#and i want to give him more texture .. i like the patchiness of the heart ykwim . like that

[lemongogo]

ok im normal again

[uratowel]

Fear will fade but the Fade is fear

Chapter 11:

The pleasantly warm late summer sun stood high on the cloudless azure horizon, casting a rich golden glow over the vast plains near Trevelyan Estate. A pleasantly refreshing breeze swept across the seemingly endless, flat expanses of the Free Marches. The wind brushed gently over the lush yellow fields. The long stalks of grain rustled and swayed in the gentle breeze, making them seem to ripple like the waves of the vast sea.

Mara relished the sight of her childhood home and took a deep, long breath of the sweet, warm summer air. A poem she had heard as a child came to mind.

"I sat there deep in the barley fields, I sat there deep with my beloved. My sad heart seemed to doubt whether we would stay together. Though it beat for him, it now beat faster for my homeland, and gently the wind blew through the valley, softly caressing the fields".

Yes, this was her home. Here she had been born, here she had spent her childhood. A little homesickness tingled in her chest, but Mara didn't want to spoil her beautiful memories - so she buried the sad feeling in a remote corner of her soul. One day, she would stand at this very spot behind her house and enjoy the same dreamy view.

Mara wandered through the fields of barley and wheat, gently running her hand over the waist-high golden plants, the grain stalks caressing her palm. The slight tickling brought a child's smile to her face. Looking off into the distance, Mara spotted an old, large wooden shed. She knew the building only too well. It was an old stable of rather simple but solid construction, used by her family to store hay and straw for the horses: The foundation was about three feet high and made of plain limestone. On top of this were windowless wooden walls made of palisades and planks. The partially rotten frame supported a patchy straw roof, which had to be replaced every year by the stable hands.

As children, Marcus and Mara often played here with abandon, or hid from Theodor when boring chores had to be done. They pretended that the old hayloft was their very own fortress and that they were noble knights defending their straw castle against imaginary dragons and monsters. They romped and laughed until they fell asleep on the heaps of straw. Those were happier and simpler times.

A sudden, intense pain gripped Mara, tightening her chest and making her heart beat faster, pounding against her ribs. A dark foreboding came over her, sending a cold shiver down her spine to the back of her neck. Mara felt the fine hairs on her neck and arms stand on end and goose bumps covered her entire body.

"Oh no. By the Maker, no! Not that! I don't want to see it, please. Anything but this day." Yet Mara's silent plea went unheard by the Spirits of the Void.

Unable to control her movements, Mara headed straight for the old hut. With every step she took, her pace picked up more and more. She ran the last few metres to the shack. The beloved, peaceful landscape around her slowly began to blur, until everything was shrouded in a greenish-grey veil of smoke and mist. Meanwhile, the outline of the wooden house became clearer and clearer. So clear that Mara could even see the dark green moss along the stone foundation, the texture and knots of the wooden planks, and every crack and hole in the wooden wall.

The feeling of foreboding that Mara had felt earlier turned into a familiar, deep-seated fear that spread violently through her body and settled deep in her heart. Mara came to an abrupt halt at the barn door. Her heart was pounding against her chest, her breathing was rapid and erratic, and there was nothing but panic in her eyes. Panic before the inevitable - and so she closed her eyes and reached out, trembling, for the door handle, completely powerless.

No sooner had Mara's fingertips touched the warm wood of the door than she felt the ground suddenly give way beneath her feet with a thud. Mara lost her footing and plunged helplessly into a black, bottomless abyss, a scream of shock on her lips as she was swallowed up by the darkness.

Mara's free fall didn't last long, and suddenly the back of her head hit the ground hard. Under her hands, Mara felt worn wooden planks smeared with dry earth. Her head throbbed from the unpleasant impact, and her face was sore too; Mara's right cheek and nose pulsed intensely with lingering pain. She could feel warm liquid running in small streams from her injured nose over her lips. The characteristic metallic-sweet taste of fresh blood lingered unpleasantly on her lips.

When Mara blinked her eyes open, she saw that she was inside the shed. Her younger self lay amidst walls of bright yellow, neatly stacked bales of straw, giving off the pleasant scent of freshly cut hay and grass. Standing over Mara were two older boys, about 12 years old - Daniel and Thore, two rough troublemakers from the surrounding farms. They were uncouth idiots who took great pleasure in tormenting poor Marcus whenever they got the chance.

"Didn't I tell ya little brats that we don't wanna to see ya here any more? The barn is ours now!" said Daniel, grinning so mockingly that you could see his unkempt, crooked teeth.

Mara spat and uttered a few barely intelligible, agonised curses. Thore and Daniel's faces darkened into grimaces of rage and disgust. Just as Mara was about to stand up to hurl her opinion at the two half-strong wannabes face to face, she was hit in the stomach by a powerful and well-directed kick. Mara fell to the ground again. She writhed in pain as the two older boys continued to kick her, laughing derisively. Suddenly she heard a shrill scream behind her and the kicks stopped, only the pain remained.

"Stop hurting her. Why are you so mean? Stop it!"

It was Marcus' voice, whose otherwise gentle tone had all but disappeared. Now it sounded terribly shrill and harsh, vibrating with suppressed anger and despair. Marcus' lanky body trembled, his narrow shoulders and thin arms were tensed to breaking point. His hands were clenched so tightly into fists that the knuckles stood out white under his pale skin. Tears gathered in the corners of his narrowed eyes, and his normally pale complexion had turned a deep crimson.

'I can't protect him. I'm too weak. I don't care if they hurt me, but I want them to leave Marcus alone. Why doesn't he run away. I can't do it any more. I'm so pathetic,' Mara thought desperately.

Mara, still on the floor, heaved herself up onto her knees with difficulty and supported herself trembling on her elbows. She turned her head to Marcus, looked at him helplessly and pleaded in a fragile, weak voice: "Markus, run away! RUN!"

Thore and Daniel looked at each other in astonishment for a moment and then burst out laughing in unison. Before Mara could do anything, she suddenly felt a painful weight on her back. Thore, about two heads taller and twice as wide as Mara, had sat on her with his knees and was pressing her down onto the floor. The sheer mass of his body squeezed the air out of her lungs. Mara let out a pained whimper, while the two older boys laughed derisively.

"I said, Stop hurting her. Otherwise... Or else... Or else! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Marcus's hate-fuelled voice was breaking. All his repressed emotions erupted in a bloodcurdling scream.

Thore jumped off her back as if stung by a tarantula. Daniel and he retreated a few steps in panic until they bumped into the wooden wall of the shed. Their eyes were wide with shock and their hands were outstretched in a defensive gesture. When Mara turned to Marcus, she could see the source of the two boys' fear. Marcus' hands were surrounded by orange-red flames. The unbearable heat emanating from the flames made the air around them shimmer and crackle more and more.

"Stop it, stop it. STOP IT. I'll finish you off. I don't want you to hurt her anymore! I want you to BURN!"

A wave of Marcus' hand and the dry hay and straw around them was ablaze. In a matter of seconds, the whole room was filled with smoke and the blazing fire ate hungrily through the straw and rotten wood. The flickering flames leapt from one bale to the next, turning the whole scene into one devastating fireball. Mara felt the unbearable heat on her body and could hardly breathe because of the smoke. All she could see was the unreal, terrifying figure of Marcus. He had stopped screaming and his lips were pressed together in a thin line. His skin was colourless and pale. Instead of the lush green, Mara found only a deep black in his eyes. His gaze was directed at her with contempt and disgust. Mara could hear Markus' demonically distorted voice in her mind.

"This is all your fault, you foolish child. You couldn't protect me. You are weak. I don't need you. You're nothing but a helpless little girl. Pitiful creature, pah!"

Marcus' body suddenly collapsed as Mara struggled to her weak feet. The world around them began to shake, the walls collapsing with a loud crash and crackle. Mara wanted to call out to Markus, to get up and run to him, to help him... but her legs and her voice would not obey. Out of the flames behind the bizarre figure of Marcus emerged two hulking men in shimmering silver armour, with the crest of the Order of the Templars emblazoned on their chests. They did not look at Mara, all their attention focused on Marcus as he lay on the ground. The two men grabbed her brother by his limp arms and dragged him roughly to his thin legs.

Mara's thoughts raced: 'They're taking him away. They're taking him from me. They can't do that. Marcus is a good boy. He hasn't done anything wrong. I ...'

Mara pulled herself together, got to her feet and staggered towards the two templars. When she got hold of one man's arm, she tugged at it with all her strength. A desperate and futile attempt to stop the Templars from dragging Marcus away. "Let him go. You must not take him! NO!"

The Templar looked down in disgust at the little crying girl in front of him. He growled disapprovingly as he jerked the arm Mara was clutching free from her powerless grasp. He struck Mara a blow with his armoured backhand and she fell down again. Blood ran from her temple into her eye. She watched helplessly as Marcus was dragged mercilessly through a curtain of flames and smoke into the Void. He slowly faded into the distance while she was left alone. Tears, mixed with dark red blood, ran relentlessly down her cheeks.

'Helpless little girl. Weak. Pathetic. Useless. Alone.' These words kept echoing in her head.

Bathed in sweat and with tears streaming down her face, Mara awoke from her sleep. She sat bolt upright in her bed in the small hut in Haven. She had thrown the sheets and pillow out of bed during her restless sleep. Her throat was dry and her hands trembled as she buried her wet face in them. She couldn't suppress a quiet sob.

Mara sat motionless on her bed for a long time. The fire in the fireplace had long since burnt down and only a few smouldering coals remained in the hearth. The room was cold and the silver light of the starlit sky fell through the windows. Mara rose awkwardly and with stiff limbs and staggered, still dazed from her unrestful and cruel sleep, to the table that stood under one of the windows. With trembling hands, she poured herself a glass of cold water from the waiting jug and drank it down in one gulp. Her gaze wandered outside, to the calm, shimmering green Breach in the night sky. It was neither very early in the morning nor very late at night. Strictly speaking, it was the time between night and day, just before dawn. The time when the veil was at its thinnest.

Mara sighed crestfallen and put her glass down carefully; there was no point in trying to get some sleep again. Her thoughts would only wander back to the painful memories that had been haunting her dreams more and more frequently lately anyway. Even now, when she was awake, she couldn't get the images out of her head. Mara's gaze wandered through her small hut and lingered on her beloved weapons.

Well, if I'm already awake, I might as well start training a little earlier. The more I train, the stronger I get, the more people I can help, the more useful I am. I'll never be so weak again!

With newfound energy, Mara crossed the room, put on her Inquisition armour with deft but still somewhat shaky fingers, girded on her swords and stepped resolutely out into the wintry cold of the Frostback Mountains.

see also: ao3_fearful dreams german text: ao3_angsterfüllte Träume

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Osborn’s 5✩ Inspiration: Black VS Black [黑色对峙] Date Translation (END 6: Heart-throb)

“Do you really think that I think there’s no helping you?”

*Light and Night Master-list | Osborn’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *This 5✩ Inspiration has 6 Endings!! *Osborn’s tag will be #For Night, For Freedom *Requested by anon! You can check my on-going requests and more here!

✥ Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

The cat caused an incident! What should I do?

⊹ Check the fallen model ⊹

I didn’t think too much about it, instead, hurrying over to where the car model had fallen. 

I picked it up and inspected the damages.

There was a long crack in the middle and several parts had broken off, scattering compartments all over the floor.

MC: Can this… still be saved…?

Just as I was thinking of how to break this bad news to Osborn, his low voice sounded from behind.

Osborn: What a big commotion.

Osborn: What? Did Mitt get into an accident?

I steeled myself and stopped covering the scene of the “car accident” that had occurred. I got up and handed him the car model that I held.

MC: The “culprit” knocked this car model down and fled.

Osborn frowned, reaching me in a couple of long strides.

He took the model and turned it around a couple of times, observing it with an indifferent look on his face.

MC: Is it too damaged to fix?

Osborn: I can just send it for repairs over the next few days. Let's go look for the cat first.

He calmly placed the broken car model back onto the shelf, taking a “let’s talk about this later” stance.

This model had been placed together with many other car models that looked new, pristine, and without a scratch. Not to mention, the glistening trophy that had been right next to it. A wild guess entered my mind.

MC: Do all the car models here hold some sort of commemorative meaning?

Osborn: Hm? Why do you ask?

MC: I mean, if they are some sort of special memento to you, then they should have been subjected to routine maintenance, right?

MC: If so, then you should also have the tools for it along with any part replacements, yes?

Thoughtfulness slipped into his eyes.

Osborn: You want to help me fix it?

MC: Yeah! That cat was just spooked real bad, and it wouldn’t do us any good if it got a bigger fright the next time and reacted even worse to it if we continued chasing after it.

MC: So, why don’t we leave the cat hunt for later and fix the car model back up first?

MC: Plus, I’m pretty dexterous with my hands. Wanna give me a chance to show you my prowess?

He raised an eyebrow, his pale green eyes glinting.

Osborn: Okay. Here's your time to shine.

Osborn stretched his arms over my head. For a while, all I could see was his broad chest. I felt my breath hitch.

Then, he suddenly lowered his head. His face was incredibly close to mine.

The scent of black cedar assaulted my nose. I blinked. My brain was lagging.

MC: Oh, okay.

Osborn: Take it.

My gaze slid to his hand. Turns out that he’d just been fetching the toolbox that had been in the cabinet above the display shelves.

Osborn: I'm waiting.

I took the toolbox from him and opened it.

I was greeted by a multitude of components in all shapes and sizes. Some of the tools in it were similar to the ones I used when making my designs, but there were also some that I’d never seen before.

I picked up a tool that looked like a cross between a pen and a knife, looking to Osborn for advice.

MC: What's this?

Osborn: An exacto knife. It’s used to cut off excess parts of the joints when required.

MC: Mmhm, okay. I've remembered it.

Osborn: This is a cutting plier, screw sanders, tweezers...

Osborn picked out a couple more tools from within the box and introduced them to me.

Osborn: Anything else you can't recognize?

MC: Not for now.

Osborn: Okay. Then let's remove the damaged compartments first.

MC: Okay.

First, we used a screwdriver to remove the damaged compartments. Then, we replaced them with brand-new spare parts.

This race car model was really different from those being sold out in the market. It was made with exquisite craftsmanship, and its internal makings were far more complicated than I'd initially thought.

When it was time to add colours to it, Osborn prepared the required paints and set them out in measured portions onto the palette with ease and finesse. He smoothly handed me a brush.

Osborn: Do you know how to touch up the paintwork?

I hesitated.

MC: I've painted outfit designs before for design needs, but I'm sure it's completely different from actually painting a model.

MC: I don't know if it works the same…

Osborn: See my demonstration first then.

He dipped his brush into the red paint, carefully painting it onto the model. It came out very uniform and smoothly layered.

I'd stared at him, watching him do it a couple more times. But, no matter how much I watched the same process, I couldn't quite grasp it. Even if I tried mimicking his actions, my paintwork always turned out patchy and uneven.

Osborn laughed, placing his hand over mine and directing the brush I held.

He directed my brush, guiding me on how I should be painting the compartment with a focused look on his face.

It was all serious and business, except… My focus was inevitably drawn towards his movements and breaths.

Osborn: Get it?

MC: Mmhm...

I tried my hardest to remember the way he did it and followed suit. The end result was much smoother than what I'd been accomplishing before.

After the finishing touches were in place, I raised the model and showed it to him.

MC: Like… this? This should be done now, right?

Osborn: Not bad. You've got standard.

My spirits soared at having received such direct praise from him.

MC: Since I'm such an apt learner, how about enlisting my help again the next time you make another model of a race car?

Osborn slightly raised a brow as he contemplated my paint-stained hands.

Osborn: I'll think about it.

MC: Does this even need to be considered?

MC: I'm pretty quick to pick up hands-on skills, not just fixing up models of racing cars! So I'm a fast learner no matter what it is!

MC: You can test me again if you don't believe me!

Just as I was boasting about my assets in an attempt to make myself appeal to him, Osborn's calloused fingers suddenly brushed against my cheek.

The rough texture of the pads of his fingers made my heart skip a beat.

MC: What's wrong?

Osborn: You got something on your face.

I doubtfully touched my face. Suddenly, I pulled my hand away to find my fingers stained with red paint.

Astonished, I look at Osborn's hands, only to find even more red paint on them…

MC: Don't tell me you drew something on it!!

Osborn: What gives?

MC: Hey! You're biting the hand that feeds!

Osborn: Whatever do you mean by that?

Osborn: I'm just adding some blush and colour to your face. Makes you prettier.

I was taken aback, nonetheless.

MC: Okay. Then, I'll add some colour to your cheeks for you!

Osborn: Whoa, hey! Easy!

MC: Nothing you say now is gonna stop me!

I swiftly picked up the brush and dipped it into the paint set out onto the palette, rushing straight for his face.

Osborn quickly reared back, but I subconsciously followed right after his retreat.

And this was how I toppled him down to the ground with him doing nothing to defend himself.

Osborn was astonished. He'd attempted to get back up, only for my other hand to immediately dart out to pin him down by the shoulder.

MC: No moving!

Surprise flashed through his eyes, as his usual impish smile crawled its way back up his face.

Osborn: Wow, what an aggressor.

MC: That's right. Now's my time to retaliate!

MC: No use trying to escape!

I circled the air with the brush, purposefully observing his face to make my mark.

MC: Hmm, what do you want me to draw on you?

Osborn seemingly accepted the fact that he was going to be an inevitable victim of mine since I already had him "pinned" down. He folded his arms behind his head, giving my question some serious thought.

Osborn: An air drawing?

MC: Dream on!

Osborn: Mercy, please. I beg you.

MC: It's too late to be begging me for mercy.

MC: Hmph. Just watch me improvise on the spot~

Just as I was rummaging through my brain for a glimmer of inspiration, a light bulb suddenly lit in my head. 

I had an image now: Mitt as it was fleeing.

❖☆———————————★❖

I leaned down, supporting myself on Osborn's shoulder. 

Following the curve of his jaw, I applied colour to his skin, drawing a colourful cat.

Osborn had his guard down, seemingly content to watch me work my "artistic talents" with him as the canvas.

The surroundings lapsed into silence.

I was drawing it on with such rapt concentration, yet I was still able to notice his long black lashes and hear his familiar steady breathing ever so clearly. I could somewhat feel the slight rise and fall of his chest.

I vaguely registered our close proximity to each other. My heart seemed unable to settle with the fact that we were so close to each other that our breaths intermingled, clamouring loudly within my chest.

I blinked twice, finishing off the last stroke before getting up and putting some distance between us.

❖☆———————————★❖

Osborn: Done?

I nodded.

Osborn: What do you think of your work of art?

Huh? Is he asking me to rate my own work?

I quickly gave him a once over, only to realize that I'd been distracted at the end, so it'd turned out a little funky. I nearly laughed at it right then and there.

MC: Ahem. I think it's not bad! You've got a big kitty on you now!

He waggled his brows, lazily raising his body halfway back up. His features were suddenly enlarged before my eyes once more as he leaned closer.

Osborn: Happy now?

MC: Mmhm… Pretty happy.

