#as always if this sparks joy you have blanket permission to take it as a prompt and write about it 🫶

[loufuckers]

okay but bucktommy who are both single dads of little girls

buck who gets to work one day to discover that some girl he dated a while ago came by the fire house to relinquish a little baby girl who she claims is buck's. buck who knows from the minute he holds her for the first time that she is his daughter, even if the dna result comes back negative he's never giving her up, she's his. but now has to learn how to balance life as a single dad of a baby and a firefighter. chim and hen try to help and offer as much advice as possible but they always had their wives' help and don't really know how to, and eddie also tries his best but turns out he actually really doesn't know how to take care of a baby at all and although he can empathise with buck's struggle he really doesn't have much advice. and then one day bobby tells him that he should call up tommy kinard, he used to be a firefighter at the 118 before he transferred to harbour and he also became a single dad not long after, he might be able to help

and buck is desperate so he calls tommy and meets the guy at a park and turns out he's really fucking perfect. he's kind and sweet and hot and he's a pilot and he's got those muscles but also smiles with his whole face and scrunches his nose in the most adorable way. and his daughter is a riot, she's one of those six year olds that can look at you once and know your deepest and most obscure insecurities and know how to exploit it in that mean way only children can but turns out she actually really likes buck and his little baby girl so she only bullies him a little bit but otherwise seems to like him being around. tommy helps him figure out child care and how to best use his parental leave. when buck mentions he has been using his niece's old stuff because it was all very sudden and he didn't have time to prepare he helps him choose a crib and a new pram and set up a makeshift nursery in buck's living room until he can find a new place

tommy becomes buck's support system and he's there when he feels inadequate or that he's failing his little girl by wanting to keep being a firefighter and leaving her for days at a time while he's on shift. when buck finally signs a lease in a different apartment more appropriate for a child he and eddie help him move (buck is only momentarily jealous about how well and how quickly tommy and eddie get along). he sometimes drops by with his daughter just to drop off groceries when he knows buck hasn't been able to go to the store but he just got off a 36 hour shift and all he wants to do is cuddle with his baby girl and buck repays him by setting playdates between baby kinard and mara and jeeyun because he knows she's had a hard time making friends.

slowly but surely the kinards become part of the 118 family and a presence in buck's life until one day he has the realisation, standing in the middle of tommy's kitchen making breakfast for both girls one year into knowing each other, that this is what he wants for the rest of his life. he wants this little family with tommy and their girls, wants to move in here so he can kiss baby kinard good morning every day and also kiss her dad silly and doesn't want to wait any longer. he thinks tommy might feel the same way so when tommy comes to the kitchen after his shower and asks what's for breakfast buck just kisses him like he didn't realise he's wanted to do for the past year and of course tommy kisses back. they date for three whole months before they elope. they already know this is what they want forever to look like and they've been a family for a year, it's only the kissing that's new, so they might as well pull the plug on it.

having thoughts about girl dads bucktommy but as per usual i will only be able to verbalise them at 2am when no one's here

[whatanoof]

I have a few corruption ideas in mind for cal and I'm just. Okay so like-- reader grinding on/teasing him, maybe while they're hiding in a cave or an empty room in an inquisitor base-- purposefully to the point where he can't hold himself back and he just cums right then and there 👀

Or-- reader accidentally projecting some very, very dirty thoughts towards Cal (bonus points if it's virgin!/inexperienced!Cal), and his reaction to said thoughts ;3c

Don't feel obligated to turn these into full fics or anything tho!! I just like to share my thoughts w ppl and see what they think abt it 🥰💛

SKDJFO THESE ARE GOLD I LOVE THEM.

Oh babe, this isn’t an obligation. This is my PLEASURE. Don’t mind me with my slightly force sensitive reader learning how to weaponize her inexperience against her very innocent boyfriend.

A/N: These turned out a lot more fluffy than I had in mind at first, and probably more so than you had in mind, anon. I'll to expand a little more on these, but I wanted to give you what I have now. More to come!

