace treaty for you. Jinyoung formally castigated me in front of the Council.” The vampire from that night? You frown, vaguely remembering his cool demeanour throughout the confrontation with the Alpha. “I was sent away during the arraignments. I’ll be officially sanctioned tomorrow, I had never received blame from my Court before you. Not it over a thousand years of reign.”

He says it like this mess is all your fault. “Maybe you shouldn’t be talking to me, then.” You try not to sound affected. Despite you, his words hurt... And you really don’t want to wonder about why right now.

“I wanted to apologize,” Jaebeom blurts out fatally, turning to hold your gaze. “I wasn’t able to bring you home. I couldn't stay true to my word, and keep you safe.” 

“Consider yourself freed from our deal, Jeonha.” 

You need to leave now.

Before you’re overwhelmed before you feel like crying for everything you’ve lost. It’s not like the vampire could have changed anything anyway, or if he could have honoured that deal in the first place anyway. Apparently, a choice was made for you long before that dreadful day you were marked. When you reach for the exit, Jaebeom’s steel grip wraps around your wrists, holding you still. It was the worst idea coming in, perhaps he won’t let you leave. This was a dungeon for a wolf, and no one knows you're here. 

“There’s another thing too.” He whispers, awfully closer. There’s the almost familiar coldness of his body on your back, and your heartbeat quickens, betraying. His effect is undeniable, his magnetism paralyzing. “I don’t care about what my Court said. I still wanted to see you.” His nose brushes your hair, and you know it’s making its way down to your neck. You’ve been there before, only this time, you are sure he won’t kill you. “You smell the same, you’re still more human than wolf.” 

Jaebeom says this like it’s a compliment, and you shut your eyes. “So what?”

He presses his stone chest to your back, unbothered by your harsh tone. “My Shadow heard you ask about me… And I tried to neglect it, but I still have this…” He pauses then, and despite everything, the memory of your shared night haunts you. “... Craving.” 

Blood, you realize. This is not about you at all. Defeated, you pull your hair aside to fully expose the little bit of collarbone your nightgown isn’t covering. He can do whatever, you won’t fight him this time, don't care if it hurts. Then he’ll probably let you go. Jaebeom lets his index run down your spine, and you clench your teeth, expecting his bite any moment.

“After you turn-.”

“I know.” You cut in sharply, eager to get this over with. His arm slides around your waist. “You hate dogs.” The vampire presses his lips on your neck, not on the same spot as last time. Again, instead of biting, he breathes you in, mouth wandering. This isn’t what you want, you shouldn’t do this. “Drink.” Frozen still, you don’t bother trying to sound like yourself.

“No,” Jaebeom hushes in your ear, absolutely shameless, “like last time.”

“I don’t want to,” you state, authoritative. The idea of betraying Chan like this makes your stomach turn. Even if you are angry, he’s still your friend and your… That. Then, there’s the rest of the pack too, and what they said about wolves with vampires. What Minho called you earlier.

“Is that so?” Jaebeom snorts, hand reaching to cup your sex over your nightgown. You catch a breath as he hums, satisfied by your reaction. “I can smell you.” Shit. You’re screwed. Already, your body is betraying you, and you press closer to his palm, craving friction. His hand doesn’t oblige though. Instead, he takes it back, letting it wander up until it finds the strings tying the collar of your long gown. You think he’ll open it, but he surprises you by spinning you in his arms. His grip closes on your wrists, holding them up. “You wear his clothes, but his scent isn't on you.” 

You don’t need Jaebeom to say his name. “He comes back tomorrow.”

Something in his gaze darkens like you’ve made a mistake: “I know, I approve every dogs’ outing. Mark was right, he shouldn’t have made it so easy.” Smirking, Jaebeom releases you, apparently very amused by something. “Now that I know who you are for Jackson’s successor… I want you even more.”

‘W-What?” You don’t move, don’t even blink when his fingers slide up the interior of your thigh. This time, it’s skin to skin, under your loose clothing. He stops centimetres away from where your legs meet. “We can’t… My pack-”

Lowering himself to press a kiss on your lips, Jaebeom interrupts your protests. He doesn’t give you an answer, but you forget about everything as soon as his mouth opens yours. Your mind numbs. You forget you’re angry, forget the pack and everything about who the creature kissing you is. Even Chan is eclipsed from your thoughts for the first time in days. Jaebeom pulls back after a while, one hand to the wall and the other frozen still on your thigh.

“New deal,” he announces, voice-controlled. He’s doing way better than you. You're panting, hanging on his every word with apprehension. He's like a drug, clogging up your brain and stealing away your better judgement. “You owe me since I got into trouble trying to help you.”

“How should I repay you?” You ask in a trance. You sound more innocent than you truly are. It’s obvious what he wants, of course you know. You can feel him already hardening against you. Right now, you want him too. You don’t care about anything else.

“I forgot I have to show you everything, tidbit.” Jaebeom smiles, ruby eyes creasing. “Don’t move.” It’s not like you were planning on going anywhere anymore. You’re already too turned on to know what’s best. Sensing you’re obeying, Jaebeom kneels on the ground before you to roll up your gown. “See?” He looks up, pushing your feet apart with his knees. You seem to have learned from your first time because you don’t move to cover your sex. Jaebeom licks his lips, gaze roaming your exposed body hungrily. “I knew you were wet...”

His cold hands grip your knees to spread you and you lean back against the stone wall, weak. He hums, nose brushing your inner thighs. The vampire king kisses them one by one, making sure not to leave an inch of soft sensitive skin untouched as he climbs. If he claimed you were wet before, it was nothing. This time you know what to expect from him and you’re shivering from anticipation. Your folds are already swollen and glistening when he finally reaches his goal. Jaebeom doesn’t lose any time, icy tongue sliding up your slit once, then twice. You grip his shoulders to remain still and he lets out a hollow chuckle, entertained. His mouth works wonder, it’s even better standing like that above him. You pant, hips rocking on his face despite yourself. You don’t have any self-control whatsoever. You aren’t sure if it’s because of the imminent Full Moon or your exacerbate senses, but everything feels more intense; anger, impatience, and now pleasure, desire… Jaebeom helps himself with a finger, and it’s way more comfortable than last time. You’re so relaxed that he adds another one, pumping them leisurely into you.

Without stopping, he sits back on his heels, raising your right leg on his shoulder. Jaebeom presses kisses in your inner thigh, looking for something that he finds almost too soon. Unlike the other night, there’s no warning or build up before he bites you. His flaming eyes find yours when his fangs pierce your skin, and you yelp in surprise. Already blood drips, overflowing his mouth. Jaebeom sucks – entranced – he wasn’t too harsh this time. He cannot heal you with vampire blood, not when you’re lycanth. His fingers are still working your core, and the pleasure mixed with the burn is far from unpleasant. Your head hits the wall when you throw it back, pushing for more friction against his hand. He holds you still, sucking harsher on your thigh. His first bite is so shallow that your flow to the wound is already dwindling.

After a moment he gives up, he wants and needs more, but there are plenty of pretty veins on your body. Some are easier to conceal than others though that’s not what he wants at all. Not tonight. Not when you belong to the next Alpha. Jaebeom wants a statement, one that ensures the balance, retribution. The king hates being ridiculed, and they are far worst ways to send a message than this. At least you’re both going to enjoy yourselves tonight. He’ll make sure you get off, just like last time.

You don’t know that of course, but even then, could you have resisted him?

It’s your turn to take the lead when Jaebeom stops drinking from your thigh. You tug at his nape, forcing him up and interrupting his lapping of your wound.  This time, you don’t mind the blood when your mouths meet.

Your new kiss tastes of metal, but it’s delicious.

Wild.

____

The East Wing is deserted when you emerge from the depth of the Castrum. It’s to be expected, to limit interactions between species and risk useless frictions, they are many specific rules. Werewolves aren’t allowed outside their sanctuary walls after sunset unless they have special permissions, so they usually limit themselves to their rooms. One night of freedom per month is granted of course; the Full Moon. No similar rule applies to vampires. It might seem unfair, but most can’t stand the sun and normally rest during the day anyway. So, it’s no surprise that you don’t bump into any other lycanth when you enter the common room and climb the stone stairs leading to the living quarters. Everyone is in bed, getting ready for tomorrow’s night hunt and celebrations of your first transformation. 

Still, you are extra careful not to get caught when walking up the corridor, passing dozens of wooden doors along the way. You can hear the soft breathing of the sleeping wolves, but also the cracking pages of a book being read, and the scratching of graphite on paper. You furtively reach the door to your room, opening it and praying the hinges don’t betray you. They don’t. 

Letting out a breath of relief, you enter. You allow yourself to make more noise once you are where you were assumed to be all along. Immediately, you stretch your sore body. Wow. That was something else entirely. You hadn’t realized Jaebeom was being so attentive on your first night. This time he was less considerate, not that you’re complaining. Smiling, you rub your thumb on the bite marks on your left wrist. You have many, you’ll have to conceal all of them tomorrow by wearing something like a long-sleeve linen shirt and pants. 

You are so lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice the mass on your bed at all. It’s when he sits up that you gasp, so shocked you drop the hairbrush you had just picked up on the carpet. It bounces twice before rolling on the stone floor, the faint sounds seemingly resonating throughout the whole wing. Chan looks half-dead, as though he hasn’t slept ever since he last fought with you. 

“Hello,” he says, voice alarmingly placid.

You feel yourself crumble under the weight of his gaze. “You’re back.”

He drops his chin to his chest like a prayer. “I came early since I was worried...” His words hit hard, and you feel the bitter sting of guilt in your chest. Somehow you spent the whole week waiting for his return... Now it’s too late, you messed up. “I missed you,” the wolf-man snorts, rolling his eyes back, “so much. I kept wondering how you were holding up without me. Laughable isn’t I?” When he looks your way again, the bite marks on your body itch like liabilities. “You seem to be doing perfectly fine.”

“Chan,” you breathe out unevenly, heart as heavy as the moon in your chest. Whatever bliss you felt from your escapade with Jaebeom is completely gone. This is why you tried to leave. It feels like you committed high treason. Perhaps you truly did, that's the scariest thought. You should tell him you didn't go to Jaebeom willingly, it just happened. Tell him you hadn’t thought of the king for days. Instead, you let out a series of incoherence; “It’s not… I’m-”

“You smell of death.” He points out, weirdly serene. You both know it means him. “I’m exhausted, y/n. Let’s not fight, let's just go to bed.”

“H-Here?” Your eyes round, staring at him under the covers.

“It’s our den, our bed.” Chan lays down again. “You can sleep elsewhere if you can’t stand me... You seem to have other options.”

Silence settles after that, you walk up to the empty side of the canopy bed, miserable. How could you leave, even if you wanted to? The mattress protests under your weight. Sitting guardedly, you keep an eye on the young man with his back turned on you. Chan doesn’t comment and as you lay over the covers. Your heartbeat is deafening. 

You are so taken aback when he breaks his muteness after over ten minutes, that you wonder if you heard right; “I don’t want us to be like them.” 

“Who?” You ask, turning on your side to face him. 

“Them,” he repeats as though you are supposed to figure it out. He rolls too, but his eyes remain glued to the ceiling.

This whole situation is strangely reminiscent of these nights you talked for hours, both laying on your back, staring at stars. You often went on trips together with a hunting crew from Ianua and other villages. You and Chan used to discuss anything from your childhoods to dumb stuff. Of course, back then, you had no idea he was way older than he looked, perhaps even older than gran. You had no idea he wasn’t human at all. Come to think of it, you wonder how he managed all these trips and why. Was it just to be with you? Does ‘deceive your future mate under the false pretense of friendship’ qualify for outings permissions?

“Them; Jackson and Ryujin.” You stop your breathing altogether when Chan clarifies. Ryujin, as in the queen? Shit. You had forgotten all about her... “Lycanth, we are loyal to a fault, devoted by nature. We…” He glances your way, having at least the decency of being embarrassed by himself. “... Mate for life… With our one partner.” 

But you aren’t listening to him. Your head is spinning, Jackson and Ryujin. What do they have to do with each other? Isn’t she wedded to Jaebeom? Although it’s quite obvious his vows don’t keep him from sleeping with whoever he wants, whenever. 

Any of you take issues of my personal life? The Alpha and Minho’s cryptic words suddenly mean much more. Jackson has a mate, trust me.

“The parasites are nothing like us.” Chan goes on as you piece things together, sounding spiteful. “They take what they covet without hesitation, they use others for their means. They are ruth-”

“I get it.” You interrupt, fighting back your irritation. Ok, now you are done feeling bad for him. No one ever explains things to you clearly in this damn castle. You’re always expected to do what is asked and understand things later on. “You hate vampires.”

“No. You don’t get it, you aren't hearing me y/n.” Chan sighs and the sound is cavernous deep. He turns to you, serious. “Vampires don’t feel like mortals or werewolves. You can’t trust him, no matter how much intimacy you share, it doesn-”

“I understand that you like me, Chan.” You’re careful not to raise your voice when you cut him off again. The last thing you want is this to escalate in another full-on fight. “And I am so sorry you feel that way, but...” You stop yourself, reading the pain on his face.

“It is my business because you’re my m-... Best friend...” He whispers, winded as though he ran for miles. “You are bitter – rightfully so – and you need time… But I’m not gonna spend my whole life picking up the pieces after him. I won’t stand sharing you. I don’t want us to be like them, I can’t.”

Though you soften slightly, you turn away to avoid his gaze. You should tell Chan that you don’t think of Jaebeom half as much as you think of him when he isn’t near, but you can’t. You’re too ashamed and resentful, both at yourself and at him. 

“Maybe you should have considered that before changing me.” It sounds too mean even to you. “You knew me, so you should’ve made the right choice.” 

Again, the silence following is louder than words. It takes Chan less time to cut through the tension. When he does, you can tell he's been thinking deeply about this.

“I did consider...” He waits for a few heartbeats before going on, hopeful; “I know you and I’ll wait. I know us, I made the right choice. I’m sorry I brought this up.” Chan sounds so relieved that you can’t help wanting to believe him. “We will never be like them...” There's an infallible faith to his truth.

Even though you’re exhausted, even though tomorrow marks the beginning of your new life. You don’t sleep a wink that night, torn between two fates you neither wanted nor considered before these last two weeks.

Nocturna Masterlist | HALLOWEEN

[hydemeincradle]

Cradlesona fic - aka That time Anise slept in a bush

This idea started from a challenge on the cradlesona discord server, and got wildly wildly out of hand. I blame the flirting. Anise and Oliver just can’t help themselves.

Here is where you’ll find out more about Anise: https://hydemeincradle.tumblr.com/post/185892731934/my-cradlesonas

Wordcount: 3963

__

It was so warm and snuggly in the quiet that I was struggling to keep my eyes open. The only sound was the tapping of Oliver working and it was slowly lulling me to sleep. I had my head rested on the arm of the chair and sneakily had brought in a small blanket.

“My workshop is not your bedroom.”

I opened my eyes enough to blink at Oliver who stood at the workbench making a hat.

“I don’t know,” I muttered, lifting my head up. “I might be able to squeeze a bed in here yet.”

“It’s bad enough you’ve pulled that chair in here,” Oliver grumbled. “How many times do I have to say it’s my workshop?”

I couldn’t help but be smug. I’d slowly been bringing things in here so I could watch Oliver work. He protested every single time, and yet hadn’t kicked me out. Since I’d dragged the soft armchair in here from the front room, Oliver had been ignoring me, til now.

“But I want to be comfortable, so I needed cushions. And a blanket too.”

He turned to face me, eyes scowling. “And you never though there might be good reasons for that? Go sit in the other room.”

“Aw.” I pouted. “But I want to be in here with you.”

“Can’t you go bother the rabbit instead?”

Sitting up, I yawned and rubbed my eyes. “He went out.”

I would have gone out with Blanc normally, he was lots of fun, although I knew he was being extra kind to me. But right now, instead of getting drunk on Blanc’s money, I wanted to spend time with Oliver. I had lots of fun irritating him playfully, and I’d missed him as he’d been so busy.

“Oliver?” I asked sweetly. He huffed and glared at me. “Can you make me a hat?”

“No.” He barely even let me finish before speaking.

“Please?”

He’d returned to his own hat now, measuring out materials. “Make yourself a hat.”