Osborn: Then let me tell you something that'll make you even happier.

He moved even closer, his words gently flowing with the air, wrapping themselves around my ears.

I shuddered as a scalding heat started creeping up my neck.

MC: ...What is it?

Osborn: The other kitty's right behind you.

Mitt: Meow~ Meow~

The last of his words were drowned out by the sudden meowing that sounded.

I snapped out of the trance of the moment, much to my embarrassment. Mitt had actually slinked behind me somehow without my knowing!

MC: Right, we should hurry and catch it before it gets up to no good again!

I quickly climbed off Osborn, flushing red as I fled.

A light chuckle sounded behind me in response.

❖☆———————————★❖

By the time we found Mitt, it was already sprawled out beside the TV cabinet with its paws stuck underneath, fiddling with something in the gap.

Recalling the layout of his living room, I quietly tip-toed and whispered my idea into Osborn’s ear.

MC: I��ll take left, you take right. We’ll pincer it.

Osborn: It’s already here, so there’s no need to go through so much trouble.

MC: Huh?

Osborn: Just wait and see.

Osborn took a couple of long strides forwards in the direction of the cat.

I followed after him, quietly approaching the black cat. However, my attention was suddenly caught by the photo frame that the cat had just been playing with.

Picking up the frame, I carefully observed it…

In the picture were Osborn and a couple of familiar-looking teammates. They’d all had an arm around each other’s shoulder, beaming as they held the same trophy.

Their faces all look much younger… Is this a photo from years ago?

The race car in the background had a red and white body with an orange rear spoiler, similar to the car model that Mitt had batted off its perch earlier.

MC: Don’t tell me… Was that car model made based on this race car?

I was lost in thought when a sudden meow broke my train of thought.

Osborn: Still wanna run?

❖☆———————————★❖

I raised my head to see Osborn with both arms raised, gently holding up the cat in question.

The bright and warm sunlight shone in through the window, carefully outlining his chiselled side-profile and the contours of his muscles.

Although Mitt had already been caught, it still glared daggers at Osborn. It was as if a cat and a human were engaged in a silent battle with each other.

After a while, Mitt seemed to register the fact that it’d lost, meowing pitifully in that soft cry once more.

❖☆———————————★❖

Osborn: Oh? You know how to beg for mercy now, don’t you?

Osborn carried Mitt to the little corner we’d set up for it. Mitt seemingly gave up on the game of chase, lowering its head to eat the cat food that we’d prepared for it since the very beginning.

Watching it eat its food so obediently, I couldn’t help but kneel down and stroke its round head.

Mitt cast a doubtful glance at me, but turned its head, indulging nuzzling itself into my palm.

MC: !

MC: I touched it! How cute…

Osborn: You’re that excited from just being able to touch it?

MC: Yeah. It looked so naughty that I thought I wouldn’t be able to touch it today.

Osborn: It’ll come running up to you for a lick or two so long as you have food.

MC: Then I MUST let it try the wet cat food! Maybe it’ll get closer to me!

I sped towards the sofa and picked up the packet of wet cat food, purposely waving it before its nose.

It couldn’t resist the offered temptation after all. Its soft fluffy paws batted at my wrist as it opened its mouth and cried its pleas.

MC: Okay, okay. Any more and you’ll end up a piggy.

I recalled something after putting away the remaining food. I picked up the photo frame that I’d set down earlier and handed it to Osborn.

MC: Oh, yeah. By the way, this was the photo frame that Mitt was batting with under the TV cabinet earlier. I don’t know where you normally display it.

He took the photo frame from me and glanced at it.

MC: And on that note, I realized that the car in the background looks very similar to the model we just pieced back together. Are they the same?

Osborn: Oh. The model was made according to this race car.

Suddenly, I recalled having seen the highlights of all his races before.

The year and month in which he’d won his first racing championship seemingly coincided with the time that this photo was taken.

My guess had tumbled out of my lips before I could stop it.

MC: Is this the car you drove when you won your first championship?

He quirked a brow.

Osborn: Why, you know me so well.

MC: Then… Is that car model something of a memento from that race?

Osborn: You can say that.

MC: I heard somewhere before that that car’s engine had to be changed out every two races. It shouldn’t be in use anymore, right?

Osborn: The engine exploded on me during that race, so it was only my companion once.

Osborn spoke lightly of it, but thinking of how exciting and terrifying it must have been back then, I couldn’t help but feel my heart sink a little.

MC: I’m glad the car model’s alright. Otherwise, it’d be such a pity for such a meaningful memento to get damaged like that.

Osborn: So I should thank you properly. Is that it?

MC: Huh? Thank me?

He chuckled lightly, his eyes sliding from the photo to my face. He had a slightly flippant look on his face.

Osborn: Weren’t you the one who made that car model more meaningful?

MC: ……

I was taken aback for a bit. I looked at him in surprise, only to find his gaze calm and gentle. There was a smile glimmering within his eyes.

Osborn: You were pretty clever when fixing the model. Why so stupefied now?

As his words sank in, I felt my heart flutter as I realized what he’d meant by having made it more “meaningful”. Something seemed to have filled my heart. It was a little flustering, yet also a little sweet.

I worried my lip and gathered my courage together before looking up to meet his eyes.

MC: Then, that makes me happier now…

MC: Although I didn’t get the chance to sit in on the race of your first championship and cheer you on…

MC: I was still able to piece the model back together and play a part in that precious moment of memory.

Inexplicable emotions surfaced in Osborn’s eyes, and in the next second, his big hand ruffled my hair with a vengeance.

Osborn: There’s really no helping you, is there?

I shyly ducked my head, but I couldn’t stop the corners of my mouth from rising.

At this moment, the sun had enveloped us both within its warmth.

The cat quietly ate by our feet, letting out a purr of satisfaction every once in a while.

Slowly but surely, unspeakable feelings started to bloom and spread within the confines of my heart.

I hope, from the deepest points of my heart, that time would always be eternally frozen in this beautiful moment.

��� ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 +3 + 4 | Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

END 5 | Choice: Listen [倾听] ❖ASMR

END 6 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Freedom⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Prologue)

[lowlights]

Speechless - a Flowers and Cosmos story

This story takes place in the Flowers and Cosmos universe, which will be glimpses of the lives and relationship of Ezra and Reader, an astrobotanist. The stories will be posted non-sequentially but will be listed in chronological order.

It is co-written with @coastielaceispunk <3

Pairing: Ezra x Reader

Word Count: 2382

Warnings: Explicit. Language, body worship, somnophilia in an established relationship, light thigh riding, and PiV without protection. General Ez love.

~~

Your eyes shoot open.

Where am I?

The ventilation is turning over, the air slightly stale in your small pod. A dimmed light bathes you in a soft glow, washing over your form tucked under the plush blanket. You try to steady your breath a bit as the world comes more into focus around you.

You’re home. Well, home for now. You were still getting used to this new pod and all of its hums and clicks.

You turn your head and see Ezra sleeping on his back, blanket pushed down by his waist and sprawled for you to see. You watch his shallow yet even breaths leave his gently parted lips. His face is so relaxed and peaceful in his contented slumber, here in the early hours of your 8th spin on the transport ship to The Ephrate. His face shows no worry, yet you can still make out all of his smile crinkles and center brow lines from years of complicated prospecting work mixed with laughter despite his years of hardships.

Ezra is so beautiful.

You prop yourself up on one elbow, twisting to look at your lover's features more. The white tuft in his otherwise dark brown hair above his right eye looks so distinguished. The silvery scar across his left cheek, so faint in this light. It makes you want to hurt the person that did that to him, even though it makes him more beautiful in his own way. Especially the gorgeous hook of his nose that gives him his gods-like profile which you could never mistake.

His lips.

Oh, his plump lips through which intoxicating words and endless soliloquies flow. You rake over his patchy facial hair and mustache with your eyes before settling on his neck. Elongated for you on the pillow, you just want to lovingly bite it and mark it as your own. You can see the relaxed thrum of his pulse that gives him life, that gives you life. What would you do without this incredible man in your universe?

Does he know that my heart beats for him?

You smile to yourself as you observe his sleeping form. As quiet as space itself. He is so tranquil for someone who is always so alive. Always so talkative. You rarely get the time to appreciate him this way. Perhaps all of his years alone brought on his loquacious nature, you wonder to yourself. Any voice was preferable to nothing in those times, and his own words became an assurance. Now he loves to talk to you about anything and everything that he feels or thinks. He is always reading, having found comfort and curiosity in fiction, and he loved learning about any topics he could get his hands on.

His vocabulary is so vast and eloquent that he sounds of honey when he speaks.

Hearing him talk has never been a hindrance to you; you’re his great listener and verbal sparer. The way he speaks first drew you to him and keeps you in his gravity. His words flow so beautifully in those intimate acts they build the fire deep within you; you burn for him, for his voice alone.

Right now, though, your verbose love is silent save for tiny snores.

Ezra is neither an early riser nor a night owl and he is used to hard work, so when he's awake, he's awake. Knowing the importance of rest he sleeps deep, and he especially sleeps soundly when he is next to you.

His sleep is so deep that you reach over and begin to trace the muscles of his neck with the tips of your fingers. He doesn’t even flinch. You could no longer just look at him...you have to touch. The texture of the skin of his neck is enchanting. Your hand follows down to the dip between his collar bones and traces out to either side and back to center in slow, feather-light movements.

Mmm, he’s so warm.

Ezra only sleeps in his first layer compression briefs, especially since he likes to curl around you at night under the most luxurious blanket that he could find. He always radiates the warmth of the galaxy's central sun. This is a favorite attribute because you are always cold, especially traveling through open, chilled space in a metal can like you are now.

You slowly sit up on your knees to continue your appreciative journey. One hand lightly trails down his left arm draped across his strong abdomen. The other traces his far shoulder where he had lost his former primary weapon, his arm. You take a moment to recognize how capable Ezra was after his tragedy on the Green Moon. Ezra trained his left hand to become his primary and came to terms with his loss rather quickly, but not without struggle. He was proud to have his life and thanked Kevva that he got to be with you.

The loss never impeded his work, or how he held you. His embrace was all-encompassing, strong, and warm. Just like him.

Your mind slings back to its task. You bring your fingers close together on his broad chest, still barely grazing along his skin, his expansive chest dwarfing your hands. Trailing down his sternum you trace over his waist and down to the small slope of his stomach. Ezra shifts slightly as he gets ticklish the lower down his torso you go. You avoid his ribs and love handles for this reason.

You don't want to wake him just yet...you're not done.

His tummy rises and falls with his satisfied breaths as he is once again motionless. You push the blanket down further and spread your hands out to run your palms over his Adonis belt and the slight trail of hair just above his low-riding briefs. A sigh escapes your lips as you feel him, so warm and firm. You press your hands tenderly to frame his hips. You drag your warmed hands down to the outside of his thighs as you carefully scoot down the wide cot that Ezra had insisted on and push the blanket off of his figure entirely. Ezra’s right knee is bent away from his left, which lays flat with his hips comfortably canted and open.

Your hands stop on his sturdy thighs. Appreciating his form while he sleeps in silence has made you want him...want to wake him up showing him all the love you have for him.

You swing your left leg to straddle his thigh closest to you, right above his knee. You’re careful not to put your body weight on him just yet. You decide to rub your palms up and down the inside of his thighs circling to the top. You add a bit of pressure with each rotation, relishing in the feel of his taut muscles.

Ezra sleepily whimpers at the sensation, the sound cutting right through you, and he tenses his thighs. The one just beneath your core lifted just right as he flexes, providing the most glorious friction over your cotton panties. Only then do you realize the bit of wetness collected there at your worship of his beautiful body. The barely-there touch entices you to lower yourself to firmly but carefully sit on Ezra’s lower thigh, just above his knee. You’re desperate to seek your own release, but not at the expense of startling him awake.

You continue the circles on his upper thighs, inching higher and higher to have your fingertips push underneath his briefs. They start to bunch and soon you feel where his long legs meet his pelvis. Still in his sleep, you see Ezra starting to breathe a little shallower.

Lips parting a little wider. You have to restrain yourself from kissing him.

Your loving touch is physically doing things to his body, the proof of which you can see as he begins to harden in his briefs next to your hands. You hope that you’re inducing a hot dream with your ministrations. You change your hand movements to sweep side to side under his briefs, not yet touching his length. He steadily becomes almost fully erect and reaches down to push the heel of his palm onto his straining briefs, groaning as he keeps his hand there but still not opening his eyes.

You continue your rocking on his tense thigh and sigh softly watching him touch himself. Blessed Kevva, you can't wait any longer and you know he is ready for you.

Time to wake up, lover.

With hands still in his briefs, you lift up and free him from his confines. You pull them down just enough and move carefully to now straddle his narrow hips. You tenderly move his hand away and he frowns.

Oh Ezra, you just wait.

You take him in your hand which causes Ezra to buck his hips lazily and sigh. He finally scrunches his face and feels for you like every morning he awakes. You take this moment to pull your soaked panties to one side and line him up at your wanting entrance. Eyes closed he moves his wandering arm to find your thigh...then your hip. You whimper at his soft touch.

Tired of waiting, you finally sink yourself onto his fully hard length. Ezra gasps and his eyes shoot open where they fix on you with a look of shock. You are so wet from the anticipation of the morning he slides effortlessly through your folds. His perfect cock fills you completely as your apex meets his and your clit rubs against his short curls. You throw your head back with a breathy moan as you feel his grip tighten on your hip.

After a moment you adjust to his stretch and look down to see his eyes, hooded with sleep, boring into your face. Then you roll your hips, again, again, and again. Ezra is watching you with his mouth agape. Either he is in shock at your actions or still isn't fully awake. Either way, he is speechless.

Ezra is speechless as you love him awake. He is never without his beloved words.

Your feelings are as vast as space itself and on display now. You have brought the man of many words to utter silence.

You feel him twitching and throbbing, deep inside you. The slow build of your touches compared to your thrusts now has him absolutely reeling. Ezra is panting, opening and closing his mouth as he grabs up and down your body. He can’t help the look of excitement dancing over his gorgeous features.

“Good morning baby. Can you cum for me? You can do it...I know you can. Fill me up,” you speak softly aloud for the first time.

Ezra whimpers and stutters because he is unable to find any bit of his vocabulary to tell you the thousands of thoughts racing through his head.

You have stolen his voice on this day...and he couldn’t be happier. All he can do is buck up into you, meeting you thrust for thrust.

You smile at him with a sense of pride in what you have reduced him to, continuing to drive him deeper as you widen your knees around him. Each strike to oh fuck, that perfect spot inside brings you closer to your edge, which is spurring on his own release as he can feel you tighten around him.

“Ezra!” you rasp out, “you feel sublime,” as you flutter around him, being pushed over your edge into tingling burning ecstasy.

His usual words sound so good falling from your lips and he finally breaks his silence to gasp out your name in his groggy morning voice. He pulls your hips as close as he can, burying himself as deep as he can go, and he lets out a gravelly groan as he reaches his orgasm. Spilling into you as far as he can for a few moments before stilling and catching his breath.

When you come back from the stars above you lay forward onto him and into his warm embrace. Ezra rolls you both to his side so your back is against the cool bulkhead. He kisses you lazily in appreciation and wonder.

“I awoke to an alluring nirvana that I assumed was merely an indulgent dream,” Ezra breathes out shakily.

“Look at you articulating, my love,” you smile back, placing a hand on his cheek.

Ezra meets your smile with another chaste kiss, “You had me dumbstruck, little bird.”

You both lie silent in the perfectly sized cot, wrapped in each other's warmth for a little while longer before starting your day. Even in his soundlessness, Ezra says everything he needs to.

~

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@shiftingsands14 @littlemisspascal

[coastielaceispunk]

Speechless - a Flowers and Cosmos story

This story takes place in the Flowers and Cosmos universe, which will be glimpses of the lives and relationship of Ezra and Reader, an astrobotanist. The stories will be posted non-sequentially but will be listed in chronological order.

It is co-written with @lowlights<3

Pairing: Ezra x Reader

Word Count: 2382

Warnings: Explicit. Language, body worship, somnophilia in an established relationship, light thigh riding, and PiV without protection. General Ez love.

~~

Your eyes shoot open.

Where am I?

The ventilation is turning over, the air slightly stale in your small pod. A dimmed light bathes you in a soft glow, washing over your form tucked under the plush blanket. You try to steady your breath a bit as the world comes more into focus around you.

You’re home. Well, home for now. You were still getting used to this new pod and all of its hums and clicks.

You turn your head and see Ezra sleeping on his back, blanket pushed down by his waist and sprawled for you to see. You watch his shallow yet even breaths leave his gently parted lips. His face is so relaxed and peaceful in his contented slumber, here in the early hours of your 8th spin on the transport ship to The Ephrate. His face shows no worry, yet you can still make out all of his smile crinkles and center brow lines from years of complicated prospecting work mixed with laughter despite his years of hardships.

Ezra is so beautiful.

You prop yourself up on one elbow, twisting to look at your lover’s features more. The white tuft in his otherwise dark brown hair above his right eye looks so distinguished. The silvery scar across his left cheek, so faint in this light. It makes you want to hurt the person that did that to him, even though it makes him more beautiful in his own way. Especially the gorgeous hook of his nose that gives him his gods-like profile which you could never mistake.

His lips.

Oh, his plump lips through which intoxicating words and endless soliloquies flow. You rake over his patchy facial hair and mustache with your eyes before settling on his neck. Elongated for you on the pillow, you just want to lovingly bite it and mark it as your own. You can see the relaxed thrum of his pulse that gives him life, that gives you life. What would you do without this incredible man in your universe?

Does he know that my heart beats for him?

You smile to yourself as you observe his sleeping form. As quiet as space itself. He is so tranquil for someone who is always so alive. Always so talkative. You rarely get the time to appreciate him this way. Perhaps all of his years alone brought on his loquacious nature, you wonder to yourself. Any voice was preferable to nothing in those times, and his own words became an assurance. Now he loves to talk to you about anything and everything that he feels or thinks. He is always reading, having found comfort and curiosity in fiction, and he loved learning about any topics he could get his hands on.

His vocabulary is so vast and eloquent that he sounds of honey when he speaks.

Hearing him talk has never been a hindrance to you; you’re his great listener and verbal sparer. The way he speaks first drew you to him and keeps you in his gravity. His words flow so beautifully in those intimate acts they build the fire deep within you; you burn for him, for his voice alone.

Right now, though, your verbose love is silent save for tiny snores.

Ezra is neither an early riser nor a night owl and he is used to hard work, so when he’s awake, he’s awake. Knowing the importance of rest he sleeps deep, and he especially sleeps soundly when he is next to you.

His sleep is so deep that you reach over and begin to trace the muscles of his neck with the tips of your fingers. He doesn’t even flinch. You could no longer just look at him…you have to touch. The texture of the skin of his neck is enchanting. Your hand follows down to the dip between his collar bones and traces out to either side and back to center in slow, feather-light movements.

Mmm, he’s so warm.

Ezra only sleeps in his first layer compression briefs, especially since he likes to curl around you at night under the most luxurious blanket that he could find. He always radiates the warmth of the galaxy’s central sun. This is a favorite attribute because you are always cold, especially traveling through open, chilled space in a metal can like you are now.