NSFW TOWARDS THE END 18+

You were two weeks into your relationship the first time it happened. It’s early morning on Bogano, the rare off-day where Cal doesn’t have to take a quest anywhere. The grass glistens in the early morning light, dew droplets sending sparkles of light through the air. You sit in the field, watching the sunrise with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and a steaming mug of caf clenched tightly in your hands, gracing your morning with its fragrant smell. Happy chirps and beeps echo through the stillness of the morning as BD-1 scampers around the field, chasing a butterfly that’s been disturbed from its early morning food quest. It’s so domestic that it almost hurts. It reminds you of life before the Purge, when everything was better. Except, now you have Cal.

Not beside you of course, he’s actually the reason that you’re even awake to see the dawn. He stands stock-still in the grass several meters in front of you. He’s relaxed, breathing in the crisp dawn air, eyes closed against the rays of light beginning to conquer the horizon line.

Cere stalks back and forth in front of him, “Focus, Cal.” She hefts a round fruit in her hands about as big as her head. “Sense the life around you. What do you feel?”

Cal pivots slowly on the spot until he’s facing you. “I feel you. And her.” His brow is creased in that one spot between his eyebrows. You want to kiss it. 

“Not us, Cal. The life all around us. There’s a reason I chose Bogano for this lesson.” Cere’s disapproving tone is a common staple around here. The crew has learned to accept it as a sign of affection.

“A bogling. On the ship. It’s looking for food.” Cal says.

You smile. The newest addition to the crew has been nothing but a joy to you and a pain in the ass to Greez. It’s always stealing his favorite snacks and making a mess of his ship, if you count it’s tiny nest in the corner of the kitchen to be ‘a mess’. 

“Better. Expand, Cal.”

Then you feel something at the edge of consciousness, something familiar and strange all at the same time. It wasn’t so much a thing, but a feeling. A presence. If you had to describe it in words, you couldn’t. But if you had to try, it would be in swaths of color and emotions that blend and swirl in the invisible eye of your mind. It’s warm, reds and oranges and yellows fluttering against each other, tinged around the edges by blue, the same blue as Cal’s saber. Cal. The presence is undeniably Cal, the warm colors echoing back to his fiery spunk and stubborn affection. 

Your eyes open. When had they closed? Cal is right there, his hand stretched out in your direction. Cere watches cautiously, eyes flicking between you and him. You see her reluctance to interrupt the moment. 

As if called back to the ground by your distraction, Cal opens his eyes with a soft gasp. The presence retreats, fading from your short grasp as you try to chase it. Your gaze bores into Cal, trying to focus your mind on reaching back out to him. But you can’t.

Cere speaks, “That’s enough Force training for today.” She tosses the previously forgotten fruit directly at Cal’s head. “Think fast. Form V today.”

His lightsaber materializes into his hand, cleanly slicing the offending object out of the air in a single smooth motion. But Cal doesn’t hesitate for a single moment, flowing through different saber forms without difficulty. Cere calls a variety of commands, and each gives way to another attack by Cal. The saber moves like it is an extension of his body, like a deadly serpent that flickers in and out of the air.

This continues for a long time, long enough that you have time to finish off your caf. The drink warms your insides. Watching Cal working so hard to strengthen his connection to the Force warms your heart. Examining the definition of his shoulders and his muscular torso warms other places. Your eyes drift to his ass, emboldened by the illusion of ignorance. You allow your mind to drift. 

You and Cal started dating two weeks ago. There was an irresistible pull between the two of you, to the point where the crew forced you two to acknowledge it. Cal had been cautious, but permission from Greez and a blessing from Cere was all the encouragement he needed, because as he had said so eloquently, “Like you. I like you. A lot.”

And you like Cal. A lot. Nothing physical had happened beyond a single makeout session and more cuddle sessions than you could count. You know that he’s unsure about sex, and because of that you’re more than willing to wait for him to be ready. But that doesn’t mean you can’t look and daydream. 

Your gaze drags over his body, imagining for a moment how it would feel. What it would be like, to be allowed close to him to make him feel good. What his skin would taste like, how your fingers would feel threaded through his bright hair. The sounds that he would make as you go down on him. 

A gasp from the field snaps you out of the daydream. Cal’s facedown on the ground; all you can make out of him from here is the fringe of his poncho and his shock of red hair contrasting against the green environment of Bogano. You stand, hurrying over as Cere helps him up.