I pouted. “But I don’t know how.”

Stomping over to his bookshelf, Oliver grabbed a book and dropped it on the arm of the chair. “Go and learn.”

“Oliver,” I hissed.

He wore a teasing grin now, one which always made me rise to his challenge. “Don’t tell me you actually can’t read.”

“Of course I can, idiot. But I want a hat now.”

“You’d only lose it or leave it hanging around. Just like all those earrings and jackets which have mysteriously piled up in here.”

I tried to look innocent, but I knew I had been leaving stuff around, slowly digging a little corner for myself in here.

“I wouldn’t, I promise.” I said, standing up next to him. I could feel him starting to give in already.

“You always say that,” Oliver said moving back to his workbench.

“Meanie.” I crossed my arms and followed him.

“You don’t have any money anyway.”

He was lucky he had turned away, and was missing the glare I tried to bore through the back of his head. “Now that’s just rude. I’m trying, it’s not—”

“Alright,” he hissed. “Will you shut up if I say yes?”

“Maybe.” I grinned. I knew I was winning. “I can’t promise anything.”

Oliver reached up and covered my mouth with his hand. “Shush. I can’t think with your yapping.” It was all too tempting to lick his hand just to annoy him, but before I could he smirked. “Don’t you dare. And just stay still a moment.”

I would have been glaring at him some more, trying to plot revenge but my heart was thumping away wildly and making it too difficult to do anything. His hand was warm and had the lingering smell of tea leaves. It was far too easy to imagine what he could do with them.

The moment was as he reached into his pocket and brought out a tape measure, and wrapped it around my head.  

“You’ve got a huge head.”

As I went to snipe back, a brilliant idea came to mind. “Well,” I said grinning, “that means this will fit me then.”

I reached up, took Oliver’s hat, and put it on. I ducked his grasp as as he tried to get it back and ran off out the door.

“Get back here.”

Ignoring him I hurried through the hall, avoiding the dining room chairs. Oliver’s hand grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop, then pinned my hands to the wall stopping my escape.

“And there I was thinking you couldn’t get more annoying.”

“Me?” I asked trying to catch my breathe. I pushed against him. “How about how grumpy and annoying you are?”

Oliver leant in closer, smirking. “Maybe I wouldn’t be so grumpy if you stopped pestering me.”

“Well then,” I said screwing up my face. “I’ll leave you alone then.”

The door clicked open and Blanc stopped in the doorway, looking between us. “Well at least you two aren’t trying to kill each other this time.”

I took the opportunity to slip out of Oliver’s grip and hurried up the stairs.

“Hey Anise,” he called. “You’ve still got my hat.”

“I’m keeping it,” I yelled back at him and stormed off to my room.

I’d leave him alone alright. I was going to completely ignore him. And I definitely wasn’t going to give him back his hat. In fact, I was going out, I changed my mind. I had a little bit of money left in my purse so I’d go out and forget all about Oliver.

Within moments I’d changed into a pretty dress and done my hair. I’d been tempted to take Oliver’s hat too but instead I hid it under a pile of clothes. I was going to win this war. I was debating what next to pinch from him, maybe I could be brave and go for his tie.

Now ready, I slipped open my window and dropped my legs out. I’d escaped this way a few times before, cushioned by Blanc’s carrot garden. It was more fun that going by the front door, although this time I was doing it to avoid Oliver. Thump. My boots landed in the soil, disturbing the growing carrots.  

I wasn’t even sure where to go exactly, I just felt like wandering for a while. The bright full moon hung low, the reason for my bad mood. I’d tried to hide from it, pretending it wasn’t there. I hoped that being with Oliver would take my mind off it. But no. Another full moon which brought back all the feelings I spent all my time burying.

After a while I ended up laying on the fountain wall, dipping my hand in the cold water. My arm was littered in cheap bracelets that I’d picked up from the Central Quarter. I’d tried to find fun things, colourful and distracting, contrasting the deep feelings I wanted gone. But even now they just reminded me I had nothing special. I’d left everything behind trying to get away, everything I’d ever owned.

“I didn’t want your stupid hat anyway,” I said sulking, drawing patterns in the water.

I’d find something else special to have for myself. I just thought for a moment that having something made by him would be it.

In the water I watched the moon reflect and dance in the ripples I made, watching as my eyes glowed faintly. Midnight, the moon at it’s highest point. Again my magic was being used, out of my control. The previous months had done the same, and like each time before, my hair grew out of control til it reached down my ankles. Just as I was getting used to it short.

“Two months here. Yay.”

“Hey, was that magic?” I froze and looked up to see faces on the other side of the fountain staring at me. “And who might you be, miss?”

I jumped up, standing on the edge of the fountain, ready to run at any moment. I knew that look, that lust for people like me. How could they be here too? Maybe I could never be free of them. I had enough being captive last time. I’d freed myself for what… to have it happen again? I’m never going back there.

One of them pulled a crystal out of their sleeve and I ran towards him, kicking it out of his hand and landing down on the cobblestones.

“Quick get her.”

I didn’t know the streets as well as I wanted, but I hoped it was enough to escape them. My skirt fluttered in the wind as I ran as fast as I could, not looking back. Ahead was a curious building, the tallest here in the Central Quarter. I think Oliver had mentioned gardens on top of it.

“I’m sorry Blanc,” I said as paused long enough to use my magic. It only took seconds for me to transport myself to the top, looking down on where I just stood.

I caught my breath as I looked behind me, eager to move away from the edge. I was in a garden, covered in rose bushes surrounding a neatly laid out table and chairs. It was beautiful, and yet I felt like I shouldn’t be here. Sinking down to the grass I curled my knees to my chest. Maybe Cradle wasn’t as safe as I thought. Then, maybe this place wasn’t for me either. I couldn’t be safe, not when there were more people trying to capture me. I had to find somewhere new, somewhere safe.

Though, for a while I had liked it here. I didn’t want to leave Blanc and… definitely not Oliver, but deep inside I felt like I had to.

For now, I was tired, and it wasn’t safe to go anywhere. I’d stay here and watch the sunrise before making my way back. It was nice, however to lay down and watch the moon, the same one which had freed me from my last prison. Though the trip had nearly killed me, it had been worth it. For a little while, at least, I had been happy here.

*

I woke up in the bushes, leaves stuck in my hair and a stupid crick in my neck. It looked to be dawn, and I ached for an actual bed. I hoped that enough time had passed so those scary people had long gone, but part of me was still paranoid. However I was cold and hungry and I was trying hard to ignore the part of me craving for a cup of tea, especially the ones Oliver made, as they somehow tasted better than mine.

I was too tired to use magic again safely, so had to fumble around and find the exit; thankfully there was a doorway nearby and I hoped I wasn’t somewhere I shouldn’t. As I crept down I wondered what I should do next, I had to come up with yet another plan to find safety but this time without magic. I sighed. Wasn’t there anywhere safe?

By the time I dragged myself through Blanc’s front door, people were wandering around town giving me strange looks. I ignored them all and quietly clicked open the door, hoping nobody would notice.

“Oh Anise, there you are.” Blanc said standing from the table. “We’ve been worried about you. Oh, look at your hair.” He came over, reached out and started fussing at the leaves in my hair and I let him, leaning in to rest my forehead on his shoulder. “You sweet thing. What happened? Oliver has been out all night looking for you.”

Sleeping soundly on the dining room table was Oliver, head buried in his crossed arms. He was in his younger form now, looking small against the table.

I shook my head and sighed. How was I supposed to explain that I needed to leave?

“Let’s get you some tea, that’ll perk you back up. It’s been far too quiet without you, and for a while I thought I was going deaf.”

“Alright,” I mumbled, as Blanc pulled out a chair for me.

As I listened to Blanc making tea, I stared at the white table cloth. The past day had been a whirlwind again.

“You look like you slept in a bush,” came the grumpy voice of Oliver.

I was tempted to not say anything to him at all, but I could never hold a grudge. “I did.”

“I’ll remember to check the bushes next time then.”

“Goodness me Anise,” Blanc interrupted with a tray of cups and a teapot. “Why ever were you in a bush?”

The fear of being chased rose in my chest and I felt sick. It’s because of them.

“I changed my mind,” I said standing. “I don’t feel like tea.”

Before either of them could say anything, I dashed upstairs to my room and crumpled down on my bed. I bunched my blanket up and buried my face, hoping to take away any tears which fell. It felt so stupid, so wrong, and yet… all I ever wanted was somewhere safe.

I heard the door click open and gentle footsteps approach. I didn’t even need to look up to tell it was Oliver. “Look who’s pestering who now.”

“I saw some ugly idiots last night in hooked cloaks,” Oliver started. I pulled the blanket closer, trying not to think of them. “I thought so,” he added softly, reached out and poked my shoulder. “Next time just come back here, even if you have to use magic. You’ll always be safe from them here.”

“There won’t be a next time,” I hissed, muffled by the blanket.

Oliver was quiet a while before he poked my shoulder again. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?”

He sighed rather dramatically before adding quietly, “big spoon rights.”

I paused a moment, not quite believing what I had heard. No matter how much I fought, I couldn’t help but giggle. I glanced up to find Oliver looking worried, “damn right.”

“Just—”

“Can’t take it back now,” I yelled, threw my arms around him, then pulled us down to the bed. “And I’ll remember this forever and ever, so don’t think of ever denying it.”

“You’re such a dummy.”

“Can’t hear you,” I said squeezing him tight in a cuddle. “Too busy being a big spoon.”

“Yeah, well don’t get too used to it. I’ll get my revenge, just you wait.”

I leant over and whispered in his ear, “tough words, for a little spoon.”

I laughed and lay back down holding him close, feeling a bit better after all.

By evening Oliver was in his workshop and I snuggled back in the chair watching him. I was a little surprised when he was the one to suggest me watching him, and even pushed his limits by bringing in a plate of chocolate muffins to eat. Now full, I let out a yawn.

“You better not be falling asleep again,” Oliver grumbled.

“No, just food sleepy.”

“Oh?” Oliver put down his tool and turned to face me, his eyes glittering dangerously. “Is that so?”

“W-Why?” I asked, getting a little worried. He had a devious look and I wasn’t sure if I needed to get ready to run or throw something at him.

Smirking, he walked over, leant towards me and whispered, “revenge.”

“Wha—” Oliver scooped me up and flung me over his shoulder. “Nooo, what are you doing? Let me down.”

“No, be a good little spoon and stay put.”

I flailed around a little as he carted me off wailing, “but I’m the big spoon.”

“Not now,” he said, pausing to open his bedroom door. “Now I get the big spoon rights.”

“Nooo, you can’t take away my big spoon rights,” I cried. “How mean!”

Before I could say more, Oliver dropped me onto his soft bed and leant close. “I told you I would get revenge, didn’t I?”

Wide eyed, I couldn’t help but stare, unable to say anything. His warm breath tickled my flushing skin, and there was no way I wasn’t blushing. I already thought he was handsome, but this close up… I’m fairly sure I was beginning to melt right into his sheets.

“No complaints?” Still unable to speak a coherent sentence, I stuck my tongue out at him instead. “Good, you are finally quiet.” Oliver lay down beside me then slipped an arm across my waist. “I thought little spoons were supposed to lay on their side.”

“They do,” I squeaked, “but as I said, I’m a big spoon.”

“Not tonight you aren’t, you just take advantage during the day. I am bigger than you, therefore the big spoon, and get big spoon rights. Now roll over.”

Smirking, I turned over, but faced him instead. “The little spoon protests.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind, next time.”

“Next time?” I grinned. “Oh, so you are learning you can’t escape the big spoon.”

Oliver’s grey eyes watched me carefully and I lost myself so easily in them. He reached up and started stroking my long hair. “Does that mean you aren’t going anywhere?”

“What?” I froze, wondering how he knew.

He chuckled, running his finger down my neck. “You are easy to read, Anise.”

“What’s that? You actually used my name,” I said in sarcastic shock.

“I say nice things.”

“Sure.” I nodded. “Everything out of your mouth is sunshine and rainbows.”

Oliver’s finger continued it’s path along my jaw, until it stopped at my chin, lifting it slightly. “So? What is your plan?”

I closed my eyes, trying to not let him distract me, but failing rather spectacularly. “I have no plan yet.”

“So,” Oliver whispered, “if I said I don’t want you to go anywhere...”

“Oliver…” I frowned. “It’s not that—”

He pressed his fingertip to my lips and I nearly bit him. “Would it help to know that they are after me too? They would be interested to know I’m still here. But this is Cradle and things change at the drop of my hat.”

“Oh, I still have that,” I mused. Oliver waited patiently for my response, and I huffed. “I escaped those sorts of people once, I don’t want to go back to that. That’s not why I almost died getting away.” I rolled on my back and shrugged. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, what do you want?” I looked back at Oliver. You. I want you. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing,” I said a bit too quick, glancing away. I could feel my cheeks flushing again. Oops.

“You want… nothing?”

“Yes. No. Urgh.”

Lifting Oliver’s pillow I buried my head under it. I didn’t know why I couldn’t just say something. Part of me was too afraid. Not wanting to believe I found something that would keep me from moving, because then I’d have to deal with them…

But at the same time, he had just carried me off to his bed and messed around. Our line between friendship and something more was definitely blurry.

And he doesn’t want me to go anywhere.

Oliver lifted up the pillow and smirked, “does nothing usually require a pillow?”

Grabbing the edges, I launched the pillow up in his face. Take that. Before I could dodge, it fell back down and hit me, giving Oliver chance to grab my wrists and pin me down.

“Why are you hiding?” he asked, quickly nudging away the pillow.

“No, don’t expose me,” I said with a laugh. “I was safe.”

“I think you’ll find you exposed yourself,” Oliver said before smiling deviously. “Though I am sure I can help.”

“What?”

I wasn’t sure whether to glare or be surprised at the way he leant over me, still holding me down until a hand moved to my waist. With his long fingers, he started lifting the edge of my shirt and stroked the skin underneath.

“O-Oliver.” He didn’t answer me, just watched as I flustered under his touch. “What are you—d-don’t you dare tickle me.”

“I’m not going to tickle you,” he said, his voice lowering to a husky tone.

Slowly his fingers crept upwards continuing to lift my shirt further til my stomach was bared. I tried so hard to fight back his teasing, somehow... not quite doing anything but oh, I so couldn’t help it while his fingers brushed across my skin higher and higher. I bit my lip. Though it did nothing for the slight whimper which left my mouth. I wanted him so bad.

Licking his lips, Oliver leant ever closer, hovering just above mine which were more than ready for his.

“Anise,” he asked in a soft whisper. “Do you still want nothing?”

“No.”

Oliver smiled. “Good.”

And with that, he moved away quick, leaving me laying there needy and in shock. I pouted. “You’re cruel.”

“Still want to leave?” he asked, now laying down beside me again.

“I’m half tempted to walk out the door right now cause you are being such a meanie,” I huffed, crossed my arms, and turned my back on him.

Oliver reached out to move my hair out of the way, and I felt his breath tickle against my ear. “And yet, you are still here.”

“Yeah well, I just need to… I’m going to...” my voice trailed as Oliver’s fingers grazed my neck.

“Going to what?” His lips brushed against the tip of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

Before he could tease me further, I turned quick and pressed a kiss to his lips. He froze so I reached for him, threading my fingers through his hair and pulling gently, enough for him to respond with a deeper kiss. I’d wanted to do this for so long, and it certainly didn’t disappoint but… I pulled away. Oliver frowned and leant closer, but I shimmied across the bed.

“Now who’s being cruel?”

“I—ahh.” I slipped on the edge of the blanket, crashing down to the floor with a bang. Standing hastily, I stuck my tongue out at him once more. “That’s payback. That’s revenge for—” I coughed so I didn’t have to finish. He didn’t need to know how much he left me wanting so much more. “And now I’m going.”

Before he could do or say anything to get me back on that damn comfy bed of his, I hurried out of his bedroom, shutting the door behind me. He drove me crazy too easily, and I knew if I wasn’t careful I would say something I’d regret. I’m not giving him any ammo against me. Though, I was sure he knew. But dammit, I wanted to be the one in control. I was the big spoon.

I stopped and let out a shaky breath. Dammit.