You slowly sit up on your knees to continue your appreciative journey. One hand lightly trails down his left arm draped across his strong abdomen. The other traces his far shoulder where he had lost his former primary weapon, his arm. You take a moment to recognize how capable Ezra was after his tragedy on the Green Moon. Ezra trained his left hand to become his primary and came to terms with his loss rather quickly, but not without struggle. He was proud to have his life and thanked Kevva that he got to be with you.

The loss never impeded his work, or how he held you. His embrace was all-encompassing, strong, and warm. Just like him.

Your mind slings back to its task. You bring your fingers close together on his broad chest, still barely grazing along his skin, his expansive chest dwarfing your hands. Trailing down his sternum you trace over his waist and down to the small slope of his stomach. Ezra shifts slightly as he gets ticklish the lower down his torso you go. You avoid his ribs and love handles for this reason.

You don’t want to wake him just yet…you’re not done.

His tummy rises and falls with his satisfied breaths as he is once again motionless. You push the blanket down further and spread your hands out to run your palms over his Adonis belt and the slight trail of hair just above his low-riding briefs. A sigh escapes your lips as you feel him, so warm and firm. You press your hands tenderly to frame his hips. You drag your warmed hands down to the outside of his thighs as you carefully scoot down the wide cot that Ezra had insisted on and push the blanket off of his figure entirely. Ezra’s right knee is bent away from his left, which lays flat with his hips comfortably canted and open.

Your hands stop on his sturdy thighs. Appreciating his form while he sleeps in silence has made you want him…want to wake him up showing him all the love you have for him.

You swing your left leg to straddle his thigh closest to you, right above his knee. You’re careful not to put your body weight on him just yet. You decide to rub your palms up and down the inside of his thighs circling to the top. You add a bit of pressure with each rotation, relishing in the feel of his taut muscles.

Ezra sleepily whimpers at the sensation, the sound cutting right through you, and he tenses his thighs. The one just beneath your core lifted just right as he flexes, providing the most glorious friction over your cotton panties. Only then do you realize the bit of wetness collected there at your worship of his beautiful body. The barely-there touch entices you to lower yourself to firmly but carefully sit on Ezra’s lower thigh, just above his knee. You’re desperate to seek your own release, but not at the expense of startling him awake.

You continue the circles on his upper thighs, inching higher and higher to have your fingertips push underneath his briefs. They start to bunch and soon you feel where his long legs meet his pelvis. Still in his sleep, you see Ezra starting to breathe a little shallower.

Lips parting a little wider. You have to restrain yourself from kissing him.

Your loving touch is physically doing things to his body, the proof of which you can see as he begins to harden in his briefs next to your hands. You hope that you’re inducing a hot dream with your ministrations. You change your hand movements to sweep side to side under his briefs, not yet touching his length. He steadily becomes almost fully erect and reaches down to push the heel of his palm onto his straining briefs, groaning as he keeps his hand there but still not opening his eyes.

You continue your rocking on his tense thigh and sigh softly watching him touch himself. Blessed Kevva, you can’t wait any longer and you know he is ready for you.

Time to wake up, lover.

With hands still in his briefs, you lift up and free him from his confines. You pull them down just enough and move carefully to now straddle his narrow hips. You tenderly move his hand away and he frowns.

Oh Ezra, you just wait.

You take him in your hand which causes Ezra to buck his hips lazily and sigh. He finally scrunches his face and feels for you like every morning he awakes. You take this moment to pull your soaked panties to one side and line him up at your wanting entrance. Eyes closed he moves his wandering arm to find your thigh…then your hip. You whimper at his soft touch.

Tired of waiting, you finally sink yourself onto his fully hard length. Ezra gasps and his eyes shoot open where they fix on you with a look of shock. You are so wet from the anticipation of the morning he slides effortlessly through your folds. His perfect cock fills you completely as your apex meets his and your clit rubs against his short curls. You throw your head back with a breathy moan as you feel his grip tighten on your hip.

After a moment you adjust to his stretch and look down to see his eyes, hooded with sleep, boring into your face. Then you roll your hips, again, again, and again. Ezra is watching you with his mouth agape. Either he is in shock at your actions or still isn’t fully awake. Either way, he is speechless.

Ezra is speechless as you love him awake. He is never without his beloved words.

Your feelings are as vast as space itself and on display now. You have brought the man of many words to utter silence.

You feel him twitching and throbbing, deep inside you. The slow build of your touches compared to your thrusts now has him absolutely reeling. Ezra is panting, opening and closing his mouth as he grabs up and down your body. He can’t help the look of excitement dancing over his gorgeous features.

“Good morning baby. Can you cum for me? You can do it…I know you can. Fill me up,” you speak softly aloud for the first time.

Ezra whimpers and stutters because he is unable to find any bit of his vocabulary to tell you the thousands of thoughts racing through his head.

You have stolen his voice on this day…and he couldn’t be happier. All he can do is buck up into you, meeting you thrust for thrust.

You smile at him with a sense of pride in what you have reduced him to, continuing to drive him deeper as you widen your knees around him. Each strike to oh fuck, that perfect spot inside brings you closer to your edge, which is spurring on his own release as he can feel you tighten around him.

“Ezra!” you rasp out, “you feel sublime,” as you flutter around him, being pushed over your edge into tingling burning ecstasy.

His usual words sound so good falling from your lips and he finally breaks his silence to gasp out your name in his groggy morning voice. He pulls your hips as close as he can, burying himself as deep as he can go, and he lets out a gravelly groan as he reaches his orgasm. Spilling into you as far as he can for a few moments before stilling and catching his breath.

When you come back from the stars above you lay forward onto him and into his warm embrace. Ezra rolls you both to his side so your back is against the cool bulkhead. He kisses you lazily in appreciation and wonder.

“I awoke to an alluring nirvana that I assumed was merely an indulgent dream,” Ezra breathes out shakily.

“Look at you articulating, my love,” you smile back, placing a hand on his cheek.

Ezra meets your smile with another chaste kiss, “You had me dumbstruck, little bird.”

You both lie silent in the perfectly sized cot, wrapped in each other’s warmth for a little while longer before starting your day. Even in his soundlessness, Ezra says everything he needs to.

~

Tag list: @shiftingsands14

[certifiedskywalker]

Trust Me - Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

shazam-levi

I don't know if you've already gotten this request, but I'll tell you anyway. Could you set it during episode 8 when they are battling moff gideon and when mando almost dies the reader force heals him. He tells her he loves her since he thinks he'll die but she stays and saves him. They already have feelings for each other, but both finally confess after the battle. Lots of fluff and angst. Please let me know if this works!

AN: Made a slight change in the request but I hope that’s okay. I don’t like the idea that Din just says “I love you”. I think Din shows his love rather than verbally addressing it. I hope you get the romantic subtext!

“We’re not leaving without you,” Cara snapped, her stern features pointed at the Mandalorian, at Din, who lay against a slab of stone rumble. 

“You need to protect the Child,” he choked out. 

You cringed at the sound of his hoarse voice. The modulator in the mask did little to make him sound the slightest bit hopeful. You leaned towards him, resting a careful hand on his helmet. Even without closing your eyes or actively communing with the Force, you could feel the severity of his wound. Din’s visor turned to face you.

“Y/N, please,” the desperation in his voice made your chest ache. “Leave me here...get him out of here.”

You shook your head at his order. You could never follow through on such a demand had been through too much with Din to just leave him to die alone. There was something you could do, you had to do, even if it meant exposing yourself. If Din was willing to trust you with the trust, you could trust him with your truth. “I can-”

“Whatever we’re going to do we need to do it fast,” Greef said, panic lacing his tone. It was hard to hear the ex-magistrate over IG-11 as the droid cut the sewer grate out of the cantina wall. “They’ll be coming in any-”

The roar of sudden flames cut Greef’s warning short. Heat washed over you like a dry wave of doom. You turned towards the door where a red detail, armored trooper lurked, a fire-turret in hand. The sight alone was enough to throw you back to the past.

In your memory, you heard the blaster-fire of Republic issued rifles as Clones fired on you and your Master, Stass Allie. The heat, so horribly similar to the deserts on Saleucami. Your forced your eyes shut and took a calming breath. Slowly, your heart rate steadied and you pulled yourself back to the present. There was no time to hesitate or get caught on past phantoms; there were people with you now who needed your help.

“Protect the Child.” Din’s voice was weak, a barely-there sound. Whatever he was clinging to was wearing thin. You opened your eyes and pulled your hand away from Din’s helmet. “I can fend them off...let you escape.”

“No,” Cara protested just as the pyro-trooper returned in the burning doorway. You looked over and felt a shock of adrenaline run through your body. Waddling confidently up towards the scorched remains of the cantina entrance was the Child. Before you could lunge towards the creature, the trooper released a fresh flame from the turret. 

With wide eyes you watched the Child raise its tiny hands up towards the racing fire. You felt a gust of pure power in the Force, the kind that you once felt as a youngling with Master Yoda. Sensing the Child’s strength and intentions, you threw yourself over Din’s chest in an attempt to protect him from the incoming heat. You felt one of Din’s arms around your waist as if he wanted to press you as close as possible. When flames didn’t envelop you all, you lifted your head from Din’s chest and smiled.

The Child, conducting the Force through his fingertips, was keeping the fire at bay. Strength of that degree was incredible, let alone the fact it was a young creature wielding it. You watched, wide-eyed and proud as the Child pushed the fire back toward the pyro-trooper. With a blood-curdling scream, the trooper burst into flames and crumpled to the ground. Threat gone, the Child fell back to the ground completely exhausted. 

You crawled over to the creatures’ slumped form and scooped him up in your arms. Careful not to trip or wake the Child, you walked back over to Din. Upon sitting at his side, Din reached up and brushed his fingers along the creatures’ ear. Before you could speak up, Din’s moving hand clutched your arm. He gave it a squeeze, the touch enough to pull your eyes to his helmet’s visor.

“Let me die a warriors death,” he choked out. You felt a burning in your eyes, the threat of unshed tears. Without hesitation, you shook your head.

“I’m not going to leave you,” you replied. As you spoke, the clanging kicks of the IG unit filled your ears. With one final metal crash, the way to escape was open.

“It’s open! We have to go!” Greef shouted and you looked up. He was already filing into the cramped tunnel passage while the rest of you lingered. Even the IG unit waited, red optical receptors trained on the Child. In a flash, you stood and held the Child out to the droid.

“No,” Din coughed, but you ignored him.

“Take him and go, we’ll be right behind you.” Without questioning your order, the droid took the child and followed after Greef. Content with your choice, you turned and face Cara. “Can you go with them?”

“What about him?” Cara tipped her head toward Din. 

“I’ll take care of him.” The shock trooper’s dark brows furrowed together but she stood anyway. Cara gave Din one last, worried glance before walking past you. As she moved, she grabbed your shoulder.

“Don’t let him…”

“I won’t.”

Cara nodded gratefully and you turned to watch her as she followed the droid into the sewer. When the four of them were out of sight, you rushed back over to Din. You crouched down at his side and took his hand in yours. His helmet turned to you and you could feel his life, ever-present in the Force around you, begin to wane. 

“Why are you doing this?”

You ignored the truth that threatened to spill out of your mouth and answered him with another question. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” There was no delay in his reply; no pause or doubt. The trust between you and Din was deep, akin to the trust between you and your late Master only stronger. You gave Din a half-smile and hoped that, beneath his helmet, he made it whole. 

Just as you were about to continue, the cantina entrance became to crumble. The stone ceiling fell in, blocking the doorway to the village outside. If you did manage to patch Din up, the sewer would be the only way out of the ruined building. You turned your attention back to Din and found his free hand reaching out to you. For a moment, you considered pulling away, letting him go out in the Mandalorian way. But your Jedi way would not allow you to leave him behind; that, and your heart, your feelings for him.

“I need you to take off your helmet.”

“It’s forbidden,” Din said, without missing a beat, “no one has seen me since…”

“I won’t see, not really,” you explained, “I’ll have my eyes closed.” 

You could feel Din’s nervousness through the Force but the trust he had in you eventually won out. Slowly, you watched Din’s gloved hands reached up towards his helmet. A quick, thankful smile danced along your features before you closed your eyes. The hiss of the helmet’s release echoed in your ears and you found yourself fighting temptation. You wanted to see him, really see him, but you had made a promise.

Instead, you reached out, let your hands brush against his matted hair. He was sweaty and you could feel him pull away from your touch, only for a moment before relaxing. The weight of his head fell against your hands. It was then you felt the blood, all thick and warm. You took a deep, shuddering breath before channeling all that you could into the wound. 

With the best of your abilities, you tried to replicate what you had seen the Child do with Greef’s wound only a day before. You had only read about Force regeneration in texts hidden deep in the Coruscant Temple’s archive. 

“Y/N.” 

The sound of your name in his voice, now unaltered by the helmet, was nearly enough to get you to open your eyes. How soft his voice sounded, how small. It was as if the mask he wore carried with it everything you thought he was. Now, Din was laying bare before you but you couldn’t see him. It was torturous, not being able to look at him.

Viscerally, it felt like you were being drained. Although that could have been the life Force you were melding into his wounded flesh. Draining a piece of yourself and giving to Din was simple in principle; no more confusing than wedding vows. Physically the act was something else and you understood why the Jedi often guarded against using the Force to heal. 

“Y/N,” you shook your head and tried to refocus, “Y/N, please.”

The instant you were finally getting through, when the wound was just beginning to mend, you felt the rough texture of Din’s glove against your chin, then your cheek. You fought to stay focused. You fought to keep your eyes screwed shut. “Y/N.” Suddenly, you were losing the battle.

“Y/N, let me see your eyes.”

Whether it was the desperation or the pleading nature of Din’s voice, you gave in. Slowly, your eyes opened and you took in the sight before you as if it were your first time seeing anything. You studied Din’s face intensely: the mixture of fear and adoration in his dark eyes; the patchy scruff along his jaw; the curves of his lips; everything. Somewhere, you found more strength, whether it was in Din’s eyes or in your own heart. That strength was enough to channel the Force that whirled around you both and heal Din’s head wound.

The cuts and bruises in his face sealed up and the flesh returned to its natural color. Never once did your eyes leave Din’s. Not even when he took a full, gasping breath. Not even when you felt your energy being drained. You channeled every teaching Stass Allie had taught you. One such teaching from your late Jedi Master came to your mind.

“You can never trust someone without looking into their eyes. Eyes never lie, my padawan, neither a friends’ or a foes’.”

Looking into Din’s eyes, in that moment, you knew you could trust him with anything.

The Force seemed to slip from your fingertips as Din’s wounds healed. You let yourself fall back on the dirt, careful not to get too close to the flames. Heat had grown and spread around you; a frightful reminder that you needed to get out of there.

“We need to go.” You reached for Din’s helmet and handed it to him.

“What did you-”

“We can talk about it later. We need to get to the Child.” At the mention of the little creature, Din grew stoic. His brows furrowed slightly and his lips pursed. You had to swallow the smile that threatened to spread along your lips. To mask it further, you stood up and extended a hand to the downed Mandalorian. 

Without hesitation, he took your hand and got to his feet.

“Why didn’t you have one of those before?” You asked Din as you landed. Even with your feet on the ground, you still clung to Din’s arms. Flight via jetpack was new to you. Although the Child, wedged between you and Din, was still squealing with excitement.

“Not enough beskar,” Din said coolly. His arms were still wrapped around your waist, holding you tight to his chest. The Child, fastened in your jacket, began to paw at your chest as if begging to fly again.

“Alright, alright,” you let go of Din’s arms and plucked the Child from your coat.

Its wide, dark eyes were alight with joy despite all the trouble you had just fought through. You smiled at him and set him on the ground. When he started to waddle over towards the Razor Crest, Din punched in his code to lower the boarding ramp. The Child chirped giddly as he wandered into the ship.

“We better watch him,” you scratched the back of your head nervously. “He might try to fly without us.”

You turned to walk towards the ship but felt Din’s hand grasp at your arm. His touch was light, yet desperate, and when you turned to face him, you could feel his questions. Din’s scorched helmet did nothing for you now. You had seen the face and the eyes beneath and there was no turning back. The two of you had trusted the other with your respective secrets; trust went both ways.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The same reason you don’t take off your helmet,” you explained, “it is the way. The new, Jedi way.” Din took a step back from you.

“Jedi?”

“During the Clone Wars, when we all thought the Trade Federation was the worse thing to come to the galaxy, I was a padawan learner…” you swallowed hard at the memory. “I was being taught in the ways of the Force by Jedi Master Stass Allie.”

“You...the Child, you both have the Force.” You nodded and frowned when Din’s hand let go of your arm. “Your powers….”

“The Empire wasn’t a fan of the Jedi,” you sighed, rubbing at your wrist to distract yourself. “Wasn’t really a fan of anyone but themselves. They hunted my people...they...killed my Master and so many others.”

Din didn’t reply and you were too lost in your memories to notice when he took a step towards you. 

“I didn’t tell you cos’...I didn’t want to be alone again.” Tears welled up in your eyes as you spoke. “Everyone I told tried to turn me in for credits and I...you are...were a bounty hunter. I joined the Guild to protect myself and then this Child…”

When Din grabbed your arm against it neither forceful nor mean. It was soft, tender, the kind of touch you seen other receive but never have yourself. You opened your eyes and met the visor of Din’s mask; but you could see his eyes. You could feel them on you and the trust they held in you. Something else had been shared alongside your secrets. 

“You’ll never be alone,” he said softly, “not again. I’m with you.”

You gave Din a grateful smile and rested an open palm on the cool surface of his mask. At your touch, you heard his breath hitch. Fear, you could feel it in the Force around him; fear that you would try to remove his helmet out in the open. Did he regret letting you see his face?

No, he didn’t. You knew him well enough to know that and the Force thrummed in agreement. Din rested the weight of his helmet in your hand. The small action carried with it a bond forged in the fires of the Nevarro cantina. Something immovable; something permanent.

“We better get the kid,” Din said as the sound of the ramp folding up reached your ears. You turned around and lifted a hand to stop it, unafraid of your power. With the Force, you gently pulled the ramp back down and you both started towards the ship in a sprint.

As your ran, you could feel the hilt of your lightsaber knock against your thigh. There would be time to show that to Din too. Right now, the trust, the bond between was enough. And there were bigger, more powerful things at hand. 

[r00en]

Still Good Chapter 10

A Million Kisses 

All Might x Reader (OC)

I just wanted some cute fluff with Toshi being an absolute angel boy! A basic domestic conversation about food and Toshi just adoring his tiny new girlfriend.

Warnings: Some heavy kissing and super fluffy. Toshi cries. It’s all good!

(I’m running out of All Might gifs people!)

The day's after the attack on U.S.J were some of the greatest Toshi could recall. At least since his injury. All of the students were given the following days off for 'safety' which mostly meant the heads of the school were looking into the breech, upping their security and making a game plan should another attack happen. They needed to be prepared. Both the media and parents of at least the first year students were all on edge and rather critical of each move U.A made. Having the great All Might on staff did sway some hearts and he was labeled as the hero of the hour Toshi felt anything but and was thankful the Principal was doing more to put the citizens at ease. 