“Cal?” She's concerned, you can see it in her eyes even if she won’t verbalize it. You’re worried too. In all of your time aboard the Mantis, you’d seen clumsy Cal maybe once before, and that was because he was goofing off in an attempt to make Greez laugh.

He doesn’t respond to Cere. His gaze snaps up to you, and he says your name urgently. Your brow creases, “What?”

His face is flushed red, and he’s panting as he shakily kneels in the grass. “I think you’re Force-sensitive.”

---

“No.”

“Come on, it’ll be easy!” He looks so earnest, like a kicked puppy dog. You avert your eyes. Looking too long means that you will fall prey to the terrible innocent eyes.

“I said no. What’s so hard to understand about that?” You cross your arms tighter over your chest. You know that arguing is futile. Cal is the most stubborn person you know, even more so than Greez and you have witnessed the intense food aggression.

“Babe, it’s one rock. You’re not going to get hurt.”

“I might when it’s going to be flying at my face!” Cere had insisted that you learn to control your Force sensitivity, at the very least so that you could learn how to guard your mind from others. But, she placed Cal in charge of your training. Merrin’s Force abilities were nothing close to what you could hope to accomplish, and you believe Cere’s exact words were, “It will be good for Cal to learn just how irritating training a Padawan can be.”

And so your Jedi boyfriend became your Jedi Master. It was quickly determined that your Force sensitivity was nothing close to the level of Jedi. Your talents extended to thought projection, minor thought detection abilities, and, as Cal had been so excited to learn, basic telekinesis. 

That had been an accidental discovery, actually, brought out of a session wrestling with the Mantis’s control board wiring. You’d lost concentration for a split second, and in a flash of light and electricity, you were nursing a burnt finger. Merrin was attracted to your area by the flash of light and pained cry, and was incredibly surprised to find you with various medical supplies hovering in front of your face while you soaked and bandaged your finger. And she’d snitched on you.

So now you’re on a no name forest planet, facing down your boyfriend who’s threatening to throw a rock at your head in order to force out your hidden telekinesis, because as soon as Merrin witnessed the feat, you’d lost all voluntary control over it.

“Cal, this is a bad idea.”

“Do you have a better one?”

“Yes. Leave me alone. I can shield my thoughts now, that’s all I wanted to do.”

“Oh come on. It doesn’t excite you even a little?”

It does, but not enough that you’d be willing to have a rock thrown at your face. You roll your eyes and throw your hands up, “I’m going back to the ship.”

But as soon as you turn, something sparks on the edge of your conscious mind, and you whirl with an outstretched hand. The rock sails past your fingers and bonks you on the forehead. You clap a hand over your head as pain throbs at the point of contact. “Ow!”

You whip your head up and glare at Cal, who’s standing there, mouth agape and eyes so wide that you can see the whites from here. When he meets your eyes, he shrinks back and turns to run.

“Cal Kestis you are going to pay for that!” You lunge after him, nearly tripping over a root as you scramble after your soon-to-be dead boyfriend. 

He disappears around the corner of the clearing with you hot on his heels. Trees tower over your head in every direction. The only thing interrupting the perfect vision of nature is the dorsal fin of the Mantis spearing up into the sky, guiding you to safety.

And Cal’s running away from it, leading you further into the forest. Branches whip at your face, but you can’t pay attention to them when you’re focusing harder on not losing Cal as he ducks and weaves through the foliage with all of the ease of a jungle cat. Then you round a corner, and he’s gone. 

You’re gasping for breath as you stumble to a stop in the midst of the forest. Damn it Cal. You want to rest, but you’ll be damned if you’re going to allow Cal to get away with this. He knows that if he gets away now, you’re probably going to be cooled down by the time he gets back to the Mantis, and you can’t have that. You tamp down your anger. Gather yourself. Feel the world around you. Now hold it at arms’ length. You bring your mental shields up slowly, guarding yourself and calming your racing heart through a few deep breaths. Then, you let the barriers down, allowing the world to rush back into your mind. You exhale slowly, combing through the sensations like Cal had taught you, searching for the presence that had become so familiar over the past few months. There!