Backtracking, again, I swung Oliver’s door wide. “Damn you, you big meanie,” I practically yelled at him, storming over to the bed. “You drive me crazy, like all the time and it’s not fair. And now y-you get me all worked up and stuff.” Oliver sat on the edge of the bed so I stood close and poked him in the chest. “And it’s all your fault I’m all turned on and now you think you can just escape and get away with it. No, not at all. And now you are making my head go all funny and it’s all your fault… that I-uhh… love you.”  Oliver stared at me bewildered and I cupped both his cheeks in my hands. “So you better take responsibility for your actions. Or you’ll be in trouble.”

Before he could say a word, I kissed him again, this time not intending to stop any time soon.

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 24 - Heaven is a Place on Earth

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 1611

Summary: The seraph and his love settle into the relative normalcy of life in the bunker - how long will the honeymoon last? Warning for a suggestively erotic non-explicit adult situation. One more chapter remains before we bid adieu. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

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Staring into the two by two crate repurposed as luggage overflowing with stuff set on the end of the bed, the surge of a smile crests your cheeks. The gladness arises not from the realization the relatively small container holds more superfluous crap than you’ve owned in years – most of the items totally unnecessary for basic survival and impractical for travelling light – it’s the notion of putting down roots, calling somewhere home, and having the comfort of someone with which to share the physical and emotional space such a home represents that draws out the manifestation of pure delight.

Grasp sliding along the sides of the wooden box to lock into the notched handles, ginger on the roughened surface to avoid splinters, you drift a final glimpse around the stripped bunker room where you first woke up in this strange and wonderful world – the very same day you met a seraph who challenged your beliefs about celestial beings and whose kindness and persistent, although not always patient, concern changed everything.

It was Cas’ idea, moving in – air quotes implicit – with him. Practically speaking, since you spend whatever free time you have together, well, together, the proposal made sense; especially considering other refugees live crammed into storage cells sleeping on stacks of dusty file folders in lieu of mattresses and stowing their sundries on shelves lined with lore books in languages too ancient to comprehend.

“Oh, uh, sorry-” a voice pitched to tinny heights by nerves meekly announces itself from the shadow of the hall door standing ajar.

Your glance shifts to a girl burdened beneath a backpack and shrouded in stained jeans and a tattered olive-colored jacket ringed by a dingy faux-fur collar. You recognize the youthful porcelain features and furtively darting eyes of the young woman and smile warmly. “Hi, Maggie. Come on in.”

In an undertaking of momentous effort given the weight strapped to her shoulders, she strains a step inward and bends, nearly buckling to the floor with it as the backpack lands inside the threshold with a dense thud. Evidently she never caught on to the adage of packing light. Nevertheless, she survived. “Sam said this room would be open in the afternoon-” She peers at a non-existent watch on her wrist, rubs the bare flesh in self-conscious habit, and hides the whole hand in her pocket. “I-I guess I’m a little early.”

“Right on time,” you reassure. Without the fallout filtered shine of the sun, you’re not yet used to reckoning time here in the artificially-lit depths of the bunker either. “I was just clearing out.” Focus flitting to the hole in her pocket where her buried fingers fidget, you remember a magenta jacket worn once mixed in amidst your surplus bounty of belongings. “Hey, I have something you might like.” Rifling through the box, you yank out the article and toss it in her direction.

She dives to catch the fabric projectile, strokes the satiny finish, admires the color, and stares up at you; an unuttered – Are you sure? – glimmers in her wide-eyed gaze.

“I don’t really need two coats, you know?”  You resettle the rumpled contents of the crate. “And the color compliments you.”

“Thank you!” She beams; the gift, along with the compliment, opens the proverbial floodgates of sociability. “You’re with the angel, right?”

Right. The skin on your nape crawls – the bunker’s a tiny place these days with so many people occupying it and every single one of them damn well knows you’re with the angel. Sam made it a point to involve you in aiding the other survivors as they adapt to this world in order to break down the barriers of your angelic intimacy inhibiting them from trusting you. You get it – once upon a time you thought all angels were dicks, too. Defensive instinct kicks in at her comment. “His name is Castiel.” You direct the grit of the answer into the tenseness of the fists grabbing the edges of the box. A sliver punctures your pinky.

She looks at her feet, blushing, apologetic. “I didn’t mean-” she mumbles, meets your eyes to express sincerity– “I meant, what’s it like? Being with-”

“An angel?” you finish the query, biting the inside of your lower lip in self-recrimination for getting riled over the friendly conversation of a curious and grateful girl. “Sorry, I just … I’ve heard some of what the others say about us. He’s a good guy and what we have, it feels really … normal.”

“Normal-” She smiles, irises wistfully glazing and rolling upward in reflection– “that sounds nice.”

Heaving the box up to balance on the slope of your hip, you clasp her arm commiseratively as you shimmy past, ignoring the shard of wood stinging your skin. “I’ve learned anything is possible in this world. You can have that now, too – normal, nice. It’s safe here. I promise.”

“Safe.” She mouths the word, swallows the syllable in wonderment as you disappear into the hallway. Spinning to study the barren beige walls of the room, seeing possibilities in the blank canvas, bending to pick up her pack and drag it toward the dresser, she says the word again, imbuing the sound with confidence of truth. Of belief. “Safe.”

Perception perked, smile snagged at the corner of his mouth, Cas follows the sweetly noted treasure of a song to the yawning entryway of his quarters; his, he reminds himself, and as of today, yours, too. He stops to watch your figure swaying in front of the dresser, humming an unidentifiable and melodic tune as you fold pieces of clothing and tuck them into the drawers.

With you inhabiting the space, the light of the room glows significantly warmer; the cold décor seems somehow cozier. The room was never one he sought out before, never a place he felt a particular connection to aside from the fact Dean deemed number 15 as officially in angelic possession when it became clear the heavenly dispossessed being had unofficially blessed the bunker as his official home base; Dean happened to be half in the bag drunk that night and the bestowment of the bedroom may have been purely so the hammered hunter could slur some smirked joke about an Inception-style movie meta of an occupied vessel occupying a room.

The muffled shutting of the top drawer and scrape asunder of the one below tugs Cas into the present. He worried asking you to stay with him so early in your relationship might be perceived as presumptuous on his part. This world may be novel to you, but as an angel the navigational nuances of a loving liaison exist in a land foreign to him – one discovered, explored, and mapped out piece by piece with every moment you share. There’s no doubt in his heart and mind he loves you; and yet, he is also learning how to love you day by day.

Heeding to the guidance of the naturally arising – albeit frequently hedonistic in origin – impulses afflicting his vessel when in your presence has proven useful. He succumbs to one such an urge now, treading noiselessly across the threshold to slot his body against yours; skimming his hands over your stomach, he sinks his stubbly chin to your neck to stamp a kiss upon the delicate skin. “How was your day, my love?”

Laughter of surprise lilting your tongue, folded tee held aloft in your fingers tumbling to the floor, you relax into his rigid physique and stretch your neck to give his ticklish affections ample and unrestricted access. “Good – great, now that you’re here. How’d it go with the ghoul?”

He groans, a vibration of breath ghosting your ear.

“That good, huh?” you tease. In the mirror mounted above the dresser, you observe him nuzzle the sensitive spot below your ear until, lashes lowering in delight, you shudder and squirm, weak-kneed with a knot of anticipation forming in your belly.

They – he, Sam, and Dean in a tag-team trio – have tried to set a routine of hunting to keep Jack distracted, to train those of the refugees who are willing to fight a different foe. No one is talking about the impossibility of returning to the apocalypse world to take Michael to task. Deep down, for all the speeches and good intentions, no one really wants to go back; and without an archangel, that door is mercifully closed.

When he lets up in his worshipful ministrations, your eyelids flutter open to meet the eclipsed blue of his reflected gaze. “I missed you, angel.”

“I missed you, too.” His fingertips test the heated waters of flesh beneath the hem of your shirt, sparking grace where they caress and a blissful aching in your nethers. “I heard you praying – perceived your longing.” The digits wander below your navel, lifting the elastic band of your shorts to stray further still. “Those prayers – they’re inappropriate as far as holy entreaties go, don’t you think?” Arching a brow, the smile brimming to scrunch his eyes and nose tells you he enjoyed every licentious word.

“Yes, Cas,” you purr, less acknowledgment of impiousness, more yearning. Fingers wrap the seraph’s wrist and push his pursuit of your pleasure permissively toward its goal.

“Dean found another case,” he murmurs and nips at the shell of your earlobe, “we leave in a few hours.”

“So soon?” You gasp the last word, thighs trembling as his fingers and their tingling grace glide home to sheath your senses from all but the seraph’s touch.

He groans again into your neck, softly speaks in a gravelly choked cadence you’ve come to comprehend is Enochian. You don’t know the precise meaning; you can guess.

Next: Ch. 25 - Corollaries

[gaygwenpool]

give me literally All Headcanon for that post for Mysterio p l e a s e (also, for the one of my choosing, whether or not you hc he commentates movies while watching them or insists on ABSOLUTE SILENCE)

:D!!! my sweet boy, BLESS you nonnie! 

◉ whether or not you hc he commentates movies while watching them or insists on ABSOLUTE SILENCE IS A FANTASTIC QUESTION IVE BEEN LITERALLY LAUGHIN ABOUT IT ALL DAY THANK YOU

   Both actually! if you try to comment on the plot or react to an actor, immediately you get rudely shushed with the most scorching glare because how DARE you, focus on the ~ART~ you heathen!!! but also the Moment a slightly more advanced special effect takes place, he is all hoppin on his seat excitedly explaining how it’s done and how genius that is, how would he improve on it and how another movie dealt with it, the dialogue for the big plot reveal goin on the screen be damned :’D Also as the movie advances, he starts gettin more and more into long passionate rants either complaining about the lack/surfeit of respect the creators got, how arrogant this one actor is and how he doesnt respect his cues and so on….. lots of the stuff he says is actually pretty interesting but yeah, if you counted on just enjoying the movie, tough luck 

   He really likes watchin movies with people but prefers to see the movie first on his own at least once, to really focus on it. Often, he will watch a movie in the livin room while others do their own thing and he will comment on the good scenes, however if you agreed to actually watch somethin with him and got distracted during screening or worse, was on your phone?? you are dead to him. (and you can expect some …unpleasant surprises in the upcoming days)   

im gonna put the rest under the readmore cuz this is gettin long ^^;;

[ask meme]

☾ - sleep headcanon

Beck is the UGLIEST sleeper, he is the worst. He snores loudly, drools, moves, KICKS, mumbles and has the most vivid wildest dreams. (it happens rarely but sometimes he’ll dream about somethin, wake up and for a while be convinced it actually happened, you know like when you dream about arguing with your friend and being mad at them the next day etc) On the other hand, sometimes, all his features relax, he loses the scowl and looks surprisingly peaceful and happy… oh and he hogs the blanket.  

His sleep schedule is a fuckin mess, he is able to go like the whole week on few hours of sleep total when he is workin on a project but other days he gets grumpy if he doesnt get his 10h of beauty sleep every night.. 

★ - sad headcanon

uhhh i dont actually have much sad stuff for this boy yet, he brings me so much joy that i dont have the heart for that :’’’D (also i like him and chameleon team ups and Dmitri brings enough angst to the table for the both of them)

He really actually died that one time and went to hell (though in Patchwork, im not gonna keep everythin about that Daredevil plot, i really like Mysti being dangerous and actually a worthy opponent but most of it was too fucked up for my tastes…) and well… it wasnt great :’D  it mostly targeted his insecurities about his own talent he buried so deep he almost stopped believing them, the lack of respect and recognition and him willingly throwing away any chance he had at those by becoming Mysterio and of course everything that happened with his ex Brick Johnson…

☆ - happy headcanon

blease consider: autistic Quentin !!!!!!

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

he doesnt have a hair trigger temper like Ock or Electro but Damn does this boy holds grudges over literally everything :’D lots of overcomplicated, carefully crafted revenge plots just for eating the last yogurt in the fridge… He gets frustrated easily, getting snappy and rude, especially if people are not listening to him, but it’s often about the pettiest things, the bigger stuff doesnt affect him as much.  

He doesnt enjoy violence for the sake of violence but he is not above it either, everythin is allowed for his big performance…… he can be quite a good n friendly boss if you listen to his orders and work well but can just as much set you up to die in an explosion, all while smiling and patting you on the back… 

✿ - Sex headcanon

my Mysterio is gay as hell but also somewhere on the ace spectrum… not sex-repulsed but definitely not a high drive either (he feels oddly smug about that, like look at those fools trying to get into each others’ pants, how pathetic, *I* in the meantime have time for things that Truly matter, like recreating every Xmen battle ever with only straws and gum.) 

■ -  Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

listen, i basically grew up on those “the entire villain team lives in a single place - shenanigans ensue” fics so im not givin up on the Sinister Six HQ, okay. (Chameleon usually finds them a suitable house with enough rooms, as luxurious as their current fonds allow, and he prides himself in putting in lil personal touches that he knows the sin six members would enjoy, for Quentin it’s often very obscure movies, rare memorabilia from his favorite ones, stuff for his illusions, a stolen Oscar…) 

 When these are unavailable (aka superheroes got them busted) or when he aint in the middle of a crime job, he usually stays at one of the Cham’s safehouses (with or without him) and in a few of them, he already has his own dedicated room with some of his fav old tricks on display. Speakin of which, he has a BIG warehouse with most of his setups and stages or at least models. He doesnt really plan on reusing them but he likes having them all together 

♡ - romantic headcanon

((jakjgkfajga im a loser and ended up shippin him with Chameleon and everythin i’ve thought off so far is EMBARRASSING AND CHEESY AS FUCK :’’’’D so im gonna leave those for another time))

Beck being an Extra Bitch he is, lives for the Big Romantic Gestures like in the movies and he often gets so caught up in the prep he.. kinda disregards the person he was makin it for, the making of the effect means more for him than  the actual sentiment behind it… 

(ok maybe One mysteleon hc, while it pains him, Quentin knows Chammy Would Not Enjoy being a target of such grand display… he gotta be more subtle, creating a scene where he could play in disguise and dupe some superheroes mayhaps…) 

♥ - family headcanon

like 99% of the villains and their grandma, his family wasnt great, mum left when he was very young with another guy, his dad considered his passion for movies a great waste of time and let lil Quentin know how disappointed he was at every occasion both vocally and physically.. After the first few broken models and ripped tapes with stop animations that took weeks to complete, Quentin stopped tryin to impress and convince his father about the greatness of special effects.. He joined a boxing club and learnt some other martial arts but as soon as he could, he left to join a proper film school which led to his father dropping both financing and all contact with him. 

☮ - friendship headcanon

Im not even gonna start about Chameleon’s and Mysterio’s friendship because that shit is canon and i cry about it on a daily basis. 

Despite his penchant for Dramatics, the constant Need for Validation and Backstabbing and other Throwing Shit in the Fan just cuz it was narratively better, Quentin actually has quite a few friends? He gets along quite well with everyone from the Sin Six and many other villains and even has some ‘normie’ pals from the film industry or just neighborhood… 

One of his most surprising is actually Doc Ock with whom he gets along even outside of business partners/partners in crime basis. Though maybe not so surprising, Mysterio is quite vocal with his praises when he feels like they are deserved and Doc as well actually admires and recognizes Beck’s talent while it is still enough specific for him not to feel threatened in his superiority (once he tried to improve them and show them to Quentin with his usual arrogance and flair and that was the biggest fight they ever had and they werent on speaking terms for a loooong while after that… Oct cant stand not having the last word so he still modified some of Mysterio’s tricks even after that but he actually cares about their friendship enough to not tell Mysti about it.. Not like he would ever admit that to Quentin’s fishbowl face) 

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

like 99% of everythin Mysti does is Somehow related to special effects/film or the Drama in general but my boy is a nerd in general, theater, books, comics, manga, roleplaying games, you name it. He especially likes flashy stuff obviously. 