There was only so much Toshi could do in his current state. He had maybe an hour now if he was lucky which would need to be used for teaching and possibly appearances on the street during days off to keep everyone's suspicions at bay. All Might was a major public figure. Constantly out and about meeting people, doing interviews, showing up on TV and in movies. A literal Symbol needed to be everywhere at once and be seen by as many people as possible. And of course his hero work. There were mutterings that something was wrong with All Might given how rarely the people of the town around U.A ever saw him. The school tried their best to filter the rumors and spread a few of their own. He was often around different cities helping with major disasters, school and teaching took up most of his time and he was such a valuable asset to the next young hero's. He trusted the police and local hero's to do their jobs and left them to it. Simple things like that. It worked well enough and the attack only solidified his need to stay on campus. That was one of two good things that had come from that horrible day. The second was standing next to him in his kitchen, humming away as she chopped some carrots. 

They had been busy making dinner, each slipping comfortably in this new relationship. Honestly very little had changed between the two of them save for Toshi's obsessive need to pepper her cheeks with kisses every time she was within reach. So much so that he was expecting to be beaten off each time his lanky arms wrapped around her middle and pinned her in place to assault her with his mouth. But each and every time she would erupt into a fit of giggles, planting a few of her own on his boney jaw and only teasingly shooing him away so she could finish what ever task he interrupted. 

"I like it." She told him plainly after he apologized for his millionth kiss that morning while she was attempting to make coffee. "Being wanted so much is...nice. My brain dosn't have time to worry about things when every few minuets you remind it how happy it is now." That earned her a mild tackle of a hug and another thousand smooches. 

And it wasn't just him. She often came up behind him to snuggle into his long back and hold him tight. He adored when she would climb herself into his lap while they watched TV as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be as close as possible. She often couldn't reach his face and so she would tug on his shirt slightly to demand he bend down to her level so she could kiss him how she liked. Often starting on her toes and working her way to his lips. Toshi had to admit they already acted as if they were a couple long before he had confessed. The rest of the teachers apparently had a betting pool on when one of them would finally break. He was glad it was him. Toshi adored the old school romance of it all. The heated confession after a dangerous battle! It felt like one of his American action movies. Though he could have easily done without the fight....

And the fact that even with his twisted, broken, scared and scary body she touched him as if he was in his prime. Not an ounce of fear or disgust on her features. At time's he honestly forgot how he looked. Really believing her when she muttered how handsome he was while they were lounging on the bed together one morning. She seemed to love tracing small patterns against his arms and following the thin but textured muscles in his shoulders and neck. Remaking how strong he was and giggling and cheering when he would scoop her into a hug and swing her around like she weight nothing at all. 

So here they were, in his apartment getting ready for dinner. His arms locked around her little frame with his head resting atop her's like a strange parrot. Listening to her quiet little hum as she worked. Perfect, this was perfect. "Toshi..." His arms wound a little tighter on her sides. Nuzzling his face against her hair with a little sigh of his own. "Yeah?" He couldn't think of anything better than these moments. It almost made him forget his loss as a symbol, his injury, his troubles. "Toshi the meat...." Her voice sounded a little worried. Always so concerned about his well being. "It should be fine. We didn't add too many seasonings this time so it won't bother me as much as last night." The thought of their little blunder with spices last night made him nonexistent stomach churn a bit. Spending hours laying on the bed eating chipped ice and taking advantage of her quirk had not been pleasant. 

"No I mean it's burning!" She laughed, wiggling herself out of his arms to turn off the small hot plate. A dark patchy smoke rising from what was meant to be their grilled pork. 

He stood there dumbfounded for a second. Watching her try and salvage the chard meat. "My apologizes....I was so wrapped up in what I was doing-" That sounded a bit stupid, what he was doing was clinging onto her like an infant. The shame heated his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "H-here I'll finish the vegetables. I doubt I can screw that up." Now that he said that the knife looked very sharp and the small little shapes she had been cutting seconds ago looked far more professional than anything he would manage to do with his clumsy long fingers. With a heavy sigh he took up her post, glancing over to watch her cut the thick chard sections of meat. "I don't think I ever noticed before but you are a very good cook. Your recipes are simple yet delicious and you know your way around a knife." He motioned to the well cut veggies on the board and his mess of what looked like a hacked up bit of onion. 

It took her a second to respond. So focused on the task at hand. Or maybe it was hard to answer. "It's kinda embarrassing...but I'm a really picky eater..." She muttered, plating their meat carefully  now that it had been saved from his blunder. "I had to learn new tricks pretty quickly when I moved to Japan. But my family was very ah...." She struggled with the Japanese for a second. Toshi could see the gears turning in her head and had to stop himself from smushing her cheeks. 'So cute...' 

"Meat and Potatoes! That's it!" 

"Meat....and potatoes? Dear... we have that here in Japan though." He raised a brow at her and grinned. "We are having meat and potatoes tonight." He playfully motioned to the boiling pot of potatoes right next to her.

That earned him a little playful swat on the arm and a small nudge so he could scoot his skinny butt over and let her finish. He gladly moved, still afraid to ruin their meal any farther but still bent on figuring out what she meant. "Come to think of it that is all you seem to order when we eat out. Simple dishes, a lot of carbs. I assumed it was because you were trying to accommodate me." People who knew about his injury and stomach issues had a hard time eating freely around Toshi. It was a guilt thing. Like people not drinking around an alcoholic. He could have a wide variety of foods. It's not like he was limited to rice crackers and water. Well not any more. It was mostly heavy spices and seasonings that bothered him. Without a stomach to help break it all down spicy foods would often burn his insides. Never a nice feeling. Toshi let his hand rest on her head, giving it a little rub before he moved off to get them some drinks. "So this meat and potatoes thing?" 

"Oh! Well it means you eat very plain foods normally. It can mean a wide range of things ironically but my family tended to eat hardy meals with lots of meat and carb based foods like mashed potatoes." 

"No vegetables?" That was something Toshi often enjoyed. Steamed veggies were nice and easy on his stomach but could add different flavors to things without being too harsh. 

"Well yes but we stuck to simple things. If we were having steak it would normally be with a carb and one simple vegetable side dish like green beans or corn. Here there is always a rainbow mix of veggies in almost everything so my pallet it's really accustom to it yet." Paladin moved to place their dishes down on the table. Taking her spot as he carefully bent his knees in across from her. "I worry I'll never develop a full taste for Japanese food. I do like most of it though but I find it's far easier to cook at home and add the things I like rather than getting pre-made food's and having to remove what I don't." As always she was already starting on her small strips of pork. Toshi remembered the meal she made one night for him. It was steak but rather than being cut and cooked in strips which was custom in Japan she had cooked both slabs whole. He was tentative at first but her way of searing it gave the top a wonderful crunchy texture but the middle was so juicy it tasted like it had just come from a hot pot yet still melted in his mouth. And there was so much butter! 

"I see. So your pallet just happens to work with my dirt restrictions." A happy coincidence that convinced Toshi they were indeed destined for each other. The thought warmed his heart it also chilled it. Fate...a future. All Might wasn't sure he even had one of those. The echo of his friends dooming prediction played through his mind. What did he have? A year at best? A single year to spend with her like this. He should tell her. But the thought of living every day on edge, her worried about their small short time....sad. Always sad and already mourning a man who wasn't dead yet. 

No. 

At least for now he wanted to be happy. Even if it was constructed on a lie by omission he wanted her to smile at him with no dark cloud hanging over them. He could pretend he didn't know. He had been pretending for years now and it wasn't turning out so bad. But now suddenly, watching Paladin eating across from him, happily giggling along with something on the T.V he had long since stopped watching he wasn't so sure he was okay with dying. If living meant being here with her longer. But Nighteye was never wrong. All Might would die a horrible, violent death at the hands of a villain. He would leave her alone. At the very least she knew he would pass before her naturally. He was almost twenty years older than her, that was a given but she didn't know just how true and how close. 

It felt like some kind of disgusting lie that he would have to keep up with. His side burned as if punishing him already for letting any of this start. What could he possibly do? He would break her heart one way or the other. Ignore their feelings, pretend he wasn't in love with her and break her heart by forcing a friendship neither of them truly wanted? Disappear from her life without a word? Or die in a  fight in a year. He could at least pretend that one was a more natural way for him to go. More so now with the targeted villain attack. She would be devastated but at least she would have closure. Plus she as a pro hero! She knew the risks they all took with their line of work. This lie would be better. 

A hand reached out to brush carefully against his arm. Shaking him from his thoughts with a jolt. "Y-yes?!" She was looking at him with a worried expression. How long had he been silent?

"The food's not that bad is it? You've been glaring at it for like ten minuets...." Shoot. Toshi flipped his palm and gripped her's tightly trying to grin at her as if nothing in the world was wrong. 

"It's nothing....really." She gave him another worried clench of her hand and he returned it trying his best to put her at ease. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I find myself still thinking about the attack on U.S.J...I know! I know you said it's not my fault. Everyone has said that." He was quick to correct when she got that little pouty look on her face that told him she was about to argue. "I'm far past the point of blaming myself now." Out loud "But the attack has me worried. I'm not as strong as I used to be. That's a fact and one we can't dance around any longer. I know the school is setting more security measures in place but still..." He glared down at his thin hand wrapped around her's. His face scrunched in what seemed like anger. "I wish there was more I could do. Feeling so helpless, it's not something I'm used to feeling. I'm still not used to it." 

Paladin didn't seem to have an answer. This wasn't a quick fix sort of issue and one Toshi had been struggling with since his injury. It was worse now that his power was so limited. Relying on others to keep him safe, being unable to protect those he wanted to protect. Her hand slipped from his and Toshi hated the loss of contact. As she stood to gather their plates; his hardly touched, his appetite was gone for now she pressed a careful kiss his to his head in passing. "I don't think it's something you ever get used to Toshi. Not really. You lived most of your life so powerful that this reality may not even seem real. And the weaker you get the more it sinks in and the darker it feels. The more attacks you can't fend off the more it will eat at you." Well she wasn't anything if she wasn't brutally honest. "But you were always going to need to face this. One day All Might was going to die. Slip away in his bed surrounded by loved one's. Too old and weak to be the Hero he once was. It happens to everyone. This is just....an unexpected speed up. You're training Young Midoriya for this very reason." 

He was nodding along, her words were wise if not a bit rough. He was going to die one day, he would have been on the exact same path he was on today....just give or take twenty years. That seemed like such a long time but given how long he was the Symbol of Peace it wasn't too far in the future. The danger that now lurked over Japan due to his near absence was the only major change in the true inevitability. "Yes but if I had more- Wait! You know I'm training Young Midoriya as my successor?!" He was so startled his sudden upright jerk crashed his poor knees into the underside of the table. Forcing him back down with a heavy groan as he rubbed his legs. "Y-you know?!" 

Peaking out from the kitchen Paladin gave a little shrug. "Well I know for sure now. Sorry if it was meant to be a secret...I mean it still is. Of course I'm not going to tell anyone but it's a bit obvious." Toshi grumbled and pulled himself away from the offending furniture and joined her. Hovering by the doorway. 

"Really?" 

She was elbow deep in some dishes. The pot already on for their nightly coffee and tea. If he wasn't so worried this would be a perfect moment for more kitchen cuddles but he was more interested about her realization. "Well I spend a lot of time with both class 1-A and you personally so it might just be me. But you constantly sneak off with him to get in some one on one training. You worry about him and his progress more than the other students...and if his records are correct his quirk shows amazing potential if he can figure out how to not break his own body using it. I got to thinking and it all just kinda fits you know?" That made sense. She was a smart girl and had more detailed records of Young Midoriya's medical history and quirk than most. Plus if Toshi wasn't with her or teaching he was training the boy. It would have been very easy to pick up on for someone like her. He should have been at least a bit more careful. "Honestly if I didn't know you were off with him I would get a little worried..." Toshi jerked back, waving his hands with a look of utter disgust plastered on his face.

"I would never!" When he looked up at her she was laughing, her tongue sticking out at him letting him sigh with relief. Of course she was kidding.

His cheeks still burned. 

"Of course you wouldn't. That's the one thing I never have to worry about with you." The very though made him feel dirty. And not in the slightly less shameful way like the dark hours of the night before they started dating and he was alone with his thoughts. His shoulders slumped forward slightly, curling inward a bit his arms crossed over his chest trying to hide the embarrassment of the memory. The though of those perverted day dreams he was so privy to in the past possibly coming true made a heat bloom in his groin though he tried his best to hide it. For now. How did one even breech such a topic. It's not as if they were fumbling teenagers both young and experienced. All hands and teeth and no nerves. Well 'she' wasn't those things anyway. He was all but a young teen wishing he had at least given into a few of those old propositions from his past. Maybe even a bit of experience under his belt he would know how to act. Then again the idea of sharing that first time with her had it's own thrills. They scared the hell out of him. Like the drop on a roller coaster. Thrilling and dangerous but fun and exciting. "I think he's a good choice though." 

Once again her voice cut through his inner ramblings. This was a better conversation to get his mind off of the dark pink places it was wandering off in. "You do?" Toshi moved into the kitchen at last. Setting out their cups and grabbing his tea and her instant coffee making a small face as the harsh smell hit his nose. He couldn't stand he stuff too strong. 

"He's always so cheerful, really cares about his friends and those around him. His entrance exam was proof of that. The only student in how many years who put someones life above his own chances at his dream future. He had no way of knowing that of course we would never let anything happen to that young girl yet he jumped in to save her. Sacrificing those last few seconds he had to take hold of his spot. He moved before he could even think, like being a hero was just a natural instinct for him." He felt her snuggle up against his left side carefully. Warm breath seeped through his cotton shirt to pool against his scar and Toshi was quick to secure an arm around her as best he could while he tried to carefully mix her coffee the way she liked it. "He's so much like you." 

A shiver ran up his spin. The drinks forgotten as the both sat there in a happy moment of comfort and silence. A woman so wonderful chose to be with him like this and it baffled him beyond all else. But he wouldn't complain. Her spunky little attitude, her willingness to scold him and be bold enough to call out his nonsense, to see him for who he was and not for the icon he built himself up to be...yet to still understand the need for it. Respect and admire it. To see it in Young Midoriya. She reminded him so much of his late Master. Toshi wondered what she might think of all this. She always stressed the importance of keeping true to himself, never forgetting who he was. The same normal high wisdom he expected all teachers stressed to their young students but perhaps she was trying to tell him to do this. Be with someone who made him feel whole or at least a little less broken that before. Nana would adore her.

He should tell her. Let her know the truth about his power and the boy. If only to prove how right she was. If anything it may have been a small boost in validation that Toshi had made the correct choice in successor. "That is a good point. You're a bit more right than you think you are." 

It seemed she had gotten the snuggles out of her system and was now perked at full attention. The deeper tone in his voice told her this was important. Wide eyes stared up and him waiting for him to continue. "What I'm about to tell you is of the utmost importance and to be kept secret. You can tell no one....Recovery Girl and the Principal already know. As well as two old....acquaintances from my past." That was most likely the best way to put it without any more prying questions about them. He could already see the look of aggressive curiosity growing on her face and he wanted to make his point quickly and possibly never speak of those two 'acquaintances' ever again. "My quirk...you remember how we spoke about it being a mystery?" 

Her head gave a little nod as she thought back. "Right, speed or strength or something different altogether. No one really knows to this day exactly what it is. It's one of the worlds greatest mysteries." Toshi chuckled and ruffled her hair a but. Leading her back into the main room with their drinks. At least she didn't ramble like Young Midoriya...

"Right. Well it has a name. One for All. I won't get into the messy details. It might take weeks to really explain everything." Her expression told him she wanted those details. Wiggling on the spot so ready to explode with questions that Toshi needed to hold up a hand and stop her before she got start. "I'll tell you over time I promise. No use in over loading you with information when there are more important bits." It seemed to work well enough for now. Leaving her a little pouty but excited for this 'info' he kept hinting at. "It was given to me when I was about Young Midoriya's age." His hand came up again. Snapping her jaw shut and keeping her silent from the flood of questions about to burst forth from her little body. "H-hang on. Yes I was quirkless. It wasn't strange back then. In fact it was in the midst of society coming to terms with superpowers in general. I was considered normal really. Not that I wanted to be. My master saw something in me back then.....and she passed her quirk, One for All to me. To become the Symbol of Peace I thought the world needed. To protect those who couldn't protect themselves. I wanted to be the hero that everyone looked to. That made people feel safe no matter where they were. I think that's why she gave it to me. She knew my ideals and goals were for the good of society and One for All would be used for justice." He could tell she was a bit lost. Her face flitting between confusion to deep concentration. Trying to piece together everything he just said. 

He let her think for a few minuets. Sipping he tea quietly. "I'll tell you as much as I can over time. Though that's really the meat of it. Even I don't know the full extent of One for All. What it truly is and how it works. I don't think I mastered all there is to it even after so much time. But I was able to use enough to become All Might and fulfill my promise. I can't ask for much more...." 

"After your injury....you needed to find someone else then. Someone to take up the place of All Might. Become the next Symbol of Peace." Toshi gave nod, leaning himself on his elbows against the table as he waited for her to process some more. It was a lot and he wasn't lying when he said even he didn't fully understand it all. The previous holders, how to unlock it's full power. After all this time he was still only able to stay All Might for so many years. He wasn't indestructible. Perhaps if he knew more he wouldn't have ended up like this. 

She startled him by moving suddenly. Slowly crawling her way into his lap and snuggling herself down so her back was pressed against his chest. Toshi was glad for the sudden closeness keeping her hugged tight against him in a cage of legs and arms. Nuzzling his gaunt face into the crook of her neck and letting out a small sigh. "I saw all those things you can see in Young Midoriya. I saw myself in him. I knew he was the right choice as my successor. I came to U.A to find one but before I could we crossed paths. It was like fate." That word made him cringe. He didn't want to think about such a concept now. Not for the second time tonight. He took some solace in knowing that he was being honest with her about this. At least it was something. An honesty to cover up the darker lie he was prepared to keep up for another year. "I don't regret that decision. He tried to save his friend from a villain even when he was quirkless....saved me at U.S.J. Jumping into the fight even at the expensive his his legs. Buying me those last few seconds of time to keep my hero form. Without him my secret would be out. I don't even what to think of what those villains would do with that information." She felt the little shutter run through his body and wrapped her arms around his neck pulling him closer. The angle was hard on his back but it was a minor sacrifice for this intimacy he craved so much from her. 

He could feel her fingers petting softly at the hair on the back of his neck. A soothing gesture that lulled him into a quiet peace. "I think he'll make a wonderful Symbol of Peace one day. Plus he couldn't have a better teacher." Toshi flushed and hugged her tighter in his embarrassment. Chuckling softly when she made a little sound of surprise at the tightness. "I worry about the people now." He muttered softly against her shoulder. "While I train Young Midoriya they have no protector, nothing to keep them safe and secure..." 