A flash of warm colors in the midst of the muted Force signatures of plants.

You whirl, scanning the tree branches above you in time to see Cal make a break for it. He’s overhead, about ten feet off of the ground and running along a tree branch so gracefully that it seems like he’s skimming across the air. He’s heading for a vine. ‘Sneaky little--’

‘Sneaky little what?’

You gasp as he teases back through the Force. Your brow sets in determination, and you narrow your gaze on the vine that he’s reaching out for. You settle on it, and reach out. Your consciousness brushes the vine, pulling it just out of Cal’s reach. His outstretched fingers close just short of the vine, and he loses his balance.

He hits the ground with an oof and you plant a foot on his chest. “Sneaky little laserbrain.”

“Babe you did it!” He grins up at you, unrepentant and ruffled from the mad dash through the forest, “Don’t you love your amazing boyfriend who just helped you to learn another Force trick?”

You smile, “I do. But--” you press harder on his chest with your boot, “--you’re still going to pay for that.”

He groans, “I just paid by falling out of a tree. How else would I make it up to you?”

Without your bidding, ideas leap to your mind. “Oh, I have some.” Cal, between your legs and making you cum with only his mouth. You, on your knees for Cal against one of these trees. Riding Cal back on the Mantis, topless and gasping his name as he brushes up against that one spot inside of you that makes you sing. You don’t project them, but you’re aware that your shields aren’t up, and Cal’s Force presence is hovering on the edge of yours.

Cal’s face reddens as he gapes up at you. All of this time, and he still gets worked up at the bare idea of you naked. It’s a little cute. He springs to his feet, “Let’s go back to the ship.”

You hum, looking at him thoughtfully, ‘We don’t need to go back to the ship for a couple of those.’

He chokes, and you smile as you grab the front of his poncho and back him against a large tree. This is going to be fun.

[omniscientreaderr]

hi! need input lol i found out about the villain wrangler au and got so inspired :) haven't actually written in a hot 5 years but apparently i can bang out 1.1k words for a story but not my homework :" i actually wanted to write more but didn't know if it be offensive in any way. so yes input thank you - be kind djfkdkke I'm scared but I'm really open to feedback :)) ok dankes to whoever actually sees this! have a great day

- (this is after the VW gets saved, and the one that saved him is meeting to give the girl a pep talk) -

The villain shuffles into the hospital, meeting with the eyes of the VW as he glances up from his clipboard.

VW: “hey! Thanks for saving me the other day :) appreciate it! You ready to meet the girl?”

B: “yeah…as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess? What am i suppose to say? I don’t do fancy motivational speeches like that captain, I don’t know how i’m supposed to encourage and help her…she’s going to be insecure, she’s going to be wallowing in a pit of uncertainty over whether she’s ever going to be…accepted. How am i supposed to help a girl with that?!”

The VW looks over at him with a gentle smile, steering B into a nearby seat, setting his clipboard on the nurse’s tray next to them.

“Hey. Hey. The fact that you know how she will feel, the fact that you worry about whether you can help her, is all that matters. You don’t need fancy words designed to psychologically rouse the masses - i personally have always found them pretentious - you just need to tell her what you’ve always wished to hear. Speak from the heart. Words really don’t come easy, but the rawest, most truthful and touching ones are those that come from the place of absolute vulnerability. Words from the mind, touch the mind. But words from your heart? They touch the heart.” He laughs, taking a pause. “Honestly, I could go on a whole spiel about why is it the speeches of villain appeal to the masses, and how they always gain so much support. You’ve got this.”

B simply nods, giving the VW a small smile, before resuming chewing on his bottom lip. Standing outside the girl’s door, he lifts his hand to knock on the door, before dropping it again. He pauses, leaning backwards against the adjacent wall. “What am I doing? Me? A fuckin pyromaniac helping a little girl? Heck, I can do fighting that obnoxious righteous moral spewing jackass in tightey-whiteys. I can do getting dropped from 10 stories. I could even do pickin up ladies with just my words. But this? No. No way in hell am i walking in there, just to disappoint that kid.”