He really enjoys learning new techniques and figuring out how to make something happen. When he was younger, he was viciously against CGI but later he started to sorta respect it as its own category that needs talent and effort… he still prefers to use the traditional techniques of course :’D (…as traditional as HYPNOTIZING PEOPLE WITH NEURAL GAZ IS) 

☯ - likes/dislikes headcanon

He has a very Complicated relationship with the film industry……. on the one hand, he loves the behind the scenes, the rush, the Action…. but on the other hand, he hates it with a fiery passion, everythin from how you get treated like dirt and the pretentious prizes being awarded just for the Big names and hollywood and everythin turning around the money an-…., he has a very long list and it is alphabetized. (While he has a point for many of those complaints, the fact HE himself never got any pretentious award remains probably the main issue…) 

he absolutely despises people making fun of D-grade shitty movies in the “this shitty horror is so cheesy and dumb it’s funny and i love it” way, either because the people workin on it were good and trying their best but the money or the producers etc ruined it (his experience) and then it’s an unfair critique or because the creators just didnt try hard enough and that’s even worse in his books and this movie should not get Any Attention much less a positive one.. 

he likes complaining and being snarky :’D he enjoys the challenge Spidey sets for them and loves playing tag with him (even when he loses..) He loves the prep before his big shows both alone or with help, the adrenalin when actually pulling it off and when he discusses it with Cham in details. He lives for the applause and recognition and ~Fame~ 

▼ - childhood headcanon

not as much as hc as adopting the Webspinners’ aproach: he spent most of his childhood daydreaming, hiding himself behind the stories and special effects….. not many friends aside from Betsy but he didnt really need them, he wanted audience not pals.. In the film school he started to be more social and communicative, he met Brick there and they started goin out… 

∇ -. old age/aging headcanon

hhhhh im conflicted, there are like 3 comics where Q is retired because he has enough of superheroes beating him up and he Really doesnt want to go back to it.. I cant see him actually givin up on it totally tho… idk idk

♒ - cooking/food headcanon

Like with sleep, it oscillates wildly. He can forget to eat when he is hypefocusin on a particular project (one single chip suffices as nourishment) or he just subsides on ramen for a month but on the other hand he is quite a capable cook. Nothing Extraordinary but he can make enough diverse simple meals. When livin with Chammy, they both enjoy eating out so they do that as much as the budget allows (so not that much, illusions arent cheap…) 

☼ - appearance headcanon

im still thinkin about that one post that described Quentin as a “toenail of a man” and i couldnt agree more :’D very short, pig nose, hairstyle à la Spock, stocky built and weirdly beefy, like this guy’s thigh is bigger than some heads… (for a nerd he is surprisingly strong what the fuck) 

All Mysterios are Good Mysterios but my preferred ones have a bigass ROUND fishbowl, the longest cape and somethin as a belt, preferably sash.. 

ൠ - random headcanon

he actually isnt….. that great of an actor nor director nor creator………………….. (im sorry baby i love you but it’s tru….) he unconsciously copies a lot of stuff he has seen elsewhere, he follows overused tropes, his work is packed with cliches and cheesy over the top pathos… his special effects mastery n creativity with workin out his illusions is absolutely INCREDIBLE dont get me wrong, it’s just… the plot/ideas……..  at first he lived in denial about this still believing 100% his work is Wonderful and Perfect and he is just a misunderstood author… later he decided to embrace it and he is livin the life now :D

[hurt-care]

HP Universe Drabble Challenge Pt. 2

5 more drabbles for the sickfic/snzfic drabble challenge! The first 5 can be found here: http://hurt-care.tumblr.com/post/181569578979/hp-universe-drabble-challenge

6. Light (Harry Potter) 7. Hands (Remus Lupin) 8. Fever (Remus Lupin) 9. Finally Alone (Severus Snape) 10. Worried (Sirius Black)

6. Light

Ginny opened the bedroom curtains with a flick of her wand and crossed the room to her still-sleeping husband.

“Harry,” she said, tugging at the quilt that lay over him. “It's nearly noon, love.”

Harry stirred and opened his eyes for a moment, blinking in the bright sunlight. He groaned and rolled over, burying his face in his pillow.

“Shut the light, please,” he moaned.

“It's nearly noon,” Ginny repeated. “Get up or we won't get to all our errands this afternoon.

“Please, Gin, the light,” he said from behind his pillow shield. “My head feels like it might split.”

Worried, Ginny flicked her wand and charmed the drapes closed again. She sat down on the bed and reached out to smooth back Harry's mess of dark hair.

“A headache or what?” she asked softly, moving her hand down to the nape of his neck and tucking her palm across it. “You're a bit warm, love.”

“Dunno,” Harry said, rolling over to face her, In the darkened room, he looked up at her through circled eyes. “A cold, I think. I'm all clogged up and my head is pounding and I'm just tired.”

“Go back to sleep and I'll go down to the apothecary and get you some potions,” Ginny said soothingly. “I'm sorry I woke you up.”

7. Hands

“Remus, love?” Tonks said tentatively. The man in the bed opposite her stirred and blinked his eyes open. “How are you feeling?”

“Ehh...alright,” he murmured sleepily. “Still really stuffed up.”

He'd been fighting a head cold since before his transformation and now the day after, no potion seemed to be making a difference. He'd finally managed to get some much-needed sleep but the snoring and sinus pain kept waking him.

“Let me try something,” Tonks offered. She sat up and reached her hands over to her husband's face, placing her two thumbs on either side of his nose and gently pressing them down, running them across the ridge of his sinuses. She trailed the thumbs back again, stroking with an even pressure.

Remus grimaced under her touch.

“Too hard?” she asked.

“No, it feels good.”

She pressed her index fingers into the top corners of his eyebrow ridge and he sighed quietly as the pressure in his head shifted. She eased her hands upwards and pushed back his fringe, gently running her fingers through his hair as he drifted back to sleep.

8. Fever

The month passed in a blur of mixed emotions. Sirius was innocent and free! The joy of the news had been overwhelming for Remus, who had assumed for over a decade that Sirius was lost to him. But Remus had been forced to leave Hogwarts and the security of a safe transformation with Wolfsbane, not to mention a warm and cozy place to live plus a salary more generous than any other he'd ever received.

It was the impending transformation without Wolfsbane that weighed most heavily on Remus' mind. After eight moons spent curled up in his professors' quarters, returning to the dreaded basement of his dilapidated cottage in Yorkshire seemed unbearable. But he had no other choice.

He went down into the damp basement before moonrise and prepared for the usual worst. The next morning, he woke to a cacophony of pain and the dull ache of fever. It would be at least an hour before he'd be able to get to his feet. He lay, face pressed to the ground, floating between delirium and lucidity.

Beside him, he heard a sound. Slowly, with great effort, he turned his head over to look towards the stairs that led up to his cottage. A large black dog sat staring at him. It wagged its tail and whined softly.

“You can't be here,” Remus rasped to the dog. “They're going to be watching me. They want to find you so badly.”

His vision swam and he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the fever addling his thoughts and sending chills down his limbs. With a deep, steadying breath, he looked again, but the dog had vanished.

He felt his heart sink for a moment. Sirius was far, far away now if he knew what was good for him. He was going somewhere tropical, Harry had told him before he'd left Hogwarts. There was no reason for him to be in Yorkshire. It was the fever playing tricks. He needed to get to bed and rest...

Gathering his strength, he sat up. After about twenty minutes of slow effort, he made it up to the small bedroom and under the quilts, breathing heavily from the exertion. Everything felt too hot and his skin prickled with fever and the aftermath of the transformation. Letting himself sink into his pillow, he closed his eyes and let himself surrender to an exhausted sleep.

9. Finally Alone

Snape shut the dungeon door as the last of his sixth year students filed out of the Potions classroom. He'd taught three sessions of classes today and that was about three times as many as he'd felt like doing since last night. A brutal cold had settled into his head and chest overnight and while he'd staved off the majority of symptoms with doses of potions, he was eager to be back in his own chambers, alone.

Pushing open the secret passage behind his office bookshelf, he passed down a small hallway to his sitting room and bedroom. His sitting room was a crowded space full of bookshelves and parchment and spare cauldrons, and one he rarely used for anything beyond grading papers after dinner. Today, it was the sparse bedroom he was aching to return to. The four-poster bed was freshly made by the House Elves, who had apparently noticed the handkerchief he'd left by his pillow; a clean stack of several now sat on his nightstand.

Sitting down on the bed, he kicked off his shoes and allowed himself to slump back against the stack of pillows, closing his eyes. The change in orientation shifted the congestion in his head, sending a drip down his throat and triggering a volley of coughs. He rolled over, coughing into the pillow. When it ceased, he caught his breath and pinched at the bridge of his prominent nose, pressing at his aching sinuses.

Erhh-GHSCHHHT!

Head lolling forward, he sneezed against the mattress and groaned. Thank god class was done and he could deal with this all in peace.

10. Worried

“I don't mean to fuss,” Remus said. “It's just that....like, when was the last time you were sick?”

Sirius lay in the oversized bed at Grimmauld Place, looking up at his friend with a fever-addled, listless expression.

“Did you get sick in Az...I mean, did you get sick there?”

“Not really,” Sirius croaked. “I felt sick a lot but I don't remember this.”

His limbs were quaking with chills and his voice was hoarse and thick with congestion.

“I don't think your immune system was quite up to fifteen people in the house,” Remus remarked. “This is the flu, for sure.”

Hurhh-TSGHHHHHT!

Sirius sneezed openly, misting the air with a bit of spray. He sniffled thickly and rolled over, pulling the quilts up.

“Speaking of being around others,” Remus continued. “Covering your nose is considered polite, if I may remind you.”

Sirius moaned from his blanket fort.

“I know it feels wretched. I've had it twice,” Remus said sympathetically. “How's your fever?”

He reached down and tucked a hand under the blanket to touch Sirius' brow.

“You're burning up, Pads,” he said, worriedly. “I'll send an owl to bring some potions that'll help.”

“Don't go,” Sirius rasped. “My brain is all woozy. I...Moony, I think I'm hearing things.”

“Shhh,” Remus soothed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “That's the fever. Try to sleep and I'll try to get something to help you feel better.”

There was movement under the blanket and where Sirius had been, a large black dog was now curled up, breathing noisily.

“There,” Remus said, patting the dog's head. “That'll help quiet your brain. Now sleep and I'll wake you when the potions get here.”

[keldae]

Inheritance

So Xaja traditionally uses blue lightsabers, and used blue (or in some rare cases, purple or teal) crystals all the way from inception as a wee baby non-specific-class Knight until somewhere around KOTET when I scored white crystals out of a cartel market drop. I naturally screeched in joy and promptly equipped them on Xaja, and then decided I needed a story for how she went from blue to white ‘sabers. It’s also been canon for her since her forum RP days that her blue sabers were her mother’s. On that note...

The Star Fortress above Voss was a slaughterhouse, and the Alliance strike team still wasn’t in the clear to escape yet. The Exarch wasn’t willing to go down without a fight, especially not with the feared and hated Outlander facing off against him.

Xaja spun her twin blades in a challenging manner as the sun reactor started to erupt behind her, blue light reflecting off her armour. “Oh yes, I can definitely see how you got put in charge of this station,” she tauntingly called to the Exarch. “You spent the last hour bravely running away from me. Truly exemplary of your people, really.” Beside her, Nico Okarr rolled his eyes under his wide-brimmed hat. The smuggler, after having run through two other Star Fortresses with the Commander (and Lana in tow, with Theron’s running commentary in their comms), wasn’t startled by Xaja’s increasingly-creative taunts to the Zakuulans, although Xaja had a suspicion he was considering expanding her vocabulary of insults.

The Exarch snarled. “I’ll throw your corpse back in carbonite myself, Outlander.” He leaped at the Alliance team, polesaber swinging out in a wide, golden arc. Xaja heard the sounds of Lana’s lightsaber swinging to her left, and Nico’s blasters firing to her right as she went low, darting under the Exarch’s swing and slashing at his legs. The benefit to being small was being a very difficult target to hit.

She whirled around and darted backward as the Exarch lunged at her again, just barely staying out of his blade-range. Her tactic of letting the enemy tire themselves out trying to hit her was not working today, much to her annoyance. Calling on the Force, she leaped overhead as Lana threw lightning at him, striking from on high. If she could land a hit on his shoulders or neck --

The Exarch swung upward, and there was an explosion of blue light as his blade slashed through the emitter ends of her lightsabers. Xaja cried out in dismay as she fell and rolled out of harm’s way; the Exarch’s attempt to lunge at her was interrupted by Nico shooting a stream of bolts at him, forcing his attention to the smuggler. It bought Xaja a moment to stare in horror at the destroyed lightsabers. She had carried those weapons for years, ever since she had escaped Vitiate’s battle station and found the weapons in her private quarters on the Serenity, a welcome replacement for the Sith weapons she had been forced to carry (and after learning that her father had infiltrated the station to help her escape, she suspected he was the one who had left the lightsabers on her ship). These were Mom’s, she silently cried -- the only items she had of her long-deceased mother. And now they were little more than silvery, sparking paperweights…

“Commander!” Lana shouted over the noises of battle, drawing Xaja’s attention back to the danger at hand. She shot upright and whirled in time to catch the Sith’s thrown lightsaber, barely having the time to clip her ruined lightsabers to her belt. Lana’s weapon felt strange in her hand, too large and oddly-shaped, but it would serve for the current fight. She lunged back into the fray as Lana bolted out of blade range, relying on lightning to attack and defend. Fury made Xaja’s attacks harder and faster as she swapped into Juyo form, determined to make the Exarch pay for destroying her mother’s lightsabers.

The trio had barely made it back to Miot’s shuttle before the Star Fortress imploded from within. Xaja jumped aboard as Theron grabbed her arm to help her up, aware of Lana leaping beside her, Nico hauling ass behind both of them. The shuttle door closed, and then Miot was gunning it away from the exploding station.

Xaja sagged into a chair as the shuttle jumped to hyperspace, holding up Lana’s lightsaber as the Sith walked past. “Thanks,” she quietly said.

“Of course,” Lana answered as she accepted her lightsaber back. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Xaja, but red certainly isn’t your colour.”

Xaja managed a tight smile at the blonde; as Lana walked away, the Jedi pulled her own lightsabers off her belt, turning them over in her hands. Any hope that she might be able to repair the weapons was squashed as she examined the damage, feeling her heart break as she did. The Exarch had completely destroyed the emitter ends of her weapons, ruining the inner components of the lightsabers, including -- Xaja carefully pulled one panel away with the Force and felt her shoulders slump. The bright blue crystal within had shattered, and she would have bet her own ship that the other crystal had suffered the same damage. Her mother’s lightsabers were beyond repair.

A pair of larger hands gently settled on her wrists, rotating them so the damage could be more easily seen. Theron lowly whistled at the damage to the lightsabers; even he could see that there was no fixing these weapons. “It could have been worse,” he murmured against Xaja’s forehead as he leaned in to kiss her brow. “It could have been you instead. These… They’re just lightsabers. They can be replaced.”

Xaja shook her head in denial of Theron’s well-intentioned words, feeling her throat tighten with grief. “They were all I had of my mother,” she whispered, blinking away the tears pooling in her eyes. One escaped her lashes anyway; she swiped at it in frustration. “Stupid, being upset over lightsabers,” she muttered.

“They were your mom’s? Oh, no...” Theron’s hands shifted to pull Xaja into a hug. “I’m sorry, Xaja. I didn’t know…” He tilted his head to kiss her cheek. “Yeah, you’re right, these can’t be replaced. I’m still relieved you’re okay, at least.”

She buried her face in his shoulder and let him hold her as she tried to force down the pain. They’re just weapons, they’re just lightsabers… They’re just the only thing you had to connect you to your mother. And now the only link she had to her mother, besides the stories that her dad and brothers had, was severed.

“Oh, honey.” Reanden wrapped Xaja in a tight hug, almost entirely keeping her from trembling against him. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I know those meant the world to you.”

“They’re irreplaceable,” Xaja mumbled, looking to the side where her mother’s destroyed lightsabers rested on a table, a sorry-looking wreck. She rested her head against her father’s shoulder, feeling the most despondent she’d been since Lana had told her she’d lost five years of her life. “And they’re unrepairable. Even if the crystals weren’t damaged, everything else…”

Reanden sighed heavily; Xaja felt a kiss dropped into her hair. “If it means anything, little one, your mother would have destroyed those lightsabers herself if it meant protecting you. You’re worth more than any weapon -- all three of you are.” He shifted his weight slightly, and Xaja frowned as she sensed a tendril of old anger and grief drifting from her father’s mind before he shielded his thoughts again. “As far as I’m aware, she had her saber-staff damaged while she was trying to protect your brother.”