"It will take time...and it will be hard." She responded softly, careful to pick her words "But the hope you gave people won't wash away. Even in your absence what you taught us will stick around for longer than you think. It will help the hero's who take up the reins for now until Midoriya is able to. What you gave us isn't something that will so easily be forgotten. We still have that fire you sparked in all of us to be better people, to Go Beyond what we think we can do on our own. No one can take that no matter how many years it takes for Midoriya to learn to be the next Symbol." 

Silence.

Toshi couldn't tell at first. It was only when the fabric of her shirt against her shoulder was starting to soak that he noticed the tears streaming down his face. Thick and heavy and so sudden they didn't come with the usual pressure behind his eyes and hitching choking breaths. They just appeared. "I'm sorry....." She was so soft, seeing now that he was crying so quietly behind her that worry seeped back into her voice. It wasn't what he wanted to hear. He wanted her to keep talking. Keep telling him everything would be okay. Chase away those hateful demons that clawed at the back of his mind and made him doubt the society he spent his whole life protecting. Validate his feelings for what he cultivated and strived for for so long. Her words were so very much what he desperately needed to hear. "Did I say something-" 

He didn't want to give her time to apologize. That was the last thing she ever needed to do. In those few short moments she just understood. Understood what he had been trying to do and his fear of losing it. And in those few seconds after eased those fears into the background and filled him with a warmth he hadn't remember ever feeling before. Not like this. To be truly and honestly understood like this felt so personal. He spun her around as carefully yet quickly as he could. Crashing his mouth down on her's as if he couldn't be physically close enough to her. Just contact. This deep, intimate contact as if without it she might not seem real. He could feel her fingers curling into the soft cotton of his shirt. Tugging at clenching at the sudden surprise of his actions. His tongue pressed desperately against her lips that she gladly opened for him. Delving forward to dance and lap against her's. Exploring the warm expanse of her mouth before finally pulling away with a heavy gasp for breath. His tongue still hanging ever so slightly past his thin lower lip as he panted for much needed air. 

She moved to speak again. The small sound dying somewhere in the back of her throat as he dove forward so roughly he toppled them over the table and pressed her back against the hard surface. The crash of their mugs all but white noise to him now. He could hear their teeth click together, he could feel her fingers carding through his wild hair. Tugging sharply as he caught her lower lip between his teeth and gave her a teasing bite until it was rosie and pink. Licking at the tiny mark he created there to soothe the heat away before attacking her mouth again giving her no time to breath or think. A sound came from his chest. Something between a growl and a groan as he felt her wiggle under his heavy hold. His tongue pressed deeper. Toying with her's in a wet battle. She was so much smaller in every way that he almost filled her mouth completely. 

It was like every emotion he had felt over the last five years had just bubbled forward. Pouring all that pent up fear, anger and self hate into this kiss. He couldn't help himself, couldn't stop. But he had to. He couldn't breath now and so he begrudgingly pulled himself back with a wet pop and slid his lips to her cheeks. It was salty and wet. His tears had rubbed off on her during their heated kissing. He was thankful she wasn't crying at least. He moved to kiss and nuzzle against her neck. Watching the harsh rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her own breath. He hid down there for now. His mind racing. Pushing him to keep going, keep touching. But as his hands hovered over her sides feeling the soft curve of her hips he felt himself grow nervous. Hard....but shy. He really had put everything into that kiss. Including his nerve. His head peaked up from her chest. Blue icy eyes shining in the dark that surrounded them. Looking more like a puppy then the man who had just kissed about a weeks worth of air from her lungs and still had the wet and slick lips to prove it. 

"I-I...." He gulped hard, Adams apple bobbing harshly as he repeated the words over in his head just in case. Scooting himself up to hover over her flushed out face. Looking so dazed and well worn yet grinning like a fool. He was rather proud of himself for putting that look there. Long fingers traced down her heated cheeks tilting her head so she would at last look at him properly no matter how distant her eyes seemed to be in that moment. "I love you." 

He wasn't sure if he meant to say it really. If this was the right time. So soon after his confession, so soon in their relationship at all. But he felt it. It needed to be said. His gut gave a little twist when she finally seemed to process his words. Looking so shocked a real panic started to set in him when she gave a little gasp like the words had smacked her hard in the face. "Oh..." 

Oh what not what he expected nor wanted to hear. Oh was not the sound someone made when another person just confessed their love. Oh was bad. Oh was very very bad and Toshi found himself hiding away again against her chest. Jaw clenched tight in shame, trying to prep himself for the awkward conversation they were about to have about boundaries. The feel of her fingers against his cheeks caught him off guard. Pulling up slightly so he was force to look at her this time. 'No. No please don't.....don't look at me. I'm so sorry....' his mind already beating him for this horrible, impulsive, ridiculous-

"....I am so very madly and absolutely emphatically in love with you too." 

'Holy shit....'

[angstymarshmallow]

never look back - ethan ramsey x mc

[a little note: I’m still drowning in in Ethan feels. Here’s a little something.]

[words counted: 1716]

She keeps thinking she'd feel different. Seeing him again after two months. But the moment their eyes collide, Sawyer feels like the air's been knocked out of her and she’s left reeling to steady herself upright again. She remembers her knees almost buckling from shock, terrified and relieved to find the feelings are all still there.

But within seconds, she stops herself from running to him. She digs her heels into the patchy grass and forces herself to remain still. She manages only a semblance of a smile instead while they swapped stories since he's been gone.

Within minutes, she has to remind herself that he isn't the center of her universe – he never was and whatever's left between them has to die.

It has to die.

Because what's the alternative?

She can’t imagine leaving Edenbrook. She can't imagine losing this once in a lifetime opportunity. But how long can she pretend before staring into those somber pools of blue threatens to be her very undoing? How long can she stave away feelings that’s been buried for two months before they claw themselves out back now that he's here?

How long can she keep it together?

Sawyer shakes her head, blond hair mussed as she swipes her fingers through its fine strands for what has to be the sixth time since this evening.

She doesn't know if she can keep it together. And she thinks missing him all this time is almost as bad as having him here.

Uttering a soft sigh, Sawyer drops the patient’s file she's been staring at for the past hour and gets to her feet.

Her mind is too conflicted. Drawn in too many different directions. Even worse, guilt travels to the pit of her stomach at the thought of paperwork still left until she makes the decision to take a break.

She's no good to anyone this distracted anyway.

She decides to venture to the break room, at this time of night she imagines her chances of running into anyone anyway is slim – let alone the one person she dreads seeing the most.

But fate much like the day is against her. Her heart skips a beat when she spots his familiar impossible height – standing close by to the snack machine.

She freezes for a moment, hand still on the door. There's almost no one else around but them. The last bit of people have trickled out.

The good news is his back is still turned and he looks too preoccupied to notice her slip away - if she really wants to.

You're a coward Hutton.

Her inner voice accuses, but Sawyer would rather be a coward than stare into those dazzling blues ever again.

Swallowing hard, the woman turns on her heels with the intention to hurry back until she hears his voice.

“Sawyer.”

Hearing her name on his tongue does something funny to her chest. It fills up with warmth and she has to suck in a breath a she body starts to feel tingly all over.

Sawyer forces her expression to remain neutral as she returns his greeting. “Ethan, hello.” She's even surprised by how steady her voice sounds.

Her eyes quickly drink him in – the slight wrinkles in his coat, the hard lines of his face she remembers tracing from their last night together and his dishelmed hair from what's probably been a long night – at least for them both.

The glasses hide the dark colour under his eyelids well enough until she gets closer. Even though she’s a few feet away, she doesn’t make direct eye contact. Not yet.

“I was just leaving.” He makes a wide gesture to the machine, “don't let me stop you.”

“Oh.” Sawyer wets her lips, trying and failing to find the right words to say. Is this how it's going to be from now on? Tip-toeing around each other because we're both afraid? “You weren’t.” She protests, disliking how hesitant she sounds. “I mean, it's okay.” She continues, smiling weakly. “I was thinking caffeine probably isn't the best right now anyway.” She rubs her arms, as she rambles on. “At least not so late.”

“You've been running on fumes for hours.” His words are stiff but underneath it all, Sawyer detects another layer of concern. “And you look almost dead on your feet.”

Despite his brusque tone, Sawyer manages a light chuckle. “Even when you’re worried, you know how to make a girl feel special.” Self-consciously, she pulls her hair away from her face. She's mostly teasing but there's a sudden glint in his eyes; a look that reminds her they were more than colleagues, once.

“You never look anything less than damn perfection Hutton.”

His words stun her and for a moment she's speechless until he quickly moves on.

“Besides, if we're going to get answers tonight – caffeine is the best  cure we've got.” He turns away, reaching to grab something from the machine but Sawyer is still reeling from his words.

It has to die.

These are the words come back, like a knife to her heart. It hurts to twist them inside her chest but she knows she must. She knows she has to suffer through it, to fight for composure because this isn't just her life - it's his too and they don’t belong together.

Sawyer tests her own will by stepping a little closer. She thinks she can manage a reasonable amount of proximity without making a fool of herself. It's not the first time there's been lingering tension between them.

Before she can think of a response l, Ethan much larger hand is outstretched towards her; a silent offering of her favourite chocolate bar.

Her heart swells. He remembers.

She mumbles a swift word of thanks;  their fingers meet before quickly pulling away.

But his touch lingers. On her skin. All around her.

She swallows, taking a considerable step back but she makes the mistake of looking at him – really looking at him and the sight of the torn expression flitting across his face has gutted her.

Sawyer sucks in a breath, her knees ignoring her desperate plea to remain upright and nearly buckles right then and there from under the intensity of his stare.

Her breath hitches as he keeps in her orbit, never taking his eyes from her face.

He's almost too close to be safe.

She doesn't know who reaches for who first – only that they've been fused together – limbs wrapping around each other, lips crashing against one another with such reverent urgency that she swears she sees stars.

He sinks his teeth into her lower lip.

A moan leaves her throat. And then another as the cool texture of the wall is pressed behind her, cocooning her against his weight.

He whispers her name; half as a plea and half as a denial but either way Sawyer doesn't want him to ever stop.

God, she missed this. She missed him.

His lips are a blend of passion and demand and she answers every kiss in kind.

Another kiss, another gentle tease of their fingers ghosting across supple flesh as he grows stiff against her wandering hand, moving to cup him. When his fingers tilt her head back, she braces one arm against the wall as continues her fingers keep pace with her light teasing, while Ethan's other hand rests snugly by her waist.

And for a moment the rest of the world fades away.

Just for a moment every voice inside her head that had been screaming for her to stop, is quiet.

Somewhere between all the ardent kisses and nonsensical whispers, they’re the only two people in the universe, basking in stolen kisses and the roaring of their pulses beating in erratic rhythms. When he breaks the kiss, it’s only to drag his lips to find purchase by her throat.

He kisses her wild and frantic pulse as she slams her eyes shut and rests her head against the wall.

It has to die.

The words break her from her reverie and the rest of the world bleeds back into perspective.

Sawyer bristles at the instruction, struggling for air.

She feels Ethan stiffen. She hears him swear before he reluctantly wrenches himself free; his features twisting in agony with the same torn expression that she's buried deeply inside her heart.

“We shouldn’t.” The words are clipped and cold – nothing like the Ethan, Sawyer has grown to know and has fallen heads over heels for. “We can’t.”

“We can’t.” Sawyer repeats but she ignores her shaking hands, ignores the denial in her heart as vehement as his words. She tucks them behind her back instead, before he’s able to see just how much his words hurt. Then she pushes off the wall and suddenly the space between them has become too vast for her to ignore.

Somehow Sawyer manages a nod, dragging her eyes away from his face before he sees the cracks in her armor. The cracks that have been there since his return to Edenbrook.

They step away from each other within minuscule of seconds, neither one of them quite meets the other’s gaze. And deep down, Sawyer tries to forget.

Her hand pauses in mid air, the chocolate bar nearly half-crushed between her fingers as she waves goodbye. “Thank you.”

Her voice has cracks in it too, like her armor that has no business being broken over someone that doesn’t want her – that doesn’t need her the way she wants to be needed, has forced her to change. To walk away.

Sawyer is he's still fumbling to put them back together as she whirls away, keeping a wide berth after Ethan's swift nod of goodbye.

As her hand braces against the door, Sawyer wrestles with the urge to look back. To kiss him and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t matter. But the only problem is the rest of the world does matter, it matters enough to keep them apart. And she knows if she does look at him again, if she lets those crystal eyes back into her heart – Ethan Ramsay will carve his initials and never let go.

With a staggering breath, Sawyer steels her nerves and pushes the door open; never giving herself the chance to look until the door slams entirely shut behind her.

--

[language-of-love]

with you...

Summary: David and Patrick travel to New York City for business...and pleasure. Honestly, I just wanted to find a way to let David love NYC again, or maybe for the first time, this time with Patrick by his side. (Rated E, 2500 words, AO3, contains S6 spoilers)

...

There’s a sea of patchy clouds making it nearly impossible to see the skyline, but he thinks that maybe that’s for the best, that perhaps it will help tamp down this nervous anticipation that’s making his stomach begin to toss and turn. It’s been a long time since he’s seen this city. A long time since this city’s seen him. Honestly, he’s not entirely sure it ever really had.

His eyes flutter shut as Patrick’s hand covers his, his thumb, slightly calloused from his guitar strings, rough and perfect as it moves back and forth against David’s palm. David lets go of the inside of his lips from where he’d clamped down with his teeth, his tongue peeking out to wet the dryness as he releases a heavy sigh out his nose.

“You okay?” Patrick’s voice is soft, his tone less questioning and more knowing, making David feel a little less nauseous. There was a time in his life where he thought he’d never find someone who truly understands him. Miraculously, he’s found two. More if he counts his family, which he should, because they do. Now they do.

Opening his eyes, he rolls his head towards his husband, his smile coming easy, a good sign, he thinks to himself.

“You’re making it okay.”

Patrick’s eyes go all soft as he leans in, his lips tasting of the airline’s cheap wine as he presses a lingering kiss to David’s mouth. David shivers, not just from the kiss, but from the fact that Patrick has done it in front of a plane full of passengers. Sure, back home, no one ever bats an eye at the affection they show one another, but this isn’t Schitt’s Creek, and they are still two men kissing on a plane. When Patrick pulls back enough to catch David’s gaze, there’s an unexpected glint of mischief there and David can’t hold back a small giggle.

“Happy with yourself, I see.”

“Happy with you.”

David’s eyes go skyward, but he’s dragging Patrick’s hand further into his lap and smiling at the ceiling of the plane.

“I told you to stop saying things like that to me in public.”

“Sorry, David.”

But he’s not. They both know it. Just like how they both know that David absolutely does not want him to stop saying things like that to him in public. Like, ever.

As the plane descends toward the runway, David finds that the nervousness from a few minutes earlier has begun to be eclipsed by the confidence Patrick always manages to conjure up. New York City doesn’t seem so scary now, not with his husband’s fingers woven between his own and his well-loved heart beating steadily in his chest.

...

The showcase with the hotel owners went better than they could have even imagined. They’d been expecting to have a lot of orders placed, but with Stevie and his dad giving each franchise buying power for their own properties, nothing was guaranteed. But David had been charming and Patrick, he’d been...Patrick, crunching numbers and packaging deals, the two of them dancing well practiced steps until the last meeting was over and the contracts were piled high.

If all of them pan out, they’ll actually be able to take a honeymoon this summer. He’d been bookmarking private resorts in the Maldives for months, just dreaming of watching Patrick’s pale skin pink up as they lie naked together in the sun, feet buried in the warm sand and lips swollen from tipsy kisses.

“Okay, you’re right, this is the best pizza I’ve ever had.”

Shifting from wishful thinking to the present, David smiles over at Patrick’s side of their hotel bed. His husband is stripped down to just his boxers, holding a greasy paper plate in one hand and stuffing one last, very big, bite of pizza into his mouth. God, why is that so attractive?

“Told you, so. It’s the water or something.”

“It’s magic,” he mumbles through his mouthful of food.

His husband is adorable, but not when talking with his mouth full, so David looks away, smiling again for maybe the fiftieth time today. Shuffling off the bed, he finds his way to the bathroom, flinching a bit when the row of bulbs above the large mirror flash on overhead. As he washes the pizza grease from his hands, he finds himself spinning his wedding ring around his soapy finger as a warm flush rises up his neck and settles behind his cheeks.

Today was perfect. In one fell swoop, his memories of this city have been forever altered. Beyond the time spent in their investor’s conference room for their meetings, they’d walked hand in hand through Central Park (a small section of it, really just about a quarter mile), window shopped on some random street just a block or two from SoHo, and eventually popped into a pizza place and grabbed a few slices to go. Nothing pretentious. Well, maybe they did stop into Rent the Runway so David could get his hands on some designer clothes, and maybe try a few things on. But is that even really pretentious? Not compared to his old life here it isn’t.

Sure, one good day can’t erase the stark lines left behind from his past, but he always did appreciate how beautiful a splash of white can look atop a wash of black.

“Don’t turn the water off.”

Patrick slides in next to him, lightly hip checking him to make room at the sink. Sucking the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, David turns and leans against the counter, staring at his husband as he dries his hands off with a hand towel. Patrick’s lips are curled up in a smile as he suds up his hands, his attention shifting from the sink up to his own reflection. David wonders what he sees there, if he only sees his flaws, or if maybe, he sees what David sees.

He really hopes so. He should remind him that in David’s eyes, he doesn’t have any, well, not any that are deal breakers.

“I love you.”

David catches Patrick’s gaze shift from his reflection to David in the mirror, so he looks back, his stomach suddenly swirling with affection, attraction, desire, all the things, all at once.

“Love you, too, baby.”

His fingers grip hard at the countertop when he finds himself suddenly unsteady, Patrick’s endearment making him feel like he’s just taken a shot of very strong whiskey, the sharp burn warming him as it slides down his throat. Dropping the towel, he reaches out for Patrick, quickly curling his fingers around the back of his head as he takes his mouth in a needy kiss. He lets out a soft gasp when Patrick’s wet hands slide up his bare chest, but Patrick just takes that opportunity, sliding his tongue between David’s lips in an obvious move to take control.

David gladly relinquishes it. Patrick doesn’t miss a beat.

Happy to be the one maneuvered against the wall, he’s suddenly breathless as Patrick’s fingers tangle with his and press the backs of his hands against the textured wallpaper. Held captive, he willingly succumbs to Patrick’s need to worship, focusing as hard as he can on staying standing as Patrick ventures down, wet lips barely grazing the skin of his throat until David feels the rough slide of his tongue against his nipple.

“Oh god…”

Patrick responds by closing his teeth around the sensitive peak and David’s hips surge forward on reflex, drawing a chuckle from Patrick’s mouth against his skin. His hands are freed from Patrick’s grip and he immediately moves to grab his head, his fingers sliding into his soft, too short hair as Patrick looks up at him as he maneuvers himself to his knees. In any other relationship, David might say something like “you don’t have to” or “you should let me”, but not with Patrick. Patrick loves this. Patrick loves him.

Patrick loves watching his eyes darken as he slowly lowers his boxer briefs down over his ass, like he’s doing now. And David loves the smile Patrick always presses into the crease of his thigh, like he’s doing now.