He walks away, ready to tell the VW that sorry to disappoint, but he couldn’t do this.

The door to the room swings open, a nurse bustling out with her cart. He presses himself against the corner, hiding from the view of the nurse. He glances over, catching sight of a tiny, fragile girl in that all-too-big white sterile room, sitting up on her bed with a sad smile on her face. The door closes all too soon, but that sparks something inside him. He walks towards her door and knocks, as if guided by some impulse, a duty towards this little child.

“Come in! Did you forget something, R? I promise you that if it’s your stethoscope it’s gone!”

He takes a step in, still shrouded in the darkness that the entryway is covered in.

“OH! Hello! Are you lost? Do you need help getting somewhere?”

She beams at him, turning her body slightly to see him, and he sees it. He’s struck by the image of a child scarred across half her body, snaking past her uncovered arms and legs…and across her face, where a pure, warm and joyful smile sits.

He brushes his long fringe back and finds himself rolling up his long sleeves, almost unconsciously. For the first time, in possibly his whole life, he was willing to let someone see him. See him, with his scars on display, not hidden behind a mask, or his hair, or the long sleeves he always wore. He wanted someone to see him. He…wanted to let this girl know she was not alone, that she was not broken.

He stepped forward into the light, quirking his lips into an awkward, unsure smile.

“Hi, Emilia, I’m B, and a little birdie told me you wanted to meet me, so here I am.”

The child shoots upright, nearly clambering out of bed to rush to him.

(Ok she becomes quieter because the dialogue is meant to be poignant. The atmosphere is quiet. It’s two people reflecting, basking in the presence of the only person who understands their pain. There’s no need for pretences, to push the traits that make you likeable.)

Alarmed, he takes large strides to her bedside, catching her before she topples over, having gotten tangled in her blankets. He lifts her back up, before scratching his head, taking a seat next to her bed.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to touch you without your permission.”

The child says nothing, simply nodding her head excitedly, grinning at him. She reaches for his arm, and he places it in her open hand. It’s so tiny. She’s so small. She’s adorable.

She traces his scars, and he waits for the wave of insecurity to hit him. For the voice that urges him to pull back his sleeve and not let anyone see his wounds. But today, it stays quiet. She points to her own healing wounds from the grafting surgery, saying, “Same.”

Now that he’s near her, he’s hit by the full brightness of her smile, the enthusiasm at seeing him, the anticipation of what he would do or say, and something pulls at his heartstrings, and loosens the string of tension and worry that has been restricting his tongue.

“Sorry. I’m not very good at this, haha.”

He pauses. The child offers another encouraging smile, holding his calloused hands with both of her hands.

“I guess…I wanted to let you know that these scars don’t matter. They don’t. They don’t take away the warmth of your smile, the fact that you brighten up the day of everyone around you. They don’t…they don’t…take away your worth. Or any of your beauty. Fu- AHahah don’t listen to anyone who tells you this. It’s a long road, but you’re not alone.”

“Not alone”, the kid repeats. “Not alone”. He notices tears in her eyes, tears that he doesn’t realise are reflected in his own eyes, and he is struck by the comfort that he finds in them. He isn’t alone.

He wills his tears back, giving her a brighter grin. “Did you know that in some cultures, scars are actually seen as signs of bravery? The more you had, the more brave you were among the tribes. They were warriors, feared, esteemed, respected for their wounds. You must be a mighty fine warrior. I bow in your presence, my lady.”

Their peals of laughter reverberates through the ward, ringing in the ears of concerned nurses, hiding watery smiles, in the ears of the kid’s anxious parents, sobbing into each other. She’s laughing. She’s happy. Not those calculated smiles and calculated giggles that hide a lot of pain and insecurity, full of the desire to be…desirable, but one of pure joy. One, of a child rediscovering their youth.

(Unfin.)

[redinkofshame]

Arranged Marriage

Hipster AU did not spark joy, so I used the Arranged Marriage joker for day 3 of the @augustwritingchallenge. This is probably the last one I’ll do, unless I also do an arranged marriage for Cedric/Cassandra. It’s also my favorite one :D

The evanuris have survived to the dragon age, Fen'Harel included amongst them. In order to make peace with the free clans of elves a marriage is arranged between the Trickster and one of their own. Like all of Solas' plans, it goes awry.