Xaja nodded in acknowledgement of his words before she frowned again. “Mom had a saber-staff?”

“You didn’t know that? She initially trained with that, and it was always her preferred style. She mostly learned the dual-saber style on a dare from her cousin on Corellia.”

“Oh.” Xaja’s frown eased as she absorbed this new information. “Nobody told me that. I know almost nothing about her besides what you and the boys told me.” She sighed, her thin shoulders dropping. “Those lightsabers were all I’ve ever had of her…”

“Wait, what?” Reanden pulled back from the hug, brow creased in a frown. “What do you mean, they’re all you had of your mother? Did the Green Jedi not have anything of hers to give to you?” When Xaja shook her head, the old spy sighed in disappointed frustration. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I didn’t know you had nothing else of hers. I never thought…”

Xaja took a breath that was only a little bit shaky and shook her head. “Dad, it’s okay. It’s not like I have memories of her anyway --”

“No, it’s kriffing not okay, and the fact that you were too young to remember her doesn’t make it any better.” Reanden scowled into the air over Xaja’s head. “There has to be something at the old house still… Give me a bit and I’ll see if I can find anything. You deserve to have something of your mother’s.”

It was perhaps a week later when Reanden walked into the command centre, looking around as though to satisfy himself that it was mostly empty. Theron watched out of the corner of his eye as he and Lana continued going over the data that Hylo’s people had brought in, looking for any news of note.

The younger spy straightened up as the elder approached and rested his hands on the back of the chair. “How busy are you two?” he asked without any preamble.

“Good morning, Cipher,” Theron answered, rolling his eyes. “Yes, my morning’s going well, thanks for --”

“Yes, the entire Alliance heard how well your morning started,” Reanden interrupted, dark eyes flashing dangerously enough that even Theron could recognize the cue to shut up before he got stabbed (like it was Theron’s fault that his morning started with Xaja waking him up in a very enjoyable manner!). “How urgently busy are you two right now?”

Lana kicked Theron under the table before he could snark something else at the older spy. “We still need to finish sorting this data and finding out what’s relevant for the Alliance. This all came in late last night, and we’re perhaps halfway through it all.”

Reanden glanced over the datapads and sheafs of flimsi scattered across the table. “You can delegate this to someone else. I’m going to need you two a little more urgently. Lana, are you able to get through Kaas City without being identified or attacked; and Shan, how good’s your Imperial accent?”

Theron blinked at the unusual questions. “Why do you ask?”

“Humour me, Rookie.”

Annoyance rippled through Theron as he glared at the older spy; when he spoke again, it was with a flawless Kaasian accent. “Quit calling me Rookie, Gramps.”

“I’m already tempted enough to turn you into a throw rug, kid,” Reanden growled.

“Oh, for pity's sake, you two!” Lana irritably snapped. “I can still get through Kaas City with little problem, Cipher. Why do you want to know?”

“Come. I need both of you for something.” Reanden merely turned and marched back out of the war room, the edges of his worn black leatheris jacket fluttering in his wake. Theron looked to the side, exchanged a glance with Lana, then sighed and followed the older spy out of the war room. Whatever this was, it had better be important.

“Does this place ever get anywhere near warm?” Theron muttered under his breath as he walked through a narrow alley in Kaas City. The Imperial officer uniform Reanden had acquired, while it fit him well enough, wasn’t nearly as warm as the spy might have hoped.

“Sith planets tend to be cold. It adds to the misery that fuels them,” Reanden softly responded as he lead Theron and Lana to the end of the alley. “And reminds us lowly Force-blinds of our place in the misery chain.”

“Very funny,” Lana hissed. “What are we doing here again?”

“You’re mostly here to warn us if the Wrath shows his face,” Reanden answered, making Theron’s heart lurch in his chest. “I trust you know what his presence feels like?”

Lana went paler than usual. “Yes, and I wish I didn’t. Why?”

Reanden didn’t answer the question for a long moment. Just when Theron was sure the spy wasn’t going to answer, he quietly spoke. “My wife was one of the most talented blade masters to come out of the Corellian Order -- and that’s not me bragging about her, that was a fact. She initially trained with a saber-staff, but picked up the jar’kai form as an adult, solely so she could have more options in combat. She kept her twin blades on my ship as a backup, but had her saber-staff in our home, and used that to fight Maglion when he attacked my family.”

“So you kept the twin blades and gave them to Xaja later,” Theron said as he started putting the pieces together, “but the saber-staff…?”

“I never found it in the wreckage of the house. Maglion has always liked taking trophies from his kills -- I suppose at that point in his life, he was satisfied with taking Airna’s lightsaber and not desecrating her body.” Reanden’s jaw clenched for a moment before he continued speaking. “The saber-staff is damaged, but I think it may be repairable, and possibly able to be converted into two single-blade lightsabers.”

“You’ve found it?” Lana tilted her head at the older spy.

“I have a contact who thinks he knows where it is.” Reanden nodded to the burly, armoured human man who stepped into the dim light at the end of the alley. “The same person who knows the access codes to the Wrath’s residence.”

Theron stopped dead in his tracks, fear jolting through every vein in his body. “We’re going where?!”

“The asshole keeps his trophies,” Reanden growled. “If my wife’s saber-staff isn’t in Maglion’s residence, it’s on his ship. And I’m not letting him keep that lightsaber when my daughter or one of my sons deserves it more.”

“And any chance to fuck over the Wrath is one I’m game for,” the newcomer piped up. The Imperial soldier worriedly glanced around, then nodded to the trio. “He’s chasing a lead to Imperius’ location in the Onderon system, sir. We move fast enough, you should be in and out before he realizes you’ve even been here.”

“Thank you, Pierce.” Reanden clapped the soldier on his shoulder. “I appreciate your assistance.”

“Just remember your end of the deal, Cipher.” The soldier, apparently named Pierce, glanced suspiciously at Theron and Lana before looking back at Reanden. “He finds out I so much as talked to you, he’ll kill me. Get me into the Alliance, or to Hutt Space, or even the Republic. Just make sure he can’t find me.”

“You leaving the Empire and joining the Alliance will piss him off more than almost anything else.” Reanden’s smile was almost predatory. “You were never here, Major. Welcome to the Alliance.”

Even for a Force-blind man like Theron, the residence of Darth Maglion, Wrath of the Empire, was a terrifying, oppressing place. To judge by Lana’s wincing, it was bad even by normal Sith standards. “Please tell me you can find this trophy case of his fast, Cipher,” the blonde complained. “I can already feel my sanity starting to crack.”

“I thought that was Koth,” Theron tried to joke, and got a glare for his trouble.

“Working on it,” Reanden muttered, not looking up from picking the lock on one of the interior doors. “You know the layout in here at all, Pierce?”

“Not well, sir. The Wrath is... reclusive, doesn’t really socialize.” Pierce shifted uncomfortably. “And people who come here tend to not come back out, sir.”

“Well, we’ll break that streak then.” The lock gave with a click, and Reanden pushed the door open. “You decent at lock-picking, Shan?”

“Enough,” Theron answered as he approached the next door. “... Out of curiosity, how prone is he to rigging traps?”

“Traps have always been my specialty. Brawn and mindless torture have been his forte since he was a child.” Reanden paused before entering the room he had opened. “Unless Quinn taught him a few things --”

“The Wrath? Accept teachings from a Force-blind person?” Pierce snorted. “Day he does that will be the day he signs up to be a Jedi Padawan. Quinn barely came here to start with, and hasn’t been back since Acina picked him up as a minion of her own.”

“And his psychopath in training?”

“Jaesa? Ran off on a killing spree a bit ago while trying to figure out where Vette escaped to -- and I’m sure you had nothin’ to do with that, sir.” Pierce smirked at Reanden’s too-innocent expression. “And the Talz freak didn’t have the patience for traps. Odds are the Wrath still hasn't figured them out.”

“Good. Be careful anyway.” Reanden vanished into the room, and Theron grunted as he managed to pick the lock on the second door. When he pushed it open, he found himself in what could only be the Wrath’s bedchamber, and shuddered involuntarily. Maglion apparently liked surrounding himself with reminders of pain and suffering at all times, even in slumber.

At his side, Lana blanched. “Oh, stars... people say Agent Taerich is the more dangerous brother, but this… Cipher Nine would never leave a trail of screams in his wake like this. It’s so engrained into the walls themselves…”

“Nine’s reputation comes from making people quietly disappear or suddenly destroying their lives, and never being predictable or traceable,” Theron muttered. “He’s a sociopath with a vicious streak, but not a psychotic lunatic.”

“And you thought you would never have anything positive to say about him.” Lana forced a tight smile as she entered the room, one hand on her lightsaber hilt.

Theron rolled his eyes and followed Lana inside. “Don’t get used to it,” he muttered as he started gingerly rifling through cabinets. He very quickly understood precisely what Reanden had meant by the trophy-keeping -- and not all of the ‘trophies’ the Wrath had claimed seemed to be weapons. Apparently Xaja’s mother was lucky that she had died quickly and relatively painlessly.

He backed away from one cabinet that contained an assortment of biological material from the Sith’s old victims (ranging from a collection of Padawan braids to an entire quasi-mummified arm, and just about everything in between), needing a moment to settle his churning stomach before moving to the next chest over. “Find anything yet?”

“A couple of datacrons, and a few lightsabers, but the only saber-staff is an obviously Sith design.” Lana shook her head as she moved to the next cabinet, only opening it for a second before she slammed it shut again, her face white. “For kriff’s sake, there are reasons those things are illegal, even here! The devices in there… they’re inhumane even by Sith standards!”

“I don’t wanna know. How the hells is he the old man’s brother?” Theron frowned as he opened the cabinet door, carefully squinting into the darkness.

“Half-brother, according to his research. Apparently his mother blamed his father for giving her a Force-blind son and took her options elsewhere.” Lana shuddered. “You thought you had it rough as the Force-blind son of a Jedi, Theron? Reanden Taerich had it far worse as the son of a Sith.”

“Don’t tell him I said this, but I almost pity him. No wonder he’s got a vicious streak a parsec wide --” He suddenly froze as a glint of silver caught his attention. “You look interesting,” he mumbled as he carefully reached into the cabinet.

“What does?” Lana asked as she stepped over, then lowly gasped when she saw the damaged saber-staff Theron was carefully releasing from its constraints in the trophy cabinet. “Do you suppose…”

“It looks like a close style to Xaja’s twin blades,” Theron murmured as he raised the saber-staff. The lightsaber gash in the middle of the staff had almost completely bisected the weapon -- frankly, the spy was surprised it was still in one piece, even if only barely. “Want to grab the old man and see if this is a match --?”

“No need.” Reanden suddenly materialized to Theron’s left, making the spy jump. For once, the older man ignored the opportunity to poke fun at the younger, focusing his attention on reaching for the saber-staff. The cool, detached mask of Cipher Nine seemed to have shattered, leaving only the face of a man still in mourning for the one he’d lost a decade ago. “Kriffing hells...This is it. This is her lightsaber.”  He carefully turned it over in his hands, mindful of the gash through the centre -- then, in a move of complete recklessness that nearly made Theron squawk a protest, he extended the weapon to the side and tapped a button on the longer, less-damaged side of the lightsaber. A single vivid-green blade shot out the end of the weapon, sparking for a few seconds before Reanden turned it back off. “This is the lightsaber she built after she left Corellia with me.” He sighed, his eyes softened with nostalgic fondness and love, even if laced with grief. “And she would be furious if she knew that her murderer had shoved it in a trophy case like this.”

“I wouldn’t blame her.” Theron gazed at the saber-staff. “Do you think it’s repairable?”

“At least one side, for certain. Airna designed it as though it was two separate lightsabers melded into one. She liked having the ability to use the blades independently of each other.” Reanden grew silent for a moment; Theron looked away, pretending he couldn’t see the way the older man’s jaw tightened, or how he surreptitiously swiped the back of his hand over his eyes. “At the very least, Xaja will be able to get one lightsaber out of this; possibly both. The damage to this weapon is less severe than what happened to the blue ones.”

“She’ll be thrilled.” Lana nodded and patted Reanden’s shoulder. “But does she know how to use a saber-staff…?”

“She does,” Theron confirmed. “It’s not her preferred style, but she and the Barsen’thor swapped notes back in the day. He taught her enough that she’s not likely to remove her own limbs in a fight.”

Reanden softly chuckled, shaking his head. “Yes, definitely her mother’s daughter. Airna would be delighted to know that.” He sighed and hid the lightsaber under his jacket, then closed the cabinet and straightened up. “Come. The sooner we’re out of here and back on Odessen, the better. Ready, Pierce?” he called out to the soldier waiting in the atrium.

“Yes, sir. Never thought I’d say this, but I’m looking forward to Dromund Kaas being behind me for the last time.” Pierce waited while Theron and Reanden hid all traces of their intrusion, then fell into step beside the Alliance team. “Think he’s gonna notice that lightsaber being gone?”

“Hopefully he doesn’t routinely go through cataloguing his trophies,” Reanden muttered.

When the team returned to Odessen, they were informed that the Commander was in the cantina. Theron walked through the caves that had been converted into the Alliance base and stepped through the door to the cantina, letting his eyes adjust to the lighting. He caught sight of Xaja’s bright red hair in a private lounge to the far side and made his way over, recognizing Korin and Sorand with her. “What’s up?” he asked as he came to a stop behind Xaja’s chair and loosely wrapped his arms around her from behind, kissing her hair.

“You’re back!” Xaja smiled and reached up, with no small amount of awkward twisting, to pull Theron down enough to kiss her, ignoring the teasing whistles from her brothers. “Where did you go? Dad just said he needed to steal you and Lana for a few days.”

“The last place I ever want to set foot again,” Theron muttered as he kissed her again, then caught a glimpse of what was on the table. “What’s this?”

“Items of our mother’s,” Sorand volunteered, nudging a worn-looking journal covered in a quick, messy handwriting that looked eerily similar to his own. He glanced at Korin, then back at Theron. “We may or may not have broken into our old home on Lavisar to get at these.”

“That’s not gonna be a vacation spot anytime soon,” Korin sighed, running his hand over his face. “Don’t blame Dad for locking the place up after…”

“Don’t blame Dad for what?” Reanden meandered up to look down at the table contents. “Oh, kriff… I haven’t seen some of these in years.” He sadly smiled as he reached down to run his fingers over some of the old holo photos printed out onto flimsi. “I’d almost forgotten about some of these.” When Theron looked at the photos, he blinked at the images of a laughing, red-haired woman; in most of the images, she was with a child, or gazing at a younger, darker-haired, less-worn Reanden with open love in her eyes. Stars… She really did look like Xaja.

“The boys found some of her journals too, and some of her jewellery. It’s the closest I’ve ever been to knowing Mom.” Xaja looked back up; Theron was struck by the wishful expression in her eyes. “It makes me wish I could have met her.”

“I wish you could have met her too. She would have been so proud of you.” Reanden sighed and squeezed her shoulder. “I think you might like what we found for you in Imp Space though.”

Xaja frowned as she craned her neck up to look at her father. “What’s that?”

“First off, we have a new recruit. Major Pierce is former Imperial Military.” Reanden nodded to Pierce as Xaja stood up to greet him. “He’s a good soldier, an excellent strategist, and helped us get to where we needed to be in exchange for joining the Alliance.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Major.” Xaja smiled as Pierce offered her a formal salute, then looked at her father. “Where did he help you get to?”

“To this.” Reanden withdrew the damaged saber-staff from his jacket, glancing over when he heard Sorand’s low gasp and saw Korin jerk upright with wide eyes. They both recognized what he had in his hands. “Remember how I said your mother used a saber-staff?”

“... This was hers?” Xaja reverently reached out for the saber-staff with trembling hands, as though afraid to touch it.

“Yes. This was her preferred weapon -- she designed this one herself. Green crystals inside, and she built it to essentially function like two separate lightsabers in one.” Reanden smiled as he set the lightsaber in his daughter’s hands. “I haven’t taken it apart to see the extent of the damage your uncle caused to it, but the one side for sure still works. I think you should be able to salvage at least one blade out of it, baby girl.”