“Patrick…” he gasps, his voice breathy and thick with emotion as his husband slowly dips his head to take the tip of him into his mouth. His eyes stay on David, which is a lot, but he doesn’t dare look away.

There’s no urgency in the way Patrick’s lavishing him, alternating from soft drags of his tongue to mind-numbingly slow sucks, and David’s sure his goal is to drive him to the edge of insanity. Just when David’s sure Patrick’s about to get serious, he’s pushing back to his feet, prompting David to grumble with frustration. But his protest is swallowed by Patrick's mouth against his as his hand wraps possessively around David’s aching cock trapped between them.

“Let’s get on the bed.”

“Oh...yes...okay...”

David’s eyes roll back in his head as Patrick gives him a hard squeeze before letting go to step backwards out of the bathroom. Somehow, David manages to remember to quickly grab the lube from his toiletry bag before he’s stumbling after his husband to join him on their king size hotel mattress.

They end up rolling around and groping each other for a few minutes before either of them can really focus, but before too long, David finds himself on his back with Patrick’s mouth tonguing his cock as his fingers lovingly work him open, occasionally sinking deep to lightly tease his prostate.

“I’m good, I’m good, get inside me before I come.”

He can hear the desperation in his own voice, but doesn’t care.

Anticipation has the hair at the back of his neck standing on end as he watches Patrick maneuver himself between his legs and their eyes lock tight as he slowly sinks in, a low curse hissing from David’s lips as his body stretches and welcomes Patrick home. He reaches out blindly for his neck, dragging him down until his body feels almost folded in half, but he needs Patrick’s weight on him, needs his lips and his breath and the taste of his tongue. To his relief, he’s coming almost immediately, making their bodies slick and sticky as Patrick continues to fuck him into the mattress. His orgasm has taken over his whole body, making him tremble and contract the muscles around where Patrick is still buried deep, pulling a groan of pleasure from Patrick’s throat.

“Fuck baby, fuck...so good.”

Patrick’s penchant for swearing during sex is something David luxuriates in, loving his loss of control and complete abandon to their shared moment. So, even though he’s already wrung out, he does his best to make him completely fall apart. He tugs at his hair and drags his mouth back to his lips, quickly sinking his tongue inside and stealing his breath. Patrick’s hips stutter once, twice, but then he’s collapsing into the cradle of David’s open legs, filling him with his heat as he rips his mouth free on a hoarse shout. David’s heart clenches when Patrick’s hands curl around his cheeks to then slide further down to cup the back of his head, holding him still so he can sink into a luxurious, toe-curling kiss. It’s the kind of kiss he’s still not quite used to processing, so full of emotion and unspoken words, silently communicating a deeper love than David ever imagined existed. Even in all the romantic comedies he devours, he’s never seen something in fiction that compares to what he feels with Patrick.

David lets out a soft gasp into Patrick’s mouth when he feels him lift his hips enough to pull out, but he’s kissing him still, soft, sweet presses of lips so distracting David only barely notices the soreness left behind. The cramp in his thighs, however, is hard to ignore.

“Need to stretch,” he mumbles against Patrick’s lips.

“I know. Let me get a washcloth.” Patrick kisses his cheek, and his chin, and his chest above his heart as he shuffles backwards towards the end of the bed.

“If you’re trying to make me cry, it won’t work.”

Except there’s already a tear threatening to escape the corner of his eye. And he’s sure his husband can see it.

“Mmmhhmm…”

His eyes fall to Patrick’s perfect ass as he walks towards the bathroom and he hopes Patrick realizes that their evening is far from over. There’s a favor or two he plans to return. Maybe in the shower. Their shower back home isn’t big enough, but this one is. And it has a built-in bench.

Stretching out his legs, he suddenly realizes he’s laying on top of one of the hotel’s bathrobes.

“Did you put this bathrobe down or was it already here?” he calls out.

Patrick’s smile when he reemerges from the bathroom gives David his answer.

“How was your brain functioning enough to think of that? My fingers could barely hold the lube without dropping it.”

The washcloth is warm against David’s belly where Patrick has begun to clean him from the side of the bed, his fingers pressing just enough to trigger a soft laugh from David’s lips.

“It’s just the way my brain works. I know you don’t like mess. And I knew I wanted to come inside you. So…”

“You know how much I love hearing you talk about sex like a business transaction. It’s really sexy.”

He’s not kidding. It really is.

“I have my laptop if we want to work on a spreadsheet…”

Patrick’s moved the washcloth between David’s legs, too intimate a moment for their current banter, and silence falls between them. David lets his eyes fall shut as the now cool towel runs along his skin, jolting slightly in surprise when soft lips brush the corner of his mouth. Lifting his chin, he smiles as Patrick’s lips find his again, and again, until the towel is abandoned and David’s pulling him back down onto the bed.

When he’s maneuvered Patrick beneath him, he leans his weight over to one elbow so he can reach out and run his fingertip across his husband’s kiss-swollen lower lip. He loves this lip. Has since the first moment they met.

“You know, David,” Patrick whispers up at him, “I think I like New York City.”

David smiles, but doesn’t respond right away, just letting himself get lost in the warm honey depths of Patrick’s eyes as his finger pushes down to just open Patrick’s mouth. Leaning down, he lets their noses brush, smiling when Patrick arches his neck in hopes of receiving a kiss.

“I like New York City with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But not as much as I like home.”

As expected, that declaration is met with a kiss, and a groan, and eventually a chance for David put his creative skills to use in that enormous shower.

[hellfirenacht]

Can’t Be Unseen Ch 3

Sal Fisher x Reader

First Chapter

Last Chapter

Ao3

Art by: @ochibi-chan​, thank you so much for the fanart!

'He has no nose.' was the first thing that came to your mind as you found yourself staring in shock at the face of your date clearly for the first time. For as many scary movies you’d seen with Sal and Larry, his face was nothing like the special effects makeup you had grown used to. Sal’s face was real, and it shocked you. 

While you had caught glimpses of him before, it had only been his chin and mouth. You knew that there had been a chunk of his jaw that was misshapen, you saw the deep scar on his mouth as well as the slight discoloration where skin grafts had taken place. 

You weren't prepared for the lack of nose, or the rigid scarred skin that covered most of his face. It scared you- not in a way that would have you running in fear, but in a way a friend would jump out from behind a wall. A moment of horror before realizing that there was no danger, realizing that it was still your friend. 

The shock lasted all of a moment until the kid spoke up again quietly, holding Sal's prosthetic in his hand. 

"Oh..." was all he said before Sal snatched his face back. 

"Hope you're satisfied." Sal mumbled after he clicked it back into place. You looked away, but you already knew it was too late. 

Sal had seen the look on your face when you had seen his, and it wasn't a good one. Guilt washed over you in seconds, replacing the shock. This isn't what you had wanted. Yes, you did want to see his face at some point, but not like this. Not when it wasn't on his terms in a way where you could make him feel safe and have it go as slow as you both needed. But it was too late, you had both seen everything. 

You fucked up. 

He started walking away quickly and you almost had to jog to catch up to him. It was quiet between the two of you but unlike previous times where the quiet had been comforting, this time it was tense and uncomfortable. You couldn't believe how badly you fucked up at such an important moment. You could only imagine how hurt he must be right now, when all you wanted to do was apologize. 

His hand wasn't in yours anymore, and it felt empty. You opened your mouth a few times to say something, anything, to try and convey how sorry you were and that you never wanted to hurt him and that you were just shocked and to please just talk to-

"Every weekend, right?" he asked, still looking straight ahead. 

"...What?" 

"This happens every weekend until Mid-November. That's what you said, right?" You tried to get a read on his voice, but you couldn't. The challenge that you loved was now just a confusing mess. 

"Y-yeah."

"Let's go again next weekend." Sal said, his voice softer and not so distant. Your heart leapt in your chest and your breath caught in your throat. Had you not fucked up so badly after all? Despite what had just happened, had today been enough for your feelings to reach him?

"I- y-yeah sure!" you said quickly, staring at him, though he continued to stare ahead, not glancing at you at all. That should have been your first clue. 

"Yeah, I think Larry and Ashley would really have a lot of fun." Sal continued. "We didn't have a chance to check out many of the art exhibits and I think Larry would be a better ride partner than me." 

Oh.

 This was his way of letting you down gently. It's not like it had been your plan to confess tonight, but it looked like he wasn't even going to give you the chance. Knowing Sal, he was probably doing this to save you the embarrassment after everything that had happened. 

Sal Fisher didn't feel the same way about you. You knew that this was always going to be a possibility, but you didn't think it'd hurt this bad. 

Who knew that the Sally Face Killer's method was to stab you in the heart?

Still though, you had a reputation to uphold, if he was doing his best to let you down easily, the least you could do was take the rejection with grace. You'd save the crying for when you got home, in the privacy of your own bed. 

"Yeah, with all that headbanging he does, a few rides on those spinning things should be a piece of cake." your voice cracked slightly at the end, and you tried to hide it with a cough. 

Addison Apartments was coming up close on you both, and you felt relieved. 

"Thanks for inviting me out today." Sal said as you headed in. "I'm gonna go check on Larry."

He was gonna go tell Larry about how badly you fucked up. 

"Alright." you replied. "I'll, uh, see you at school then." 

For a few moments you were alone on the first floor as Sal used the elevator to go down. He had thanked you, but it didn't feel genuine. He was usually the first to tell someone if he had fun but those last few moments had completely tarnished everything. It wouldn't even surprise you if he shoved the stuffed animal somewhere he would never have to look at it again. 

The elevator finally dinged and you were thankful that no one was inside. It was when the doors finally closed that tears started to form in your eyes. Your parents would be out late tonight- Saturday was their date night. You could go to your room and cry all you wanted without having to worry about them asking intruding questions. 

 Walking into the kitchen, you kicked off your shoes and headed to your room quickly, shutting the door behind you. How had today gone so wrong? How could you have reacted so poorly to seeing your friend and crushes' face? 

And now that you had seen his face, what did that mean? Of course, it was too late to do anything about your feelings at this point, Sal had seen the look on your face when you stared at him. There was no coming back from that. Actions aside though, what did seeing his face really mean to  you in terms of how you felt about him? 

You laid down and closed your eyes, tears still running down your face. Taking deep shaky breaths to try and calm your nerves, you brought the image of his face to mind, at least what you could remember what you had seen today. 

It was best to think of one piece of his face at a time, starting from the bottom up. You had seen his chin before, that wasn't anything that bothered you by now. His lips were thinner than you had thought to begin with, though that was probably because the few times you had glimpsed them, it had been shadowed by the prosthetic. The upper lip was slightly misshapen, as if a part of it had been torn and sewn back together. His lips still looked soft though, 

The nose. Okay, that was something that would take some getting used to. You think there was a slight bump where a nose would normally be, as though the doctors had attempted to keep some of the cartilage in place. The more you thought about it, the more okay it became. 

Skin, you didn't have a problem with. It was patchy and uneven in texture and color but it was okay. There were scars all over his face, from deep looking gashes to sharp thin lines. The skin was pale or red mostly, unsurprising as you were sure that the prosthetic didn't allow much sunlight- not that he would ever take it off outside anyway. His skin also seemed thin and delicate. You briefly wondered what it would feel like to touch his cheeks and feel the different textures of his face. Would he even allow someone to get that close?  

His eyes were the least surprising to you. His eyes had darker circles than you had noticed before, but they were still the same eyes. Or eye? For the sake of argument, you went with eyes. Underneath the prosthetic you sometimes had trouble seeing his eyes, but sometimes when the light hit him just right you were struck by how blue they were.  You had grown to love that shade of blue. 

Blue hadn't meant much to you until you met Sal Fisher. 

The overall expression was... blank. Almost as neutral as his prosthetic. You wondered if it was because he didn't want to show any emotion while so vulnerable or because for so long he never needed his face to communicate. 

As you pieced together his face in your mind, a pain shot through your heart as you realized something important. 

No matter what his face looked like, you still desperately liked him. 

The next hour was dedicated to clinging to your pillow and crying ugly tears. The next was dedicated to looking over your phone and trying to decide if you should talk to Larry or Ashley about what happened. 

You couldn't tell them the whole truth, you decided. They had both seen Sals' face before and had been so kind about it. The way Sal talked about it, they didn't even blink at the sight of him. 

You felt awful. 

Your phone dinged.

AshleyFace: So how'd it go?

Here goes nothing. You were glad you were home alone in your room and not around anyone else. 

BlankFace: Sal was a complete gentleman and let me down gently. I'm glad I had a chance to go out with him though, I don't have any regrets. 

You had so many regrets. 

AshleyFace: He turned you down? I'm so sorry. I thought you two would have been a cute couple. 

BlankFace: It's okay, at least now you and I can finally be together ;)

AshleyFace: Ha ha. I don't think my girlfriend would like that too much. 

BlankFace: I meant me and Todd. 

AshleyFace: He's still super gay and I think he's got a date with someone coming up. 

BlankFace: ....Chug?

AshleyFace: You know he's got a huge thing for Maple LOL 

BlankFace: Is everyone hooking up except me??

AshleyFace: Larry?

BlankFace: I don't think I have the heart to come between him and his right hand. I'm a flirt, not a homewrecker. 

AshleyFace: LMAO

You smiled as you hunched over your phone. You couldn't bring yourself to tell her exactly what happened, but at least you were able to talk to her a little bit. Acting like you were okay made everything else a little bit more okay. 

What you both saw couldn't be unseen, but you could at least try and move forward. You just hoped that you hadn't lost him as a friend. 

...

School on Mondays always suck, but school on Mondays after a terrible first date with a close friend sucked way harder than anything else. You shoved your bookbag into your locker and headed towards the cafeteria where most people gathered before class started. Normally you would have walked together with Sal and Larry but you had dragged your feet all morning, and told the group chat to go on ahead before you. Sal always liked being more early, and though Larry wasn't exactly a morning person he'd always show up to school with his best friend. 

You looked over at the table where you all met and froze for a moment. You hadn't spoken a word to Sal since Saturday and a knot formed in the pit of your stomach. It was a nauseating feeling to think about going over there and acting like nothing had happened at all this weekend. 

It was easier to just head towards Homeroom, a quiet period where you didn't have any of your friends to talk to. You decided that it would be better to lay low for a while. 

Laying low wasn't super hard. You had art with Ashley and Larry (though Larry was seated at the opposite end of the room, making it slightly easier to avoid any questions), and Ashley wasn't one to pry unless she was convinced that something was wrong. You had never really told anyone the extent of your crush on the boy with pigtails, so making her think you were really okay was surprisingly easy. 

Though Larry was usually one to drop subjects if asked, you found it harder to avoid any questions from him. He pulled you to the side between classes and tried to ask what happened. 

"He's not interested." you replied, trying to shrug it off. "It's no one's fault."

"It... might be mine." Larry suddenly said. "I think I might have said something to make him think that it wasn't a real date."

Oh the irony. You almost wished he was right and that was the reason things were now awkward between you and Sal. You shook your head and place a hand on his shoulder. 

"If that's the case, then it's double clear that he wasn't interested." you said with a small smile. 

"Looks like my crush was dead on arrival, huh?" 

"I'm really sorry about it." Larry frowned. 

"Dude, it's fine." just had to shake him off the trail of your shattered heart now. "Now that's Sal's off the list you better watch yourself- you're third in line." 

"Third? Wait, who's second?"

You just smiled and winked at him as you ducked into your next class. 

It seemed like Sal hadn't told Ashley and Larry about what happened at the end of the date. It was a relief, really. You still weren't ready to face them about how you had treated the guy you had a crush on. 

Science class was torture. It was the one class that you had with Sal, though you didn't sit near him. He was seated near the front and you sat a few seats behind him. On one hand, it meant that he wouldn't be looking at you but on the other, it meant that you got to spend the rest of the hour staring at the back of his head. It wasn't something that normally distracted you, but today it made focusing nearly impossible. 

When the bell rang for lunch, you took your time packing up as you tried to figure out if Sal was going to approach you or not. He briefly glanced over at you, making you feel like a deer in the headlights for a moment. But he continued out the door without saying a word. 

Suddenly you didn't have much of an appetite. 

Still though, you grabbed your bagged lunch from your locker and walked towards the cafeteria, hesitating a moment before walking in and then walking right back out. You suddenly decided that your homework wasn't gonna do itself, so you got a permission slip from one of the teacher on lunch duty and made your way to the school library. You weren't allowed to eat in there, but you weren't hungry anyway. 

The library is where you spent lunch for the rest of the week. It was the one period you had where you felt okay, without the crippling guilt. You could hide in a back corner with your nose in a book, or study, or draw, and the world would leave you alone. 

"Are you avoiding Sally Face?" a voice said from behind you, causing you to jump. You had been so deep into a book that you hadn't heard anyone coming towards you. 

"Ah, what?" you turned to see Larry. "I uh... what?" 

"We haven't seen you all week." he continued. "Sally Face is starting to think you're avoiding him." 

"I'm not!" you said, defensively. "I've just got a lot of school work that I need to catch up on." 

He just shook his head. "You haven't been walking home with us either." 

You didn't have a rebuttal for that one. "I... I just..." you sighed. "Things got weird between us after last weekend." 

"Listen, I kinda get it. You liked Sal more than you let on, yeah? And it's weird now that you know he's not interested but, dude, you can't just keep ignoring all of your friends. You do still want to be friends with him, right?" 

You nodded. 

"Then stop being a coward, and walk home with us again. If you wanna keep hiding in the library at lunch that's fine but... we all miss you." 

There was a slight pang in your chest at the words. 

"Even Sal...?" you asked quietly, unsure. 

"Of course he does. He's the reason I'm talking to you right now. He wanted to talk to you himself but he didn't wanna make your uncomfortable and shit." 

"Really...?" you couldn't help but be surprised. "I thought I blew it..."

"Just 'cause he didn't feel the same way doesn't mean he doesn't still like having you around." 

"I'm an idiot I guess."

"Well yeah, duh." he laughed. "Now you're gonna come home with us today, no buts."

"But I like butts." you shot back with a smirk. 

"There it is." he laughed again. "See you after school."

"Hey, Larry?" 

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

...

It became an unspoken agreement that you and Sal didn't talk about the date, and what had happened. It was okay though, you didn't want to face him in a manner of speaking. You three started walking to school again, though it was a few weeks before you really felt okay being so close to him. 

Larry was the real champ about it though, he never let the conversations become awkward between the three of you. He always had some topic to talk about, or some song he wanted to share on your morning commutes. You didn't know what you did to have such a great friend but you were thankful. 

Sal started to slowly talk to you again as well. Despite what Larry had said it was hard to read Sal, or maybe you just weren't ready to read him yet. Talking was slow at first, his questions about science homework, asking him to grab an extra fork at lunch because you forgot to grab one, small talk. But as the fall semester crawled by, you found your friendship starting to stand on solid ground again. 

Flirting with him never felt the same though. It didn't feel right to flirt with someone who had turned you down. At the same time it felt as though he was also keeping his distance from you. You really couldn't blame him. If someone looked at you in shock and horror upon seeing your face for the first time, you wouldn't exactly want to be close to them either. 