1882 words, mature for smexiness but no actual hanky panky. Read on AO3

Wedding Night

“You still intend to go through with this, then?” Mythal asked.

Fen’Harel sighed, eyeing her reflection from where he stood surrounded by attendants. They made last minute adjustments to his wedding vestiments, buffed his nails, applied cosmetics. “I gave my word, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but even you must admit you have a proclivity for… last minute ‘tricks’. We must make peace with the free clans—”

“Easiest done with a marriage, and I am the only one amongst us who is yet unmarried, yes, I know,” he said, biting his tongue. He knew better than the rest of them how important this was; they continued to underestimated the power of the free clans.

“It’s merely surprising that you haven’t proposed some other crazy solution to avoid being tamed. You’ve been the lone wolf, all alone all these ages…”

He shooed away his attendants and sunk into the nearest chair. His hair dresser immediately made her move, beginning the bothersome process of brushing, curling, and braiding. An annoyance. A necessity. Long hair; the status symbol of a spoiled man who, supposedly, knew nothing of hard work, nor manual labor. No more a threat than a bunch of unaligned clans who could scarcely produce mages.

That is, of course, until he used this marriage to forge an alliance with his spouse’s people. The final key to in his plot to take down the Evanuris once and for all.

“All good things must come to an end,” he said with feigned disinterest. “Remind me the name of who I’m to wed again? That man from the garden with the curly hair?”

Mythal gave him a scathingly admonishing look. “Really, Fen, the least you could do is remember your intended’s name.” She kept up the look for another moment but when he gave no response she simply sighed. “You’re thinking of the ambassador they sent to announce that your bride was chosen by vote of the free clans at Arlathven.”

“She is important to them, then? A powerful mage?” he asked hopefully.

Mythal snorted. “Hardly. They say she has some skill with the arcane, but she’s better known for her sewing— no, embroidery.” He grunted in disappointment and she continued, almost to herself. “She’s no particular beauty, either. I can’t image she’s the best they’ve got to offer. Frankly, I’m tempted to take offense at the offering, but we already granted them permission to choose for themselves…”

He waved his hand dismissively. “It hardly matters what she looks like, so long as they care for her enough to lay down their arms.”

“I suppose. Her name is Keria, by the way, of Lavellan’s clan. Do try to remember it during the ceremony.” He felt her eyes on him, but kept his head bowed as his hair was adorned with golden toggles. “You know that you will have to gift her with her vallaslin during the ceremony as well.”

“Of course.”

Mythal stepped closer and lowered her voice. “A true vallaslin, Fen’Harel.”

The girl working his hair froze. He didn’t have to look at her to know that she, as all his servants, his “slaves”, wore a convincing imitation of his vallaslin on her face. He’d marked each of them with enough magic to keep them safe from the others, but it held none of the controlling or manipulation that a true vallaslin held.

He saw to it that his people followed him voluntarily, not due to fear or power. Many of them were agents of his grand plan playing a role until it was time to strike at the heart of their oppressors.

None of which Mythal was supposed to know, of course.