Theron watched as Xaja carefully examined the saber-staff, slowly running her fingers along the etchings her mother had left so many years ago, skirting the gash left from the Sith blade in the centre, tracing the control panels in the centre of the hilt. She remained motionless for a moment, then pounced into Reanden’s arms, clinging to both her father and her mother’s weapon tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered, lowly enough that Theron almost couldn’t hear her. “Thank you…”

Xaja frowned down at the inner components of her mother’s saber-staff. Her dad had been correct -- her mother had designed both ends to function independently of each other, even if they hadn’t been detachable from each other. Airna Drallig-Taerich had left a solid foundation for her daughter to turn her saber-staff into two separate lightsabers. If she was careful, she could finish separating the two halves; finding the components to fix what would be the pommel ends of the lightsabers wouldn’t be difficult.

But the green crystals within the hilts were dull and cold to the touch; a stark contrast to how the blue crystals in the twin blades had glowed brightly when Xaja had merely passed her hand overtop of them. Those crystals had sung to her through the Force; the green crystals now were silent. She might be able to make them work, but the lightsabers would feel too foreign in her hands without the crystals connecting to her. But replacing her mother’s crystals felt wrong.

“It’s not wrong. Trust the Force, little one. This isn’t my lightsaber anymore.”

Xaja jolted upward at the whisper in the Force, feeling a soft breeze brush her skin that almost felt like a gentle stroke along her cheek, despite being inside the base. “Mom?” she whispered, looking around frantically as though her mother would be visible. But no; the Force grew quiet again, and the faint flicker of a strange-yet-familiar Force-signature faded from her senses. But Xaja didn’t feel quite alone -- she could feel something warm and soothing in the air around her, suppressing Valkorion in her mind so he couldn’t distract her.

She smiled, feeling a tightness in the back of her throat and a burn of tears behind her eyes. “Thanks, Mom,” she whispered into the stillness, and felt another feather-light brush against her cheek. Feeling a little bit reassured that her mother wouldn’t be disappointed with her for replacing the crystals, Xaja reverently packed the saber-staff into its box on her desk, then stood up. She had seen a crystal cave on Odessen during one of her walks through the wilderness -- sometimes with Lana, sometimes with Senya, frequently with Theron. Perhaps the Alliance’s hidden planet had a treasure for her.

Dusk was just falling over the Alliance base when Xaja returned, bearing a precious burden in her belt pouch. It had taken meandering to two different crystal caves before she finally heard the song of the Force drawing her to a cluster of colourless kyber crystals. Two crystals had glowed brightly as soon as Xaja had approached the cluster, and Xaja wondered if her mother had lead her here through the Force. Either way, the stones she had picked up would suit the lightsabers perfectly fine.

She quickly made her way through the base, successfully dodging conversations until she finally made it back to her and Theron’s quarters. He was still out, probably going over more reports or bickering with her father or Lana over something -- Xaja would look for him later. But right now, the crystals’ humming in the Force commanded her attention.

Settling down on the floor beside their bed, Xaja pulled the saber-staff back out, placing it between the stack of parts she had acquired with Senya’s assistance, and the two crystals. She carefully focused her attention on the weak point of the hilt; it took a small bit of pressure with the Force to gently break apart the two halves of the weapon. Straightening her back into a proper meditation pose, Xaja closed her eyes and let her conscious self go, just like Master Orgus had taught her, so many years ago. The Force was her conduit to reconstruct the lightsabers.

Her eyes were closed, but she still felt like she was able to see in front of her. She watched as the components of the saber-staff halves rotated in the air before her, the Force pulling the ruined inner components of the lightsabers away. A moment later, she watched as a red-haired woman, forever the too-young age when she had died, knelt before her.

A pair of green eyes that eerily resembled Xaja’s own eyes twinkled, and Airna Taerich settled in to assist with the repairing and modification of her lightsaber.

Theron slid the door to their quarters open, a small frown creasing his forehead. It wasn’t like Xaja to just meander off into Odessen’s forests by herself after just telling Lana she needed to do something. And it certainly wasn’t usual for her to retreat to their quarters without seeking him out first. “Xaja?” he lowly called into the room, alarm flooding through him when she didn’t answer him. Maybe she was just asleep, or maybe she had injured herself on her jungle stroll and he needed to take her to medbay ---

He nearly dropped the datapad in his hand when he saw the translucent woman kneeling before Xaja, who appeared to be deep in meditation. It was the same woman he’d seen in the holo photos -- long red hair loosely braided down her back, a scattering of freckles over her nose that none of her children had inherited, a gentle smile on her lips. “Master Airna,” he softly whispered, his eyes widening. He was tempted to shake Xaja out of her meditation so she could see the ghost of her mother.

Airna looked up at him and smiled, then shook her head and raised one finger to her lips in the universal sign to be quiet. Feeling not a little bit stunned, Theron slowly sat down on the couch, twisting around to watch as the Jedi ghost turned her attention back to her daughter. Then his jaw dropped as he saw the lightsabers slowly rotating in mid-air, the ruined parts being pulled away with the Force and new, undamaged components taking their place. Xaja appeared to be completely unaware of his presence; Theron noted that she barely seemed to be breathing as she raised the new pommels of the lightsabers, gently sliding them on until they clicked into place. These were a different look -- when Theron squinted, he could see what looked to be clips or magnets within the pommels. It appeared that Xaja was making like her mother and giving herself the option of using a saber-staff when necessary.

With the pommels complete, Xaja shifted her attention to the centre of the hilts. The emitters still looked undamaged, which Theron knew had to be a relief for his Jedi girlfriend. He watched with a slight frown as the lightsaber chassis split apart near the emitter ends, then felt his mouth fall open as two green crystals floated out. Airna caught the crystals; the bright glow as the crystals were held by their first owner was enough to make Theron’s eyes water. He watched as two new crystals floated upward, these clear and cloudy, but colourless. He wondered if they would change colours when actually in the lightsabers.

The crystals fit into their slots in the lightsabers like the weapons had been made specifically for them, and the hilts started to come back together. Airna set her old crystals down on the desk and stood up; she hadn’t been a tall woman, capping out at perhaps five-foot-four. But watching her movements, all at once fluid and strong and graceful in their concealed deadliness, Theron could well believe that she had been a masterful duelist in life. And oh, kriff, she walked almost exactly like her daughter. He now fully understood where Xaja had inherited that elegant, graceful, subtly dangerous stride, and it hadn’t been taught to her by Orgus Din.

He felt his tongue turn to lead in his mouth as Airna made her way over to him, finally directing her full attention on him. She surveyed him with a single raised eyebrow (oh, that’s where Sorand had gotten that trait), slowly looking him up and down, before she finally nodded. A smile pulled at her face, bright green eyes softening. “She certainly is my mini-me,” she finally murmured. “We both apparently have a thing for tall, dark, and handsome spies.” She moved to rest a hand on Theron’s cheek; the spy only felt a soft brush of cool air. “She picked a good one.”

Theron awkwardly shifted under the dead Jedi’s scruitiny. “I’m lucky,” he quietly said. “She’s so far out of my league…”

“She doesn’t think so. You impressed her with your intelligence and bravery, and made her fall for you by caring about the woman wearing the Jedi robes, not about the titles she carried.” Airna gave him a wink. “You rather impressed me too... and her father -- not that he’s likely to admit it. If he didn’t like you, he probably would have stabbed you years ago.” She lowered her hand back to her side as she fondly looked back at her daughter. “I’m so proud of the woman she’s become, even if I couldn’t raise her myself. I’m proud of all three of my children.”

Xaja started to stir as her lightsabers started to lower themselves to her lap. Airna took a step toward her daughter before turning and looking over her shoulder at Theron, her fond demeanour turning to something cold and hard. “The fact that her father and I couldn’t safely raise her doesn’t mean I don’t love her like I do my sons or my husband, Theron. If you ever make her cry for anything other than joy, I will haunt you into madness that will make Revan seem perfectly sane in comparison.”

Theron gulped at the dangerous glint to Airna’s green eyes. “The day I intentionally hurt Xaja is the day the galaxy implodes on itself, Master Airna. I would… I could never hurt her. She means everything to me.” The words surprised even him, but now that they had been vocalized, he knew they were true. Xaja was the star his world orbited around, the best thing to have ever come into his life. He could never even dream of giving that up.

The dead Jedi’s eyes softened again. “I thought so,” she softly murmured as she ran her translucent fingers through Xaja’s long hair. She leaned down to press a lingering kiss into her her daughter’s hair. “The Force will be with you, my little one. And so will I.” Her last words were almost inaudible as she faded away, leaving no trace of her presence by the time Xaja’s eyes opened.

Xaja hadn’t been aware of her mother’s conversation with Theron. She hadn’t even been aware of Theron’s presence in the room behind her. She had just followed the motions of her mother guiding her through the lightsaber repair, removing the destroyed components and replacing them with the new, undamaged parts. Her mother had guided the old crystals out, and for a moment Xaja got to see the brilliant green light that Airna had once wielded. She let her new crystals settle into place, just seeing a white glow inside the saber chassis as she sealed them closed again.

The last thing she sensed as she started to come out of the trance was her mother kissing her hair, murmuring soft words to her as she faded away again. Xaja finally let her eyes drift open, disappointed to not see her mother sitting before her in the waking world, but still feeling comforting warmth lingering in the air around her. She let out a breath, and almost immediately felt the planet tilt dangerously. She had been dizzy after constructing her first lightsaber with Master Orgus’ directions -- apparently this was just a thing she had to deal with.

She felt a pair of strong arms encircle her, immediately knowing they were too large and too solid to be her mother’s. Besides, Airna hadn’t worn a red leatheris jacket. “Easy,” Theron softly murmured as he helped her straighten back up, letting her lean into his chest. “Take it easy for a minute. I’m right here.”

“Theron!” Xaja leaned into him as he kissed her forehead. “I… I saw my mom. She was here, and…” Shit, those were tears falling down her face. “... Kriff, I finally got to hear what my mom sounded like, and it was like she was here touching me, and I wish…”

“Shhh. It’s okay, sweetheart.” Theron kissed her brow again as more tears came, despite her attempts to stop them. “I know you wanted to know your mom, baby. She’s gotta be damn proud of you.” He leaned down enough to brush away her tears, kissing the trails left on her skin. “Shh…”

It was maybe fifteen minutes later before Xaja finally straightened up, scrubbing her sleeve over her eyes. “Thanks,” she whispered, and felt Theron squeeze her shoulders comfortingly. “Sorry…”

“Don’t be.” Theron kissed her hair. “I know my mother and I don’t exactly see eye to eye, but I still get you wanted to know yours.” He left another kiss in her hair before his hand settled over her own on her lap. “So, lightsaber reconstruction went well?”

“... Oh, yeah…” Xaja looked down at the two lightsabers on her lap under their hands. The silver hilts glimmered in the light; when Xaja lifted the weapons for a closer inspection, she could see the differences in the metal colours between the old and new components. With time, she suspected the new parts she had added would weather to match her mother’s, eventually. She carefully aligned both pommels with each other, and was rewarded with a satisfying click as they joined together, forming a saber-staff again. She could use her mother’s form, as well as her own preferred style, once she confirmed that the weapons themselves were functional.

Twisting the hilts to make the pommels detach from each other, she raised one lightsaber to her shoulder level as she stood up, pointing the emitter well away from herself or Theron. She took a deep breath to brace herself as her thumb found the power switch and pressed down. A nanosecond later, a bright white beam of light shot out of the emitter with a satisfying snap-hum -- not quite the same pitch as her old lightsabers, but still a reassuring sound. She gave the weapon an experimental spin, already feeling a delighted smile on her face even before confirming that the lightsaber was perfectly balanced. Her mother had kept the same hilt shape and size between her twin blades and her saber-staff -- this weapon felt perfect in Xaja’s hand, like she had built it from scratch herself. The crystals within the lightsabers sang to her through the Force, the blade feeling like a perfect extension of her own arm. And her left-hand weapon, when she activated it, felt like a perfect match to the first. These were more than a satisfactory replacement for the set of blue lightsabers the Exarch had destroyed. They couldn’t have been more perfect if her mother had specifically made them for her.

Xaja finally deactivated the weapons and spun around to tightly hug Theron, joy slipping past her mental shields to colour the Force around her. “They’re perfect,” she whispered as he lifted her in his embrace and delightedly spun with her. “Oh, Force, they’re absolutely perfect. They feel even better than my old ones!”

“That’s good!” Theron kissed her cheek, his lips lingering on her skin for a moment. “Good. Makes me feel a lot better about you being in combat so much, knowing you have good lightsabers now and not those stand-ins you borrowed from Sana-Rae’s enclave.”

“Mom wouldn’t leave me with bad weapons.” Xaja all but beamed as Theron finally set her back on her feet. “I get the feeling she wouldn’t let me use lightsabers that didn’t feel right if she was here.”

“Well, good to know that my girlfriend’s ghostly mom and I agree on something.” Theron cupped Xaja’s face in his hands and gently kissed her; pride and affection rippled from him in the Force. “Nice touch with adding the saber-staff magnets,” he murmured. “... You do still know how to use one, right?”

“Jakar and Kira both taught me enough that I’m pretty sure I can keep my head on my neck, Theron.” Xaja smiled at another soft kiss. “Want me to prove it?”

“Any chance to see you in action is one I’m down for.” Theron grinned. “The fact that it’ll set my mind at ease about you using a staff is just a side bonus.” He planted another kiss on her nose. “Sparring enclave should be about dead at this hour, I think…”

“Works for me.” Xaja stretched up to kiss Theron again, then stepped back and attached her new lightsabers to her belt. They rested comfortably against her hips, like they had always been meant to be there.

She turned and started walking out of their quarters, not seeing Theron linger back for a moment. He reached a hand out toward the original green crystals left behind on the desk, eyes widening when they offered a very dull glow in response to his presence. The spy looked down at the crystals, then at Xaja’s back, then slipped the crystals into his pocket, feeling their warmth against his hand. Maybe he could figure out another way to make sure Xaja could keep her mother’s original crystals with her.

He spent the rest of the evening trying to convince himself that he had merely imagined that sudden feeling of pleased satisfaction and an approving hum from behind him.

[a-splash-of-stucky]

By Morning Light | i

Pairings: Steve x Bucky x Reader

Summary: Midnight missions leave you lonely in the mornings

Warnings: Brief mentions of anxiety. Possibly some language.

Notes: Written for @ughjoekeery’s writing challenge, with the prompt: Dawn.

Think of this chapter as the ‘prologue’ for the ‘series’. Title for this chapter is an adapted lyric from ‘Daylight’ by Maroon 5.

[BML Masterlist]

~ when the daylight comes (you’ll be on your own) ~

You stir in your sleep, your hand reaching out to the right with the intent of pulling Bucky closer to you, hoping that you can leech off some of his body heat. The chill that is currently ghosting over your skin is probably what awoke you in the first place; your twin furnaces seem to have disappeared from your sides.

Your lips contort into a frown when your fingers close on nothing but empty sheets. How strange.

You roll onto your other side — and pause, stunned by the discovery of the fact that you are actually able to roll over. Normally, Steve is curled up around your back, arm slung around your waist and nose pressed into the crook of your neck. If you ever turned over in your sleep, you usually end up with your face smushed between pecs of steel. As wonderful as it is being able to sleep with two solid walls of muscle on either side of you, the fact that the boys usually cling to you like octopi to a rock just makes their absence that much more noticeable.

With a muted yawn, you stretch out your arms and do some half-assed impression of making a snow-angel, flapping your arms and legs around in the sheets to confirm that yep, you’re most certainly alone in the bed. Reluctantly, your crack open your sleep-encrusted eyelids, in order to survey the room.

It’s still fairly dark out, the morning in that weird transition hour between night and dawn, where the entire world seems to take on a slightly purplish quality. The digital clock on the nightstand tells you that it’s a quarter past six in the morning. Your drag your eyes away from the bright red lights of the clock’s display and slowly track them over the rest of the room. You note the half-shut cupboards, the pulled-out drawers and the clothes strewn haphazardly on the floor, all indicating that the boys left in haste. There’s no denying the evidence presented by the whole scene — you’re forced to accept the sad reality that Steve and Bucky are gone.