Sometimes when you two were left alone for more than a few minutes, you considered bringing it up. You'd get so close to opening your mouth to talk to him but the words would die in your throat. On the one occasion where the words started to make their way out of your mouth, Todd had shown up to introduce you to his new boyfriend, Neil. 

Timing was really not your thing, huh? 

November came and went and your whole group buckled down to study for finals. There were many long nights where you were all crowded into Larry's basement, papers and books strewn everywhere as you all attempted last minute cramming and tutoring on each other. There was more than one night where Lisa would come home to see a handful of kids passed out in her living room, surrounded by notes, or still awake and color coding flashcards.

On one such night, you noticed that Sal was chugging an energy drink that Larry had given him through a crazy straw. One of the two that Sal had bought for you on that night. 

You couldn't tell if it hurt or helped that he still had it. 

Finals ended with a fizzle rather than a bang. You were very unsure about science, but you were confident enough that you at least passed the rest of the tests. By the time the bell rang to let you all out on the last day, everyone had collectively agreed that they were done talking about tests. 

Making your way back to Addison apartments was proving to be more difficult than expected for the three of you. It had snowed the day before and rained a little at night, making the sidewalk a long tail of ice and slush. Normally this wouldn't have been a problem, as you all had snow boots, but you had all collectively used the last three brain cells to finish up with school for the semester. This, combined with the lack of sleep from cramming, had left you all feeling slightly delirious and deciding that the three of you slipping and stumbling around was the funniest thing to ever happened. 

"Nope! Nope! Nope! Bad step!" you laughed, stumbling forward after stepping on a hidden patch of ice. You managed to not fall flat on your face this time but you were sure it was going to happen eventually. 

"Larry you should take one for the team and go first." Sal said. "We'll follow behind in your footsteps."

"No way, Sally Face." Larry replied. "If I go first and fall backwards that's a whole domino effect where I end up on top of you both." 

"My one fantasy." You said with a dramatic sigh as Larry turned and winked at you. 

Dragging Sal into your flirts was okay if you roped someone else into it as well. 

"I'll go first!" You volunteered, stretching your legs out to take a big step forward. 

"You've fallen more times than anyone!" Sal said with a shake of his head. 

"Details, details." you said with a hand wave. "Besides, we're almost there! I can see the apart- OOF!"

Your foot landed on another patch of ice, causing you to fall backwards. Larry, having been right next to you by the point, grabbed onto your arm tightly to try and steady you, but the force of your fall was too much. Something softer that the ground was suddenly pressed against your back, as Larry was pressed against your chest. 

"Ow."

"Oof."

"Fuck."

Your fall had both pulled Larry down and knocked Sal over as well. Sal had landed on his butt after unintentionally catching you on the way down, and Larry had ended up on to of you, having landed on his knees pretty hard. The three of you were a little confused for a second, before you decided to break the tension. 

"My other one fantasy." 

Larry let out a laugh that was more like a snort as he made his way back onto his feet. Behind you, you could hear Sal let out a small laugh as well. It took some doing, but eventually you all managed to stand back up, brushing off the snow and dirt from your clothes. 

"Anyone hurt?" you asked. 

"Scraped knee and hands." Larry said. 

"Scrapped elbow." you replied. 

"Scrapped butt." Sal added. 

"Want me to kiss it better?" you and Larry both said at the same time before all three of you started laughing again. 

Through the power of teamwork, the three of you managed to make it to the apartment complex with much fewer casualties. Larry left you two alone quickly, stating he wanted to get his hands cleaned up so his mom wouldn't worry. It seemed weird that he was in a rush to get going, but then Sal spoke up. 

"Hey uh, do you want to take a walk?" 

You looked at him slightly surprised at the invitation. When was the last time you had been alone for more than a few minutes to talk? 

No, you already knew the answer. 

"Sure." you agreed, and he lead you around the building, starting a trek of doing laps. 

It was quiet for a while, with nothing but the sound of your shoes crunching against the fresh snow. A cold breeze made you hug yourself and adjust the scarf around your neck so that it covered your mouth. Dumb you had forgotten to bring lip balm, and you really didn't want to get chapped lips. The sound of your name from right next to you bought you back down to Earth. 

"Are we... okay?" Sal asked, still looking ahead as he spoke. 

You weren't sure how to answer that, or even if there was a good answer to be given. 

"I... huh?" 

"That night at the festival," Sal continued. "You saw what was under my prosthetic." 

Oh. Oh no. You weren't ready for this conversation. You weren't ready to talk to him about this. Panic bubbled in the pit of your stomach. There was no going back now. 

"Yeah... I did." you said quietly. "I'm sorry." 

"You didn't rip my face off." 

You shook your head. "No but... I..." you took a deep breath, willing the small lump in your throat to go away. "I shouldn't have reacted like I did." 

"Is that why you've been avoiding me?" His voice was soft, comforting, non-judgmental. It made you want to cry even more. 

"No... well, not fully." you started, and after a moment of silence you continued. "I saw your face and reacted badly and I hated myself for reacting badly because Ashley and Larry both saw without freaking out or saying anything and I couldn't be like that for you so I just thought it’d be better to stay away." 

You finally took a breath after spewing up the word vomit. You didn't mention him not returning your feelings as you hoped that went without saying. 

"I'm used to people looking at me like that." He was trying to make you feel better, but the words just cut into your heart. Your eyes felt hot as they started to water, but you were trying hard not to let any tears escape. 

"You shouldn't though!" you snapped back. "You... you're a great guy and I like you a lot and you shouldn't have to deal with stupid people like me not knowing how to react to your face!" 

He stopped walking and looked at you. Tears were escaping your eyes now, and you were shaking hard. He reached up and placed a hand on your shoulder. 

"Do you still want to be friends?" he asked softly. 

You nodded and he pulled you into a tight, warm hug. Your nose was smooshed up against his ear muffs, and you were sure that some of your tears were landing in his hair but you felt okay for the first time in months. 

It was scary how empathetic and kind Sal could be. Always willing to give people as many chances as they needed to grow. You hoped that one day you could show someone even a fraction of the kindness that he had shown you. 

"I missed you." He said, not letting go of you. 

"I missed you, too." you whispered back. 

You two stayed like that for a while. Even though it was freezing outside, his hug was so warm. It was you who ended up pulling back first, not wanting to accidentally get some snot into his hair. 

"Now that things are better I wanted to ask you something." Sal said, starting to walk again, you fell into step with him. 

"What's up?" 

"Dad's wanting to have a small holiday party next week." Sal explained. "Nothing fancy but he wants you and Ashley and Larry to come by and roast marshmallows and watch Rudolf." 

You couldn't help but smile. "That sounds like a lot of fun, actually. I'd love to drop by." 

The two of you were in front of the building again, and he lead the two of you inside. 

"Cool, the party starts at six next Friday." He pushed the button for the elevator. 

"Six on Friday. Gotcha." you pulled out your cell and made a note of it." 

The two of you said your goodbyes as he made his way to the basement to invite Larry and you made your way back up to your room. 

Things were finally starting to feel normal again. 

...

LarryFace: so did you 2 kiss and make up yet?

BlankFace: Too soon. But we did make up. 

LarryFace: u goin to the party then?

BlankFace: Yup! You?

LarryFace: ya me and mom are gonna be there

BlankFace: Cool! See you there then! 

Next Chapter

[the-canary]

Kitchen Royalty - B.B (12/15)

Summary: Falling in love wasn’t on the menu, but neither was finding prince charming looking like a trash raccoon and living in your industrial freezer. (Pastry AU! Reader/Bucky Barnes)

Prompt: Sleeping Beauty

Masterlist

A/N: This is for @ciarawritesmarvel​ ‘s 1k challenge. 

Please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

Eleanor laid in the darkness of her room. She had been sleeping alone for a very long time now had been feeling lonely since her husband died, even more so when Rumlow stopped his “visits”. Eleanor had lived with silence for a long time that she was a mere husk of the person --wife, mother-- than she once was, so never in all her years of life did she blame her children for leaving her when it was time. It was something that was bound to happen, it was just more destructive with her.

It just seems like she was that type of person -- one that had very little interest in things and could hardly keep things together for long. Her husband was a bright sun in her patchy gray sky and as much as she hated baking and cooking (horrible at it since the beginning and hated it even more after it took him away from her), she was happy all her children had taken after their father. Saul was a chef, her daughter owned her own successful bakery, and Richard was training in a variety of things.

They had escaped their hellish household run by a wicked mother, but the dragon still wasn’t dead -- still won’t leave them be.

I hope you can forgive us one day, but we’re siding with her on this one.

The two sons, tired of running, had told her before they came back to New York with her restless daughter leading the charge. Rumlow won’t give up until they are defeated and submitted to him in the worst kind of way, she knows him too well and she wonders: What are you going to do about it?

Are you going to hand your children to the beast, Ella?

She had done so once and for years, their resentment and scars still ringing loudly in the dark, in her dreams in the worst sort of way until they all grew and flew away or hide until the time was right. Her husband’s voice lingers in remorse over what she has done, over what she will continue to do, but her children’s courage and tenacity causes something bright to jump in the middle of her cold, graying heart. She knows things that no one else does -- hidden businesses and dealings that have made all of Rumlow’s companies successful and prosperous, like her husband’s bakeries.

Eleanor takes a deep breathe before getting up where she hides things and looking into the darkness of her room. She searches in of her drawers, in the back and near the bottom. A maniac giggle is all she breathes as she finds the black phone she had been given years ago. She presses a button and the phone begins to ring.

She knows that she is beginning to set in motion something big -- things that will hurt him in the long run, but she needs to do this one good thing in her life -- at least for her children.

The phone gets picked up and she asks: “Am I talking to Agent Coulson? Do you remember me?”

 I think it would be best to save the romance until the competition is done with.

No, Bucky Barnes hadn’t died the day Sal and Ritchie had come to visit your apartment mixed with hugs and glares from the shorter of the two brothers, but it had been agreed upon that whatever was going on between the two of you would not move forward until after the competition was done with -- until the three of you finally defeated that demon from the past. It was strange seeing all three of you huddled up together around the kitchen table, like you used to but so much older now, trying to figure out the dessert you were going to present.

Caramel pudding. Isn’t that a little overdone?

Like the one from Winnie’s? Is that what you’re going for?

Bucky wonders if any of your siblings remember him. If you don’t, he doubts Ritchie does, who was between Rebecca and Lizzie’s age and was such a scaredy cat, and it was shocking to see him turn into such a confident and flirty man (he had seen it with some of the customers and even Steve when he came to visit once) with an easygoing smile on his face. Sal was year older than Bucky, though the man was always a bit of a loner though still protective as hell. Bucky wasn’t surprised to hear that he was a successful chef -- married and with a baby on the way. There are times when he looks at Bucky, pensive and weary, and the old soldier in him gets put on high alert. Sal saying his mother’s name the other day just confirms that he does in some way.

“So, what do you think?” your question drags him out of his thoughts, as he takes another spoonful of the pudding you had made, with a dozen of other cups surrounding him as he had become the guinea pig for your taste testing, not that it bothered him. Caramel -- like his mother-- was the center of it all but you mixed it with different taste and textures, but you still couldn’t find the perfect match -- Bucky was sure this wasn’t the one either.

“Too salty,” he explains, as you frown. Your brothers and Maria having called it a night already, though Bucky was sure that Fury and Coulson were still outside somewhere -- they had been since the attack on the store, though you had never found out about it. However, you kept on working trying to make a good pudding, so you could present to Mr. Stark before the competition began.

“I thought as much,” you complain, throwing the towel you were holding on the countertop before placing your hands on your hips. Blue eyes look at you, thinks of a younger version of you with the same pose when you were annoyed but still as determined as ever before. He knows you try your hardest not to think of when you lived with your mother, when you were forced to interact with Rumlow -- Maria said that you had nightmares for a very long time from all psychological and emotional pain that you had gone through.

Unlike Sal and Ritchie, you hadn’t talked to your mother since you had runway.

You don’t remember much, but he loves you all the same and he thanks whatever brought you together again.

“I just--”

“Come on. Enough thinking, cupcake,” he laughs, getting up and pulling you out of your thoughts with his hands on your hips, “You can think about it tomorrow. We gotta watch the new season of British Bake Off .”

Bucky drags you into the bedroom, as you laugh with no hint of protest as you used to do before, and he kisses you on the temple. Even in the shadows of your apartment and the night as a whole, you shine brighter than any star for him -- give him butterflies and feelings that he hasn’t had in a very long time. Bucky Barnes has come to realize that he loves you now more than he did back then, though it’s mixed with a whole bunch of other emotions that are hard to define at the current moment.

However, he hopes that when the time comes, you’ll be proud of the choices he makes too.

 Between your brothers and Bucky, it takes you two more days to decide on what three flavors of pudding that you wanted to show Mr. Stark. You just didn’t think that he would come back to your shop after the first time, but Mr. Stark had a tendency of surprising people -- as he came this time around with a more subtle flair but with Ms. Pepper Potts at hand, and you tried not to die right then and there.

“Welcome,” is all you can say without stuttering, as Sal leads them to the kitchen -- clearly more used to dealing with celebrities than you, as Bucky -manning the front since Maria had the day off- gives you a quick smile before all of you head to the back.

“I hope you’re ready, kid,” the man smiles, as he takes a seat in front of the cups of pudding already on display, “Pepper’s got a real sweet tooth you’ll have to live up to.”

Pepper takes the seat next to him, as the three of you stand on the other side of the table. In front of Tony Stark and Pepper Potts is an assortment of pudding cups in three different colors -- white, yellow with a brown glaze, and milky chocolate. Each has the own assortment of fruits on top, though the chocolate one is topped with a bit of whip cream. Pepper’s eyes twinkle as you begin to talk about each recipe individually, as they taste test each one, and boy was Mr. Stark right because Pepper Potts has all different types of questions for each one and you and Richie answer them well, as she comes back with suggestions just a quickly.

The couple talk to each other over each flavor and in a way that only they seem to understand, as you watch them with bright eyes. It takes them a while to choose their favorite and though it surprises you what it is, you are excited as well. After all is said and done, Pepper asks you a few more questions while taking some notes, which causes Mr. Stark to grin as he takes a hold of her hand near the end.  

“Well, kid,” the billionaire grins, as Pepper shakes her head, “I think you’re gonna make us a great wedding cake very soon.”

“It would be my honor, Mr. Stark!”

You grin as the older man smiles. You turn to look at Bucky who is manning the front of the store and give him a thumbs-up as he grins before going back to work at the sound the chime welcoming a customer. Sal is grinning as Ritchie comes in for hug, all three of you soon heading into a fit of laughter after Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts give you some more information before they leave.

“Congrats, buttmunch,” Sal declares as Richie takes out his cellphone.

“Let’s order the best takeout we can find,” he grins as the three of you cheer.

Bucky shakes his head as the customers give a few curious looks towards the sudden sounds of rambunctious siblings celebrating in the back. The familiar sounds of home making Bucky miss his own for a moment, though those thoughts are quickly pushed away as you come to the front and ask him what he wants to eat.

Your smile is bright and the loveliest sight he had seen, as you look like there has been a weight lifted from your shoulders and while he misses his old home -- Bucky knows that he has a new one here with you too.

Part 13

[royal-writer]

A week of spring showers

Let people (especially ppl who identify masculine) be emotionally sensitive and vulnerable without being called ‘weak’ 2k19.

Taking to a knee, Amon delicately placed the full bouquet of flowers on the grass. Freshly trimmed from the garden, they still had a heavy fragrance that perfumed the air around him. The damp smell of the earth and grass, accompanied by the aroma of mildew and rain was even heavier however. Although the sky had stopped shedding rain upon the earth, an overcast still blotted out the early afternoon sunshine.

He inhaled nature’s wonders. Letting it fill his lungs, and then letting it go. The only thing he could let go.

His hand was steadier than he thought it would be as he placed it upon the cold stone. Leather separated him from the texture of it, but his fingers traced the inscription knowingly. It was a bit worn from touch; smoothed out more than the rest of the of large fragment. Nevertheless it was well-kept; routinely cleaned with a frequent vigil. Unlike so many headstones in the cemetery which had grown lichen and decayed, this one and its adjacent almost appeared freshly plotted.

The warmest smile moved over his lips, but it did not reach his eyes.

Thunder far in the distance came over the hills. A likely sign of more rain to come.

Lord Amon remained there, knelt for some time, until the first drizzles began to sprinkle the soil once more.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“M’lord, you’re saturated.”

He grinned at his wife’s fuss and doting as she grabbed at his drenched cloak, dragging it off of his shoulders. Her troubled eyes moved over him with concern, but she said nothing as she worked on stripping him of his layers. The nearest maids of the house stood idly by, accepting some of the items passed off to them that would require being wrung out and hung to dry or later washed.

With a slight turn of his head, he pressed a kiss against Essätha’s cheek as she gathered up some of his garments. Her eyes sparkled up at him. An irresistible smile on her face that brought out his own as he sank into the surrender of her eyes. She stood on the tips of her toes, kissed his nose, and moved down the nearby corridor of the foyer after the other lady’s with his wet clothes.

Dropping to one knee as he was left in only his button-up and slacks, Amon began to unlace his mud-caked boots. He could hear the pitter-patter of quick footsteps rushing across the floor as he loosened the first boot, and sat it carefully to the side.

“Daddy! You’re home!”

Quick as a snake, a tiny body flung itself against his chest. Oh but he was still fast. Before she could collide with him, he snatched upon the attacker and pulled them into a great big bear hug.

Hepsiba squealed with childish delight, burying herself against his chest. Her little fingers held to the front of his shirt while nuzzling her face into his collar. The bubbling, innocent laughter was a lovely melody, and a shot of warmth to his heart from the inside out. Better than even the hottest coffee.

Pulling the giggling child away from his chest, Amon scrutinized her dark, bouncy hair that fell over her face. The simple lilac dress she wore was splotched with wet marks now from having aggressively hugged to him; soaked through to the bone.

“You smell like Caesar after he’s been let out in the rain, daddy,” the little girl giggled, reaching up to paw at his face. “And you’re starting to look like Caesar too!”

“What are you saying? Do you think my beard’s getting too scruffy?” he mused, snatching upon his daughter to drag her back against him.

“Daddy, nooooo!”

Kicking and squirming, Hepsiba howled with laughter as he snuggled his face against her. She shoved at him playfully, and he’d retreat, only to do it again. He pressed his lips against her cheek, and blew a raspberry that had tears streaking down her face as she went breathless.

“That tickles!”

“If don’t be nice, my beard my jump off, and attach itself on to you!”

Gasping, the young girl placed her hands on to her cheeks with shock as she reeled away. After a second of looking at him, she turned red, sticking out her tongue upon seeing his charmingly goofy little smirk.

“That won’t happen! Lady’s don’t grow beards. And gentleman’s beards don’t jump off!”

“But then how do the beards go away?” he mused, reaching out to fix her hair so that it wasn’t falling in front of her eyes.

“Daddy,” Hepsiba stressed, tapping her foot to the floor. “Gentlemen shave. I’ve seen you!”