He met her eyes. “I understand.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, a silent threat, gauging his sincerity. At last, she nodded.

~~~~~

He remembered the name, of course, the ceremony lines, and the spell to apply a proper vallaslin to her pale face in front of everyone. Mythal’s assessment had been harsh — she was pretty enough. Her unruly black hair was short, of course, as was her place. He supposed she would grow it out, now. Her eyes were a shockingly bright blue, when he could get a good look at them, but she largely kept them averted. Her gown was a work of art. The cut of it was common enough, classic, but every inch of it was covered in painstaking embroidery. Her doing?

Not that her beauty mattered; he cared only whether or not she would become his willing ally in their fight, or if he’d have to use her new position as leverage. He’d expected her to fear him as the clans always did — with good reason. He was Mythal’s general, the attack dog she released whenever they stepped out of line or needed to be taught a lesson. At first he thought her unwillingness to meet his eyes was because she was afraid, or worse, because she loathed him. He would not hold it against her.

Surprisingly it was shy glances and flustered smiles he was met with. A blushing bride indeed.

The day was filled with much pomp and posturing, dancing and music and feasting and well-wishers and veiled insults and vague threats. Elgar’nan and the others were jumpy, so certain he was going to ruin this for them that they never considered it had been his idea to begin with. It was many hours before he and his new wife were able to retreat to his suite.

Or ‘their’ suite, he supposed, though he’d happily grant her separate chambers if she requested it. His rooms were plenty large enough for the two of them, but he didn’t relish the loss of this ability to move freely.

He left her for a moment upon entering to get familiar with the space as he stepped into the dressing chamber. He sighed in the relative privacy.

It was fortunate that Keria seemed to be a willing — perhaps eager — partner in this charade, but thus far she seemed too timid of a girl to bring honestly into his machinations. It would take some time to discern best how to proceed from here. In the mean time it was his wedding night…

He was certainly willing to bed her, but he would not press the issue. They needed to discuss rules and freedoms, what would be asked of her and what would not. What she could ask of him. He striped out of his vestiments and pulled on a pair of simple sleep pants. He did not bother with a shirt. He stepped back into the room.

“I think we should discuss our expectations…” He tailed off, not seeing her immediately. He found her in the dimly lit bedchamber, sitting on her heels at the end of the oversized bed, sheets pooling around her hips. She was naked except for the sash from her wedding gown tied loosely about her waist. When she saw him enter she raised to her knees, spread wide, and the blanket fell from her lap, exposing her fully. Her teasing smile beckoned him closer.

Well, then.

All thoughts of planning left him as his blood spiked, and he went to her. He stopped when he stood at the edge of the bed, inches from her, and pointedly looked her offering up and down. He reevaluated his own underestimation of her beauty.

“Lovely…” he murmured. His hand dropped and she arched her back in anticipation, her nipples tight, but it was the tail of the embroidered sash he took. “Did you make it yourself?”

To his surprise he laughed and shoved him playfully, illiciting a snort from him. “I did, in fact.” He ran his thumb over the intricate stitches and she shifted her weight nervously. “Do you, um, know a lot about embroidery?”  

“I don’t know much of the textile arts, I’m afraid,” he admitted, letting the silk slip through his fingers. “Perhaps you could teach me.”

She smiled coquettishly. “Oh, there’s a great deal I could teach you, Fen’Harel.” She sensually unknotted the sash.

He forced his eyes up to hers, determined to seem unaffected. “And here I thought I was wed to someone sweet and innocent.”

“Sweet? Sometimes. But innocent?” Keria flipped the sash up and over his head, where it settled like a scarf. “Certainly not.”

She tugged the ends of the sash and pulled him in for a kiss and he went easily, intrigued by this woman. He felt the brush of her lips but didn’t realize in time that she whispered an incantation, though his eyes flickered open just in time to see the hidden runes among the embroidered flowers light up, paralyzing him instantly. Her hand dashed beneath the covers and came up with a dagger that she plunged towards his chest.

The vallaslin on her face lit up as he activated it and staggered back, spell broken. She was frozen in place, mid-strike. His heart hammered in his chest in a way it hadn’t in decades, a mortal danger he rarely faced unwittingly.

No mortal blade could hurt him, but she would know that. Still shaken, he wrenched the dagger from her hand, careful not to nick either of them as she grunted, struggling to break free. He appraised the weapon, recognizing it easily even without the ravens in the hilt. It indeed would have been able to kill him, and was undoubtedly coated in enough poison to finish the job even if her aim ad been off. Smart.

“Dirthamen sent you, then?”

She still fought her bindings. He released her just enough that she could answer his question. “Yes.”