Midnight missions happen all the time, in this household. It’s not unusual for one, or both of them to get called out in the middle of the night. Given their line of work, you figure it’s expected that Steve and Bucky need to keep odd hours. World-saving waits for no one, so you’ve come to embrace the fact the the boys could be dragged away at the drop of a hat, with no prior warning, whisked off to some far-flung part of the world to kick some bad-guy butt.

If you had to guess, you’d probably say that nights like these happen at least once every couple of weeks. With that level of frequency, mornings like these are not uncommon — morning where you wake up shivering and alone in a bed that feels far too big. With that level of frequency, a part of you thinks that you should be used to the programme by now, that your body should know what has happened and should therefore not freak out about it. Sure, Bucky and Steve are off risking their lives to make the world a safer place, but they always come back to you — battered, usually bloodied, though always whole.

You resent these mornings, nonetheless.

Exhaling a harsh breath through your nose, you roll over onto your stomach and bury your face into Bucky’s pillow, greedily inhaling the scent that clings to the brushed cotton. You miss your boys. Perhaps it’s your imagination, but you swear that you can feel the ache of loneliness and longing in your heart, throbbing dully with every heartbeat. You’d been looking forward to spending a relaxing weekend with them, but that looks to not be the case.

Way to go, bad guys, you gripe, thanks for ruining my weekend plans.

The memory of the first time a morning like this happened starts playing in your ming like a terrible grainy film, one that you’d much rather not watch.

Bucky and Steve had left without so much as a note explaining why they were gone, or where they were going, or when they’d be coming back. You can vividly remember the way the terror had gripped at your heart, the way the panic had nauseated you as it swirled in your stomach. You remember grabbing your phone and dialling their numbers. You’d tried calling them a dozen times. You’d clutched the phone to your ear with a trembling hand, waiting with bated breath as the phone rang and rang and rang, without being picked up.

You remember praying to the heavens above for a miracle, hoping to develop some sort of telepathic connection with Steve or Bucky, just to know that they were alive. God, you must have left them at least six voicemails. Each. You don’t want to think about how hysterical you must have sounded, how close to the verge of tears your voice must have been. When you finally realised that calling Bucky and Steve would get you nowhere, you’d tried everyone else on your contact list. You tried getting ahold of Sam, you tried getting ahold of Nat, of Wanda, of Tony, of Clint — hell, you even tried to call Pepper, all to no avail.

You’d worked yourself into an anxious frenzy, unable to shake the fear lingering in the back of your head for the rest of the day. You were hardly able to sit still for more than a couple of seconds. You’d known that the best thing for you to do was to just keep calm, to just have faith in the knowledge that Steve and Bucky have been doing this for a lot longer than they’ve known you and that they know how to handle themselves. But—there’s just some things that girlfriends do. Being worried sick when their boyfriends vanish into thin air is one of them.

Now, at least, you’re proud to say that you can handle Steve and Bucky’s midnight disappearances with a lot more composure. After six months of living together, you’ve finally taught yourself to reign in the all-consuming panic that threatens to overwhelm your mind and send it spiralling into the pits of despair. You never seem to be as productive as you normally are, not can you quite shake off the nervous energy hovering around you like a cloud of mist, but it’s a definite improvement to how you used to act.

Having exhausted your contacts list, you’d resorted to booting up your laptop and doing a Google search for their names, hoping that you’d read about them in the news, or something. The relief that spread through your veins as your eyes skimmed over an article detailing a sighting of the Avengers in Belarus was unlike anything you’ve ever felt before — you’d felt as if a mountain-sized boulder had been lifted off your lungs, allowing you to breathe again. You remember patting your chest, right over your heart, as if to reassure the madly-beating muscle that yes, Bucky and Steve were still alive.

As much as you’d promised yourself that you’d be giving them a real chewing over the minute they stepped through the front door, that’s not exactly how the events played out in real life. In reality, things panned out a little something like this: a haggard-looking Steve and an equally exhausted Bucky stumble through the door, a string of apologies on their lips. You take one look at them, one glance at the truly forlorn look on their faces and feel something in your heart just give way. You promptly burst into tears — of joy? Relief? Anger? Who knows? — and run into their outstretched arms, clinging to them in a viciously tight embrace, as if to ensure that they could never leave you, ever again.

The three of you have made some changes, after that.

There’s a protocol, now. The boys will always leave you a note if they have to go, putting it somewhere obvious so that it’s easy for you to spot. Initially, they’d tried waking you up to let you know that they were leaving, but that plan fell through because you sleep like the dead and are just as difficult to reawaken.

Now, you push yourself up onto your elbows, glancing around the dimly-lit room in search of their note. A flash of yellow in the corner of your eye catches your attention. You lean over and pluck the square post-it note from where it’s stuck on the nightstand on Steve’s side of the bed. You narrow your eyes, turning the slip of paper this way and that, trying to decipher Steve’s unreadable chicken scratch. With a sigh, you sit up straighter, intending to flick on the bedside lamp to shed some light on the subject — you laugh humourlessly at your own pun. Just as you’re reach over to thumb the switch on the wall, a folded piece of white paper crammed underneath the base of the lamp draws your gaze.

Eagerly, you snatch up the note and flatten out the paper. The inside is covered in Bucky’s loopy cursive script, scrawled across the scrap of paper in green ink.

Hey doll, it reads, we left just after 12AM, should be back in time to take you out for brunch. Don’t worry too much. <3 S and B

Well. It’s something, at least. With any luck, they’ll stick to their promise and be back in time for the three of you to go out for pancakes, maybe take a walk in the park. If all goes to plan — and that, to be fair, is a pretty big if — you’ll be able to make the most out of the rest of the weekend.

It is with this thought in mind that you swing your legs off the bed and pad over to the bathroom, to go through your morning routine of brushing your teeth, washing your face and going to the toilet. After, just as you’re about to flick off the light switch and head down for some breakfast, your eyes fall on the laundry hamper in the corner of the bathroom. Specifically, your gaze lands on Steve’s white t-shirt lying on the top of the pile.

You don’t hesitate to cross over to it, pulling your own night-shirt over your head as you go. That gets tossed into the pile of dirty clothes, and you tug Steve’s shirt on its place. For good measure, you rummage around in the hamper, clicking your tongue triumphantly when you pull out Bucky’s navy blue zip-up. That gets pulled on too.

Despite the fact that it’s not even seven in the morning, you’re feeling wide awake and know that you’re unlikely to be falling back asleep anytime soon. So, as your gaze roams over the disheveled mess that is your bedroom, you decide to take advantage of your early start to the day by getting some housework done. You make the bed and put away the junk cluttering the surface of your dresser, before gathering up all the clothes on the floor and dumping them into the laundry hamper, ready to be washed with Steve and Bucky’s gear once they get back.

It’s nice, working with their clothes on, if only because it means that you’ve enshrouded yourself in their comforting scents. You turn your face and press your nose into the shoulder of the zip-up, breathing in that musky, spicy smell of Bucky that clings to the material. You push the garment to the side, exposing the t-shirt underneath so that you can get a quick whiff of Steve’s fresher, slightly sharper scent.

Like this, it’s easy to pretend that you’re not alone, easier for you to imagine that your boys are right there next to you, bickering between themselves as they attempt to distract you from your chores. The thought brings a smile to your lips.

Once the bedroom is as clean as you can make it, you head downstairs, not bothering to turn on the lights as you go, because you enjoy observing the way the rising sun tinges your home in shades of pink and orange. Your fingers itch for some pencils and a sketchbook to capture the tranquil scene.

You make your way through the rest of the house, restlessly tidying away things that are out of place. You find yourself rearranging some framed photos of your family and putting the packages that you received yesterday into your art room, to be opened some other time. There’s only so much cleaning you can do, however, before there is literally nothing left to be cleaned. With a resigned sigh, you amble into the kitchen and put the kettle on, then pull out your favourite Avengers mug and drop a tea bag into it.

Once it’s ready, you carry your scalding hot mug of tea and a packet of chocolate cookies into the living room. Today feels like a Netflix morning, you decide, as you settle down in the corner of the L-shaped couch and bring up the latest episode of the show you’re watching. The sunlight is beginning to stream in through the windows properly now, casting everything in a soft, hazy glow.

As the opening credits roll, you decide to make a quick dash to your art space to grab the book you’re currently reading, in case you want to occupy your mind in other ways, as well as your laptop, in case you — heaven forbid — decide to actually be productive on a Saturday morning.

Since your mind is rather preoccupied, you wind up not paying that much attention to the drama playing out on screen. The volume’s turned down low, enabling your brain to push the sounds into the back of your head. Your mind wanders and ends up waltzing down memory lane.

———————————

You work as an illustrator and freelance artist. Two and a half years ago, you’d been invited to create some original pieces for a local art gallery, who intended to auction them off and give part of the proceedings to the local children’s hospital. You’d met Steve and Bucky on the night of the exhibition launch and your relationship had taken off from there.  

Steve had made the first move. He’d come over to you, an embarrassed flush on his face when he started gushing about your work, eyes twinkling with excitement as he geeked out over your colour and compositional choices. Bucky, standing by his side, had been equally charming, not letting his lack of art-knowledge hinder him from joining in on the conversation. There’s a candid picture of the three of you from that night that is pinned to the wall above your work-station. The photographer had managed to catch you all just as you burst out into laughter. Steve’s hand is resting on your upper arm, Bucky’s hand is clapping on Steve’s right shoulder, and all your faces are alight with joy. Your heart never fails to melt whenever you set eyes on it.

Afterwards, they took you out for coffee at a ridiculously expensive downtown cafe. The three of you had stayed in there and chatted well beyond closing time — it seems that shop owners make exceptions for Captain America. From the get-go, it’d been so easy to talk to them. You don’t know of any other people who have made you laugh as much, or as hard, in that amount of time. The three of you clicked, instantly, as if you’d always known each other.

By the time Steve and Bucky were ushering you into the cab they’d called, the three of you had already established a date for a get-together at your house, so that Steve could come over and ogle the rest of your work, and so that Bucky could come over and impress you with his potato salad.

Cue a year or so of you spending a hell of a lot of time with Steve and Bucky. Well, as much time as you can with the two of them were jetting off on missions every week, at least. Slowly but surely, you found yourself falling for them both. It wasn’t something that you were conscious of, really, it’s just — one evening, you sat down to have dinner by yourself in front of the couch and found yourself wishing that Bucky and Steve were there to keep you company. And, the more you thought about it, the more you realised that you wanted their company every night — and every day too, if that was possible.

Then, there was a brief period of awkwardness, during which you fretted and lamented over your indecisive heart. Your every waking hour was spent wondering how on earth you were going to broach this subject with them. But, before you could even formulate a game plan, before you could even begin to prepare yourself for the heartache that would inevitably come with you having to end your friendship with them, the boys had approached you and asked you out on a proper date. Emphasis on the plural, there.

And it’s been…well, it’s been a lot of things, since then. Stressful, exhilarating, enjoyable — pretty much every descriptor under the sun. You’ve been dating for a year and a half now, and six months ago, the boys had moved into your two-storey studio loft. They had, of course, invited you to come and live with them the tower, but you couldn’t bear the thought of having to pack up your meticulously organised work-station, only to have to establish a whole new system of organisation. And besides, the view of the city from your window is pretty spectacular.

Was it scary for you to finally meet the rest of the team?

Hell yeah, it was. Downright terrifying, would perhaps be more of an accurate answer. But, questionable first impressions and poorly-concealed death-threats aside (mostly directed at Steve and Bucky on your behalf, as opposed to the reverse, thankfully), the rest of the Avengers have come to accept you as part of their family. You are the one person who brings a sense of normalcy into their otherwise hellishly chaotic home.

Your relationship went public about a couple of months before the three of you moved in together, after the three of you had gotten papped when you’d gone out grocery shopping. There was a lot of media coverage, mostly in the form of disgruntled grumbling, of your relationship in the following weeks. Steve’s image took most of the heat; as a national icon, Captain America is, by default, supposed to stand for national ideals. Apparently — and you’ve got no idea what idiot decided to institute this as fact — America’s national ideals are not, in fact, bisexuality and polyamorous relationships. You’d also gotten your fair share of death threats during the initial media frenzy, but it’s the Avengers we’re talking about, at the end of the day. No mere civilian is stupid enough to get on their bad side. And besides, the PR and legal teams are great at keeping your private life under lock and key.

———————————

You end up lazing around on the couch, drifting in and out of sleep for the next couple of hours. You’re startled by the sound of a key jingling in the lock, followed by the front door creaking open and heavy boots thudding inside. You sit up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with one hand and stretching out the kink in your shoulder with the other. A quick glance at the clock on the wall lets you know that it’s half past nine in the morning.

Steve is limping into the living room just as you turn around. Your give him a quick once-over, taking in the bruising on his cheek and the way he holds his body, indicating that he’s probably taken a pretty bad hit to the right side of his ribs. His helmet is held in one hand, his shield in the other. Bucky strides in after him, tac jacket unzipped and hair freed from the bun he keeps it in when he’s out on a mission. There’re butterfly bandages above his eye and a cut on his lip, but besides that, he doesn’t look too bad.

“Hey,” you murmur, twisting around properly now, resting your elbows on the back of the couch as you push yourself up onto your knees. Bucky is the first to reach you, his hands cupping your face and tilting it upwards as he leans in to capture your lips in a fierce kiss. You sigh contentedly, feeling the tension draining out of your body with each surge of Bucky’s lips against your own. You sense Steve sauntering over to the two of you, dropping his helmet onto the couch beside you so that he can thread his fingers through your hair. The last vestiges of anxiety leave your body at the gesture, and you can’t help but let out an approving moan as Steve’s fingertips dig into the base of your skull.

When you and Bucky finally break away, you find that the two of them have smiles on their faces, contented looks in their eyes. Steve chuckles softly when he notices your outfit, stroking your hair fondly.

“Missed us that much?” he asks quietly.

“You got no idea,” you reply. Bucky’s flesh hand gives your forearm an understanding squeeze.

“Good mission?” you ask tentatively, pressing your cheek into Steve’s palm as he glides it over the left side of your face.

“Yeah, doll,” Steve murmurs. Bucky hums in agreement.

“Tired?” you breathe, the fingers of your right hand threading between Bucky’s metal ones, where they rest on the couch cushions. He catches your eye and flashes you a small, appreciative smile.

“Yeah,” Steve answers, breaking off with a small yawn. Bucky scrunches up his nose and gives Steve a disapproving side-eye, a million words communicated through that single expression. You’ve learned that Bucky basically goes non-verbal after missions, choosing instead to communicate with touches and gestures. You might be lucky enough to get a hum or a grunt out of him, but there’ll be no actual words until he’s had a shower and some food, at least.

“Alright then,” you say, pushing away from them both — with no small amount of reluctance — and getting onto your feet. “Shower first, then food. Nap and sex after,” you tell them, as you gather your things into your arm and walk around to the back of the couch. You pause, then add, “The last two don’t necessarily have to be done in that order.”

Steve laughs tiredly, looping his arm around your waist when you pass by him, leaning some of his weight on you as you make your way over to the stairs. Bucky shakes his head in amusement at your comment, lips tugging into a tiny smirk. He goes to Steve’s other side, where his sore ribs are, and gently curls his metal arm around Steve’s slender waist, helping to support some of his weight. On any normal day, Steve would’ve protested, argued that he could make it on his own, thank you very much, but today, he’s happy enough to accept the gesture.

You can’t help but watch the two of them out of the corner of your eye as you slowly climb up the stairs, as if needing to reassure yourself that Steve and Bucky are really here. Knowing the two of them, the moment you get into the bedroom they’ll probably try and hustle you into the bed that you’ve made so nicely, despite your vehement protests.

You’re okay with that, though, you think, as you watch Bucky bite his lip suggestively, just as he takes Steve’s right hand in his own, walking backwards to lead you and Steve into the bedroom. Though this morning might have started off on the wrong foot, your boys are back and safe in your arms. This weekend might turn out to be a good one, after all.

——————————— Tags are open, but only via asks or PMs. 

[anavoliselenu]

Beautiful lies chapter 21

Selena trains her gaze on me and her challenging smirk tells me she knows exactly what game she's playing. Bad little girl. She'll be spanked later for trying to rile me up like this.

I raise an eyebrow in question and Selena shuts off the spray of water and wraps a towel around herself, covering up all of those beautiful assets.