His smile drew into his gaze, adding a glimmer to his softened features. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss against his sweet child’s forehead as he murmured, “Nothing gets past you, my precious Hepsiba. You are as clever as you are perceptive.”

Grinning from ear to ear, the wild-eyed child took a step back, quizzical as she asked: “What’s percy-eppy-chin?”

“Perception,” the nobleman pronounced slowly to the Illiad heiress, keeping his eyes fixed upon hers as he unlaced his other boot. “It means how you take in the world around you. The way I said it to you is a compliment. It means that you are able to look at what is around you, take in what you see, hear, taste, smell, and feel, and memorize those things very well. When I told you that you are very perceptive, I meant that you watched closely to the times I have shaved, and did a good job remembering me doing that.”

As he dropped his other sludge-covered boot down beside the other one, Hepsiba piped up with a tilt of her head, “So, that means I’m allowed to watch you shave?”

He chuckled gruffly. With arms open, he invited her back into another embrace, which she accepted with an overzealous squeak and thin little arms, wrapped around his neck.

“Of course you are, ‘Sibby,” he murmured, rubbing her small back gently. “It’s part of learning. You can ask me all the questions you want.”

Without pause, Hepsiba immediately spoke up: “Where were you at today, daddy?”

His entire body drew taunt and rigid. A shaky, slow breath of air expelled from his lungs.

“… Visiting someone,” the nobleman replied carefully, releasing his hold upon the girl.

Pleading eyes; full of the same butterscotch wonder her mom’s had, looked up at him as he got to his feet. Just as gentle, and unnerving in their love. Unwavering. It was almost a perfect parallel, and wrenched on his heart in the same manner.

“Is it a friend?” his daughter chimed innocently. “Is it the same friend you’ve been seeing all week?”

Amon fixated his eyes on his boots while removing his sopping wet socks. He was trying to find the words to say, but they would not come to him. A deep shame rose up like a vampire from his heart to feast once more upon him, leaving him feeling drained. Numb to the world, and disconnected.

“Can I go with you to meet them?’

He heard a soft gasp of alarm. His eyes snapped up, catching sight of Essie turning the corner. She had a hand over her soft lips in the shape of an ‘o’ as her eyes darted between him, and their girl.

“Hepsiba sweetie, sometimes people need privacy,” Essätha began in a shaky rush, ushering to the little girl with her hands. “Let’s give daddy some personal space right now, okay?”

The youthful child’s eyes looked up at him. They were a spectrum of emotion. Guilt, sadness, worry, hurt.

“Oh,” she softly whispered. “Okay.”

His heart shattered into a million fragments, hearing the deadened sound of his little girl’s voice for the first time.

“No, it’s okay, my Lady,” he rasped, forcing a tiny ghost of a smile as he peered down. The heartbroken face of his daughter glanced up at him, a shard of hope reigniting the flame in her eyes.

“Amon-”

Bending down to one knee again, he offered out his hand to the young girl. Her face was still full like a baby. In her eyes, he could still see the same curious look she’d had since the first time she’d opened them. There was a neverending series to her wonders, and she tried to test them all while asking a million questions.

They were innocent eyes. Unburdened and caring. Full of life and intrigue.

“The place I go is not exciting,” he acknowledged to Hepsiba with a gentle tone. “I sit; very quiet, for a long time. There are no toys, and nothing that can be climbed on. After I sit for a very long time, I leave to come home.”

The girl considered this for a moment. She looked into his face, and he shivered with awareness as though she was directly looking into his soul.

“I want to go,” she declared. Looking back at her mother’s face; poorly trying to disguise her horrified sorrow, ‘Sibby went on: “Can mommy come, too?”

He turned his eyes up from the girl’s pleading expression, to her mother’s horrified one. Essätha visibly swallowed as their eyes met. Her hand was still upon her face, covering some of the patchy scales on her cheek.

“My love, you don’t need to do this,” she whispered softly, turning her troubled eyes upon their daughter.

Their firstborn’s face looked torn. She was not so gullible not to pick up on the tension in the air, and it showed. Her head moved from the left to the right, staring at him and then her mother. Unable to decide if she was pushing the envelope too far with asking, but never really being in this new territory where people were not giving her the answers often handed so easily to her.

Pushing down the tortured feeling rising up his throat, Amon gave a short nod to the small child. His head felt numb to the motion. His mouth felt a bit dry.

“You may come,” he mumbled softly.

“We can all go?” Hepsiba gleefully asked, jumping closer to him. “Tomorrow? Like a family visit?”

There was a choked sound ahead of him, coming from Essie, but it was distant in the roar in his ears.

Wearing a thin, plastic smile, he rested a hand on top of his daughter’s head. Her face was a ray of sunshine. Engulfed in purity and awash with absolute love and goodness.

“Sure, ‘Sibby,” he agreed mechanically. “A family visit.”

His daughter’s eager grin stretched across her face. She was graced with love and radiance upon him. It felt like glue. The only thing holding him together.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As they approached the gravesites, Amon could make out only his own boots in the still-damp grass. The others had stopped short. Tonight the sky was clear, and washed a sunset of pinks and purples that fell into the burning inferno of reds, oranges, and yellows that burned the horizon like a campfire.

He reached beneath his jerkin. Pulling out the locket, and the heavy necklace with the symbol of Pelor, he clutched both within his bare hand. His gaze cast upon the gravestones with heavy shadows beneath his eyes.

All was quiet. Yet he was aware of the presences not usually there. It made stiff his back. Crouching felt odd as he lowered himself, leveling his eyes with the name on the tombstone. To his lips, he brought the locket. His mouth moved, but the prayer were not uttered. Spoken from the heart, rather than his words.

They remained silent. The sky began to change colors further, as the sun moved lower. Their shadows stretched. The minutes ticked by.

Essätha made a hissing sound as Hepsiba wiggled her hand free from her own. Not daring to disturb the peace however, she did not move to bring her back as the young girl moved across the dewy grass to stand beside her father.

“What’s it say, daddy?”

Clearing his throat, Amon placed the two necklaces back beneath his shirt. The weight of his child’s gaze upon him was almost suffocating as he reached out. A tremble shook his hand that he couldn’t quite steady until he could hide it against the stable surface of the granite.

“Marie Farthing.”

Hepsiba was quiet for only a moment, before quietly asking: “Marie? Like my sister? Like Belle Marie Illiad?”

“Yes,” he whispered; words seizing up as he managed to continue on in a wavering voice: “Just like Belle.”

“What else does it say?”

“That she will be loved, and missed,” Amon uttered faintly; not daring his voice to transcribe the full length of the passage. He could not stare too deeply at the date of departure labeled on the plaque. It was the same calendar day, today. The anniversary of the most painful loss his heart ever knew.

“Who was she?

Part of him wanted to tell her not to ask anymore questions. They were simply too hard and too painful to want to answer, but she was still a babe. She had no idea of his ailments; his wounds. She did not understand her hunger for knowledge and understanding was like a knife, plunged into his heart.

“A young girl, years ago,” he acknowledged in dead monotone. “I raised her. She was like… like a daughter to me.”

The nobleman lowered his gaze respectfully to the mound of dirt. A light hand touched his cheek after a second, rousing his attention back to the child.

“It’s okay to be sad, daddy,” Hepsiba sagely murmured, placing her other hand over her heart. “Sometimes I go boo-boos on the inside. But they get better. Mommy say’s it’s okay to cry. It doesn’t feel very good, but it lets some of the sad out, and you’ll feel a little better.”

A well of tears brimmed in the corners of his eyes; blurring the figure out of focus in front of him.

She sounded so much like her mother. Wise and compassionate.

Her figure was almost a haunting silhouette of Marie’s, when he first met her.

He made a choking sound, and tiny little fingers rubbed the dampness beneath one of his eyes.

Reaching out, he grabbed hold of Hepsiba’s shoulders gently.

She stepped into his arms as he unhinged, falling completely to his knees.

Those tiny little arms wrapped around his neck, and held to him with an iron grip. The grief spilled out of him faster then he could dam it. Flooding from his eyes, falling in his daughter’s hair as she clutched to him.

Footsteps gradually approached his other side. A hand grazed his backside encouragingly, sliding against him.

Belle gurgled in her mother’s arms. Strangely silent the entire time on the sacred grounds, like she could sense the respects to be paid. Now cooing against his side, grabby fingers pulling on the cloth of his jerkin for attention.

Amon pulled one arm wound tight around his oldest daughter free, and placed it around Essie. She moved into him, a murmured word he couldn’t make out as a sob tore through him harshly. It clotted his throat. Life seemed to ebb and drain from him; through his tears cascading down into his beard.

He clutched to his family, and they held him as he collapsed. Even Hepsiba; all of them encircled in a tight embrace.

For the life that feel from his red, swollen eyes and stained cheeks, a replenishment was found in those warm loving arms.

They were pressed so tightly together, there was hardly any space between them. He could turn his face easily, from one to the other, and kiss upon their faces from one of his three beautiful girls to the other.

‘Sibby’s fingers tightened into his jerkin, and Essie kissed the tears collecting against his eyes.

It was impossible, to hurt so much and yet feel so grateful at once. But he felt it all. The tearing and the mending. The scars, and the elixir of kintsugi pottery that now healed his heart. The longing ache for his sweetheart Marie, who he would never get to hold again in this life and his ultimate joy, getting to hold those safely in his grasp now. The agony knowing he had so tragically failed one, and the determination to never, ever fail another.

“I love you daddy,” Hepsiba affirmed, as though she knew. Her words were muffled against his sobbing, and nearly lost in his coat, but by Pelor, it was there. A knowing beyond her age.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Amon expressed in a cracked voice. Some way, some how, he pulled them all in closer. A huddled mass, with the knees of their clothes now grass-stained and hair wet with his tears as he pressed kisses against their cheeks and foreheads, over and over again.

Staring into the eyes of Isabelle Marie Illiad, as she grinned a toothless smile and gripped his beard. Looking down upon the top of ‘Sibby’s head, as she burrowed herself against him. Feeling the hum in Essie’s throat as she rested her chin on top of him, so that he was literally in every way, in every corner, surrounded by love and protection. Held with arms all around him.

“Daddy loves you; all of you, with all his heart.”

A docile, quiet little voice hushed against his chest, whispering: “Promise?”

The air sucked out of him all at once, and he grasped them all as tightly as he could to his body, his voice hoarse with emotion:

“I promise.”

[toxoiddiamond]

T H E B A S I C S Given Name: Elijah Anthony Mitchell Nicknames: Eli Age: 17, nearly 18 Birthday: December 7th Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius Birthplace: Seattle, Washington Current Location: Chicago, Illinois Speaks: English and Russian, both fluently. Education: He ran away the summer before his junior year, so I guess that technically makes him a dropout. He plans on getting his GED at some point though, and hopes to go to college in the future. Occupation: Unemployed~ he’s had little short-term jobs here and there since leaving home, but hasn’t held down a consistent job. There have been times where he’s been desperate enough to sell himself for money, but those times were few and far between, and he considers that to be a last resort. Vehicle: None. He walks almost everywhere, and takes public transportation for anything long distance. Worldly Possessions: A super beat-up backpack, a few changes of clothes, a couple of books, and some basic necessities. Pet: None, but he absolutely adores animals. And has occasionally given scraps of food to stray animals he’s come across. And has maybe missed a bus on one occasion because he was playing with a stray cat he found and didn’t realize his bus was leaving. He would love to have a pet once he’s in a stable living situation.

A P P E A R A N C E Height: 5’9”, but he is still growing~ Hair: Dark brown, fairly short. Fluffy and soft-looking, not expertly cut because he often trims his own hair. Facial Hair: It grows in slowly and is a little patchy, so he tries to shave as often as he can. Eye Colour: Blue-gray, very striking, especially in certain lighting. Skin Tone: He is very, very white. Clothing: His clothes are pretty worn out at this point—little holes here and there, some tears and rips in his jeans, and everything he owns is slightly faded. Ideally, he would want to dress in a somewhat hipster-y style; not totally hipster, but he likes that general look and would probably dress like that if he had the money to get new clothes. Distinguishing Marks: A long, thin cut on the right side of his shoulder/chest from getting attacked/mugged. He probably should have gotten stitches for it, but couldn’t afford to go to the ER, so he just did his best to superglue it shut. It’s definitely going to leave a nasty scar, though. Face Claim: Sebastian Stan Alternative Universe: Age Difference AU/Mob AU

H E A L T H Physical Health: Meeeh. I mean, considering the fact that he’s been essentially living on the street for a couple of years, it’s not bad. But he goes hungry way more often than he should, and being constantly exposed to the elements has not been the healthiest thing for him. Not to mention the risks he’s taken by agreeing to sex with strangers (luckily, he didn’t contract any diseases). So, basically, he’s not gonna die or anything. But he could be healthier. Mental Health: Again. Considering that he’s been living on the street for a couple of years, it’s really not bad. He hasn’t lost his mind or anything, and although he’s not exactly an optimist, he’s still managed to keep a surprisingly good outlook on things as he bounces around from place to place. He has a lot of plans for the future, things that he wants to do in his life, and that’s what’s kept him going. However, he is extremely lonely, and really craves any sort of positive human interaction.

H I S T O R Y Job History: He has never had a job before. He would really like to have a job—having a steady source of income sounds like a dream come true to him—but it’s been difficult for him to find anything. Ideally in the future, he’d love to work in a coffee shop or a bookstore, something simple and repetitive that wouldn’t be too stressful, while he puts himself through school. His ultimate goal is to become a high school English/Literature teacher. Fondest Memories: Lots of memories involving being with his family. Especially the family trip they used to take every summer. He still has a couple of family pictures with him, though he doesn’t look at them too often. Worst Experiences: His parents dying. His first sexual experience, which was completely consensual, but not at all good. He was also recently mugged, which really fucked him up.

C O M M U N I C A T I O N Speech Pace/Style: Elijah generally is soft-spoken. Very shy and quiet, he has a tendency to stutter and stumble over his words, especially if he’s nervous or anxious (which is most of the time). He often takes a bit longer to respond than other people, as if he is carefully choosing his words or mulling the situation over in his mind. Accent: Plain old American accent~ Usual Curse Words: All of them. He isn’t shy with the curse words.

P E R S O N A L I T Y, M I N D S E T, A N D B E L I E F S Personality Type: INFJ Sense of Humor: He has a tendency to be a little on the serious side, but he doesn’t like that about himself, and wants to learn to lighten up. His sense of humor is still pretty good, even if he’s not very funny himself, and it isn’t too hard to get him to laugh/smile. Sometimes when he laughs, it almost seems like he’s surprised that he’s laughing. Habits: Rubbing the back of his neck when he gets nervous. Biting his lip. Running his fingers over things with interesting textures, like countertops, walls, etc. Covers his face with his hands/arm when he laughs really hard. Fears/Phobias: Heights really freak him out, and being in high places gives him serious vertigo. He’s afraid of the dark, but would never admit to it. He also has some abandonment issues, which isn’t so much a legitimate fear, but just something he worries over. Strengths: Although he would prefer stability and sameness to some extent in his life, he is surprisingly good at adapting to new situations. Change scares him, but he also knows that it’s necessary at times, especially given the nomadic lifestyle he currently leads, and so he’s learned to deal with it. In the same vein, while he would much prefer not to be alone constantly, he’s good at being independent and not relying on others to give him advice or tell him what to do. Having been on his own for a couple of years now, he’s had to learn to fend for himself. Elijah is a very soft-hearted, genuinely kind person. He takes pleasure in making people feel comfortable around him, and likes to do nice things for people. This sometimes leads to him being taken advantage of, and has gotten him into trouble in the past. He has a lot of empathy, both for people and for animals, and hates to see anyone in pain. Flaws: He can be extremely stubborn at times. If he believes he is right about something, he will hang on to that belief, sometimes even in the face of direct proof that he is wrong. Elijah is sometimes too independent for his own good, and often refuses to accept help, even if he needs it. He wants to be able to do everything on his own, wants to prove that he is a capable person and can take care of himself, but the truth is that he needs to be taken care of sometimes, and he has a hard time with that. He also tends to live in his head too much, and doesn’t have the easiest time sharing his feelings. His instinct, when he’s depressed or anxious or anything, is to withdraw from everyone and isolate himself, which isn’t the healthiest thing. He just doesn’t want to burden others with his issues, especially if he thinks they can’t help anyway. Self-Esteem: He’s really hard on himself a lot of the time. He gets frustrated/angry with himself if he feels like he’s done something wrong, and he’s not very confident in himself, always questioning himself and second-guessing his decisions. Religion: Atheist, but he’s not super hardcore about it.

R A N D O M Sleeping Position: He sleeps on his back most of the time, and stays very alert at all times, waking up at even the slightest sound. If he was somewhere he felt more safe/comfortable, he would sleep on his side curled up in a ball. Boxers or Briefs?: He has a couple pairs of each. Day or Night?: Day—he feels much safer during the daytime. Top or Bottom?: He would prefer to bottom. But given the fact that his sexual experiences have all been awful, his partner would have to be willing to take things very slow with him. Partying or Relaxing?: He hasn’t done much of either in a long time. He would always pick relaxing, though.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S Closest Friend: He had a couple of friends back home, but he hasn’t been in contact with them since he left. He has no one in his life right now, and although he’s a bit of a loner anyway, he is in desperate need of someone he can trust/be close to. Relationship History: He had a girlfriend for about a week during his freshman year of high school—long enough for him to realize that there was no way he was into girls. Besides that, he hasn’t had any relationships. Sexual Partners: Unfortunately, none of his sexual experiences (three in total) have been pleasant for him. They’ve all been with men who paid him for sexual favors, and Elijah hated every second of it. That said, he doesn’t regret any of those encounters, because the money he got from them meant he was able to eat, or to get a bed in a hostel for a while, and he thinks that was probably worth it. Thoughts About Sex: Although his experiences have not been great, he still likes the idea of sex, and wants to try it with someone who actually, you know, cares about him. It still makes him nervous, though, and he’ll likely need a lot of patience and understanding before he’s ready.

P A R E N T S Name(s): Sawyer and Evelyn Mitchell Age(s): His mother died in a car accident at the age of 35, and his father died of cancer at the age of 41. Occupation(s): His father owned a successful bar/restaurant in Seattle. His mother was a stay-at-home mom, and she took a lot of pride in that. Quality of Relationship With Their Children: Eli was always extremely close with his mother, and was devastated when she died. He was never as close with his father, especially after his mom’s death, but they did love each other. Eli misses both of them a ton, but hasn’t allowed himself any time to really mourn since his father passed away, preferring to shove those feelings to the back of his mind and not deal with it. Living/Deceased: Both deceased, unfortunately.

D A I L Y L I F E Living Arrangements: Elijah ran away from home shortly after his father’s death, to avoid being put into the foster care system, or—even worse—sent to live with his closest relatives, who would most certainly have sent him to a straight camp. He’s been homeless since then, jumping from place to place, sometimes sleeping on the streets, other times in shelters or hostels. He’s mostly just biding his time until his eighteenth birthday, when he plans to find himself a job and an apartment and start getting his life together.