A shriek pierces the otherwise peaceful setting and all eyes dart over to the patio doors. Kylie is toting a screaming baby on her hip and a beach bag overflowing with diapers and baby toys in the other arm.

I cross the stone walkway and take the bag from her shoulder – no way I'm offering to take a screaming baby. A calm one, I might attempt, but not this thing. He's taking lessons from a banshee, I'm sure of it. No other possible explanation for how he'd be able to reach those octaves, otherwise.

"Thanks. And sorry about Max," Kylie says, accepting my help.

"Not a problem. Is everything…okay?" I ask, lifting an eyebrow at the banshee, I mean baby, in question.

"He's been like this for days. Cries nonstop. He's teething," she explains.

"Then let's get you a glass of wine. Anything I can get for the little guy?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "No, hopefully he'll quiet down. I'm so sorry, I don’t want him to ruin the party."

"He's not, Kylie. Not at all. Come, please, relax." I lead her over to the bar, where Pace and Collins have been parked all afternoon.

Pace rises to his feet, assuming the role of bartender. "What can I get ya?"

"Pace, Collins, this is Kylie. She's the mastermind behind my charity organization."

Introductions are exchanged while Pace pours Kylie a white wine.

"Are you sure you don't want something stronger?" Collins asks, smiling at the still wailing baby in her arms.

"I'm pretty sure my eardrums burst two days ago." She explains, for their benefit, that the little guy is teething.

"Let me take him," Pace offers, crossing around the bar and stopping before Kylie. "Do you mind?"

Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead in surprise. I'm just as shocked. Pace is a tomcat on the prowl, but even he's not stupid enough to try and seduce another of my employees- especially not one who's a single mother.

"You can try…" No sooner than the words are out of Kylie's mouth and the baby's in Pace's arms – his crying stops entirely. The sudden silence surprises us all and we stand there, staring at Pace holding a baby.

"Hey little man," Pace says, bouncing the baby with one arm.

The baby stares blankly at my goofy brother, his giant blue eyes blinking against the sunlight as he takes it all in.

The baby grabs Pace's sunglasses, pulls them from his face and begins chewing on the end.

"I'm so sorry, he's got teething toys in here somewhere," Kylie says, rushing to dig through the giant bag at her feet.

"We're cool," Pace says, sauntering away with the little guy.

"What is he, the baby whisperer?" Collins jokes.

We all shrug and Kylie takes a giant sip of her wine, her eyes on Pace and her son.

Pace spends most of the afternoon with the baby, holding him, bouncing him on his knee, swimming with him in the pool… and Max remains quiet and content throughout the entire thing – his wide blue eyes pinned on the man holding him the entire time.

"Is he usually like this with babies?" Kylie finds me and asks.

"This is a first," I admit.

She chews on her lip and watches them splash around in the shallow end of the pool. I have no idea what she's thinking and frankly, I don’t want to know. Pace and Kylie would be a terrible idea.

Later we sit down to a perfect meal prepared by Beth, and Pace relinquishes his hold on the baby only long enough to eat, passing him over to Selena so that Kylie can eat in peace. Pace may have been fine babysitting all afternoon, but nothing will stand in between him and the pile of ribs on his plate. It's just as well, he'd probably eat the baby's arm off by mistake.

The sight of Selena with a baby in her arms does something strange to me. My heart flutters in my chest and I absently press my palm against it, trying to get it to beat normally once again. What the hell? Selena's babbling something to him, something I can't quite make out, but her voice is whisper soft and sweet, unlike I've ever heard before. I decide that I like it. Quite a lot.

She sits down with him on her lap and feeds him little bites of crackers that she's broken into tiny pieces. I never knew this could be so captivating, but for some damn reason, they have captured my absolute attention.

***

When Selena and I crawl into bed that night, we're both suntanned and lethargic from the afternoon spent entertaining.

"I'm glad our families met," she says around a yawn.

"Me too."

"What did you and my dad talk about?"

I guess she noticed that I commandeered him all afternoon.

"Mostly we talked about my work. A little bit about my family. Nothing too exciting. Just small talk," I lie.

I won't tell Selena, but I'd told her father that I'm madly in love with her. She's it for me. I asked for his blessing and told him I planned to spend the rest of my life loving her. He stood there with a serious expression as though he was sizing up not just me as a man, but also my intentions. After a tense moment, he smiled and shook my hand and then welcomed me into the family. Our mid-day fuck was actually a celebratory fuck, she just didn’t know that.

"Let's get some sleep, baby." I tighten my arms around her, hoping to stop any further questions.

Chapter Twelve

Justin

The following Tuesday at work, I get a series of phone calls from Kylie, then Marta and then finally Beth. I let them all go to voicemail and wonder if all of the women in my life have suddenly gone crazy. I'm meeting with my senior staff today, having a strategy session about trying to turn around the third quarter before the earnings report comes out next month.

When my phone flashes again, I glance down at the screen. The text from Kylie causes me to drop the stack of reports I'm reviewing.

Justin, answer your damn phone! Where are you?!

At the office, what's up? I type out, annoyed.

You need to come get Selena. Her sister passed away.

Staring at the words on the screen, I try and fail to comprehend their meaning. We'd just spent the weekend with Selena's family. Becca was fine. She was thin and complained of being tired, but she'd been fine. No. This had to be some type of mistake.

Excusing myself from the boardroom, I tap out a text to Kylie, confirming that I was on my way. I call Marta on my cell while racing down the stairs. There's no time to wait for the elevator, not while my girl needs me.

"Justin, where have you been? I've been trying to…"

"I know. Kylie just told me."

"Oh God, Justin, it's horrible."

***

I drive like a rocket all the way to Kylie's. When I reach her house, I don't bother knocking, I charge my way inside, my eyes seeking Selena.

Instead I find Kylie in the front room, her expression distraught. "Thank God you're here."

"Where is she?" I bark.

Kylie points to the back of the house. I rush down the hall and find Selena sitting at the kitchen table looking down at her hands, a now cold mug of tea sitting beside her along with a half dozen used tissues.

The room is silent and lifeless. I fucking hate it.

"Sweetness…" I murmur against the hum of the refrigerator.

Selena's head lifts and her expression is one I've never seen her wear and one I hope to never see again as long as we live.

Her skin is pale, her mouth is drawn into a tight line, but her eyes are the worst. They are blank and unresponsive – two haunted pools of blue that, despite her silence, scream of pain and trauma so deep my stomach lurches as I fear she'll never be whole again. Becca wasn’t just her sister, wasn’t just her best friend. She was Selena's twin. It's a loss that I can't even begin to understand.

"Come here, baby." I pull her into my arms and she rises easily, letting me pull her to my chest.

She buries her face in my throat and sobs.

I clutch her tighter, hating that she's in pain and I can't do a fucking thing about it. "I'm so sorry." The words feel hollow and so inadequate, I want to swallow them back down the second they leave my mouth. I want to ask what happened, but I know now is not the right time. So instead, I let her cry, holding her tightly against me and muffling the sounds of her crying with my suit jacket.

A few minutes later, her sobs quiet and I smooth her hair back away from her face. "Can I take you home?"

She nods and lets me take her hand and lead her out to the car while Kylie watches from the doorway with a sad, wistful look.

When we arrive home, I dismiss the household staff. Vacuuming and polishing crystal vases suddenly seems far less important. I lay Selena down in my bed, where she curls into a little ball, hugging my pillow against her. I take her cell phone from her purse and call her father.

"Mr. Evans?" My voice breaks and he makes the sound of a muffled sob on the other end.

"Justin, how is she?"

"She's in bed right now. Hasn't spoken a word yet." I wish I had better news to report, but it's the reality of the situation. "I'll take care of her, sir."

"I know you will."

"What happened? Becca seemed fine when she was here…"

I learn that when Becca returned home Sunday, she complained of mild swelling and pain at the site of her port catheter. Within hours, a fever had spiked and they rushed her to the ER. The doctors began antibiotics for an infection that was roaring, unchecked through her system. Within hours of being admitted to the hospital, she'd slipped into a coma as the aggressive infection took full advantage of her weakened immune system.

Her reduced health had contributed to the problem – and the deadly infection had a direct line of access to a vein in her chest, courtesy of the port installed to make her cancer treatments easier.

Her father has to stop twice to compose himself. I tell him it's okay – he doesn't have to continue, but each time, he takes a few minutes to get himself under control and carries on with the story. When he's through, I have no idea what to say. So I tell him we'll be there soon.

After ending the call, I call Marta, instructing her to ready the pilot and my plane and to make arrangements for me to be away from work for a while. It's the worst possible time, but disaster doesn’t plan itself around your calendar, it just sweeps in and punches you in the face, demanding your attention. And right now, this situation has my full and undivided attention – and my first priority is Selena.

***

A few hours later, we're aboard my jet and it's ascending smoothly into the night sky. I had to carry Selena to the car and help her board the plane. She's weak and disoriented and that haunted empty look hasn't left her eyes once. Not while she laid in the bed staring at the ceiling, not when I explained that we were flying home tonight, and not now – while she watches the little lights twinkling ten thousand feet below us.

I've packed our bags, which in addition to toiletries and random articles of clothing, each include formal black attire suited for a funeral.

I lift the bottle of bourbon from its resting place at the center console and pour myself a measure. Glancing over at Selena, I'm reminded of our first evening together –this plane, her somber mood for an entirely different reason. She'd been fighting to save her sister's life. My stomach tightens and I chug down a bitter sip of alcohol, needing its numbing effect now more than ever.

It's only once we're up in the air that Selena speaks her first words to me.

"Can I have some of that?" she asks, nodding to the glass decanter sitting beside me.

"Of course." I'd offered her water, tea and tried to get her to eat, all of which she'd refused earlier. And while I knew the strong liquor wasn't the best thing for her empty stomach, I wouldn’t deny her. Pouring a moderate amount in a glass, I hand it to her.

Her fingers brush mine and Selena's eyes lift to meet my gaze.

"I love you," I tell her.

"I know. I love you too," she says, then she takes a big gulp of her drink and grimaces.

We don't talk about what will happen when we land. I've never seen her childhood home, but now isn't the time for nostalgia. I want to provide her comfort and take away every ounce of her pain. This is the most frustrating, fucked up situation I can imagine. I hate it. I want Becca back. I want my sweet, full of life Selena back. I hate the thought that crosses my mind – without Becca's existence, does Selena's own existence dim?

She drinks two big glasses of bourbon, which I let her have against my better judgment, and then falls asleep against my shoulder.

Tightening my arms around her, I watch her as she sleeps, and vow that whatever comes next, I will be there for her.

Chapter Thirteen

Selena

I never thought I had to fear an infection. Cancer – the big, nasty C-word was my enemy – not some illness that crept in uninvited at the eleventh hour. It isn’t fair. And I don't understand. She'd been doing so well.

I hate how empty and lifeless our shared bedroom feels. Yet I can't help myself from laying on Becca's bed since it's the only place in the house I can still feel her.

I can hear Justin and my dad downstairs somewhere talking quietly. I don’t know what I'd do without him. He is my rock and my love for him has only quadrupled in the past two days.

My mom comes in when the sun begins its descent across the sky.

"Honey?" she taps on the open door and enters.

"Hi, Mom."

She sits down on the bed beside me. "As soon as we got to the emergency room, Becca asked one of the nurses for paper and a pen."

I wonder why she's telling me this, until she pulls a square of paper from her pocket and hands it to me. "Even though we assured her she'd be fine once they got the antibiotics into her system, she seemed to know something we didn’t. She wrote this in a fury while they attached her to an IV drip and removed her port. Then she folded it up and told me to give it to you. I haven’t read it."

I hold the paper in my hands. It's still warm from my mom's hand and I savor the image of a determined Becca in her one last rebellious act against the fucking sickness that took her.

"Can you leave me alone?" I ask my mother.

She nods and rises from the bed, giving me privacy for what is sure to be an emotional moment.

I unfold the paper and laugh at the drawing that jumps out at me from the bottom of the page. It's a poorly drawn penis with large balls and squiggly lines of hair jutting out from them. I smile for the first time in two days. Tears dart to my eyes and my love for her grows, if that’s even possible. I haven’t read a damn word of her letter, and my mood has already lifted. She knew I'd need this. She knows me too well.

Selena,

Thank you for taking me to Rome. Holy shit those Italian guys were hot. Thank you for being my best friend, thank you for every sacrifice you made for me, big and small. Thank you for always giving me your pink Starbursts.

I blink down at the words, recalling the countless packages of Starbursts I bought from hospital vending machines over the years. The pink were Becca's favorite, and even though they were mine too, I always forfeited them to her. Every single time. Without question. Without hesitation.

I love you without end. Don't you dare think for a second that that love is gone. Don't you dare mourn for me. Miss me. Every day, just as I will miss you. Then get on with living. Do it for me. Because I can't. I will be there in every starry night, in ever whisper of breeze against your skin when you jog, I'm in every package of Starbursts, smiling down at you when you eat the pink ones.

A single tear slips from my eye and I brush it away before continuing.

Whatever happens, please know that I am with you. ALWAYS. Go love that hot man of yours, you lucky girl, you. You two are going to make some damn fine babies one day. And that makes me so happy.

At the bottom is the penis drawing and her name along with a heart. That's it. The whole letter. I read it twice more, then fold it neatly along the same creases and carry it across the room, tucking it into my purse for safe keeping.

My mom taps on the door and enters again. Her face is open and expectant. "Well? What did it say?"

I take my time, considering how to answer. "Everything."

She nods. "Good."

Crossing the room to sit beside me again, my mom reaches for my hand. "What are your plans after the funeral tomorrow?"

We're having a luncheon at the house after the funeral, but I know that's not what she means. I think we're all wondering the same thing – how do we go on living in a world where my bright, lovely sister no longer exists?

"I figured I'd stick around here for as long as you needed me. Justin probably has to get back to work, but…"

She shakes her head, stopping me. "Your dad and I will be okay. We've known this is a possibility for a long time."

Was I the only one so blind that I didn’t see what was going on, didn’t understand the risks? Becca continued wasting away while everyone fed me lines that the experimental treatment I'd miraculously funded did nothing. That word resonates far deeper than I'd like. Nothing. It'd all been for nothing. The auction, selling myself, meeting Justin...

No. As soon as I think that last part, I know it's not true. I'd be lost without him right now.

My mom continues, "Dad and I have each other. You don't need to stay here, Selena. You should go home with Justin. Becca was so happy you found him."

I pull in a deep breath and nod.

***

When we leave Northern California it feels so wrong driving away and knowing that my sister is in that cemetery. Part of my heart has been buried in the cold, hard earth. She doesn’t belong there. But then I remember her letter. She isn’t there. She is in every ray of sunshine that shines too bright, in the whisper of the wind against my skin as we board the plane. I know for certain that she is still with me. I see her in my mirrored reflection of the plane's window, in the stray thoughts that are too feisty to be entirely my own. I feel her presence in the squeeze of my heart and I feel whole again. Justin pulls me close and tells me he loves me, and I think maybe, just maybe I will have the strength to do this.

Chapter Fourteen

Justin

Against my better judgment, I returned to work. Selena assured me that it was important that we both resume our normal schedules. But as one week turns into two and Selena continues her descent into a woman I no longer recognize, I know I need to call in reinforcements.

There were a few days there that gave me hope she was getting better. She'd gone for a jog, had stopped by Kylie's to see the baby once, and had actually talked to the grief counselor I sent to the house. But as I arrive home from work tonight, my heart shatters at what I find.

Selena is sitting on the balcony that extends from my office. The wind is whipping her hair wildly around her face and goosebumps cover her flesh. A storm is coming, but she seems oblivious to that fact.

Her skin is pale, and her expression hollow. She's merely a shell of the girl I fell in love with. Giant blue eyes are staring blankly at the ocean and she's taking huge sips of my bourbon straight from the bottle. And the way she no longer grimaces at the taste tells me that this is probably a regular occurrence. Fuck.

"Baby?" I ask, approaching her with caution.

Her head turns in my direction and she blinks several times. "I'm losing it, Justin."

I kneel down on the deck in front of her and cup her face in my hands. "Losing what, sweetness?"

"Everything. The sound of her voice. The way she smelled. How it felt when we were together…"

I sit there, speechless, holding her cheeks and watch her eyes fill with tears. Fuck, Justin, think.

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