He tilted his head. She’d answered too quickly. He could see her tells, now that he knew what she really was. “A lie. Interesting. I’m only supposed to believe it was him.”

“You’re supposed to be dead,” snarled his darling wife.

“Ah, a fair point. Me, murdered on my wedding night, and Dirthamen to blame. To what end?” She answered by spitting at him and he paced as he thought it over, able to see how it would have played out — Mythal would exact justice before Elgar’nan could stop her, and Dirthamen’s twin would retaliate. The rest of the evanuris would choose sides. War, distrust, ample opportunity for more little assassinations.

A simple enough plan. One that damn near worked.

He lifted the dagger and it hovered in the air between them. With a twist of his hand he rendered the shining, poisonous thing inert, watching as it turned dull and clattered uselessly to the floor.

Keria looked like she was ready to tear him apart with her teeth instead. “It doesn’t matter what you do with me,” she growled. “Others will succeed where I have failed. You cannot stop us all! Your days are numbered, Dread Wolf — you and every other evil, murderous, slaving evanuris!”

Wordlessly he walked to a wardrobe, feeling her eyes following him as she waited for him to strike her down. How much of her shaking was from anger, he wondered, and how much from fear?

He pulled out a dressing robe and turned back to his bride, every inch of her radiating defiance despite the hold he still had on her.

He tossed her the robe. “Get dressed, vhenan. We need to talk.”

[itspufflehuff]

Spidey Part3 - Sebastian Stan X Holland!Reader

Summary: Things are going great with you and Sebastian but what will happen when he has to leave to film a movie?

MATERLIST // TAGLIST

Part One| Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | 

Thank you all so much for being patient for this part three! Its not as long as part one or two but I think it is just as sweet. If you would like for me to continue this series let me know! If you have any suggestions or request for what I should do next my inbox is always open. 

I would also like to give a special thanks to @star-gazing-game​ and @not-another-fangirl​ who requested part three and always give my post so much love. Thank you both! 

Word Count: 1,648

You decided to keep things away from the media at first.

Of course Tom was the first to know, not only because Sebastian asked for his permission but because after your date you immediately called Tom to tell him. Sebastian talked to Mackie about the date. You were both so happy you needed to talk to someone.

Soon the entire marvel cast knew and surprisingly Tom wasn't the one who spilled the beans.

About a week after your fourth date with Sebastian, he got a text from Chris Hemsworth.

C.H: Congrats man! I heard about you and Y/N. I knew I saw sparks flying at comic-con.

Coincidentally you happened to be at Sebastian's apartment when he got the text. You were both laying on his couch watching a movie. He was sitting next to the arm of the sofa as you snuggled up to him resting your head on his shoulder with a blanket tossed over the both of you.

When he read the text he looked at his phone confused, "Did you tell anyone we're together?"

"Only Tom. Why?"

You felt him move, a second later his phone was in front of you, "Hemsworth? Who told him?"

Both of you immediately thought of Tom but before you texted him asking why he told everyone you decided to do some digging. You took Sebastian's phone and replied back.

Sebastian: Thank you but quick question... how did you know?

Less than a minute later he responded.

C.H: RDJ

Immediately you both texted him from Sebastian's phone. Soon you all found out who the culprit was, Mackie. Turns out he was so proud of himself for playing Cupid the night Sebastian saw you after your show he bragged Chris Evans that he helped set you two up. Then Evans mentioned it to Mark Ruffalo who then let it slip to RDJ. Of course him being Robert Downey Jr. he told everyone else.

Neither of you were mad at anyone or even upset, you were just confused about how the word got out. The both of you even though it was a bit funny. Still, you wanted it to be out of the public eye for a bit. You both loved being able to go out without paparazzi following you and trying to get a picture of Hollywood's newest couple. The entire cast was so sweet and kept everything private.

For a few months, you were lucky to have Sebastian all to yourself. After rehearsal, he would meet you at your place with food and a bag of games and movies. At the end of your shows, he would always bring you one single flower to add to your growing collection. On your days off you would spend the night at each other's apartments making pillow forts and sneaking out to the balcony to lay there and watch the stars.

Then the time came again for him to start filming Endgame. He wouldn't be gone for too long as he only had a few scenes to be in, but that didn't stop the both of you from being upset at having to part ways for a bit.

You were scheduled for a tv performance with your cast the same day Sebastian would leave to fly out to LA. He asked you to spend the night with him that way you could say your goodbyes the next day in private. Luckily you had no show to do so you went over to his apartment early in the evening to have a romantic night with your boyfriend.

When you should up he was dressed in his lazy clothes. He pulled you into his apartment, grabbed you by the waist with one hand, and with the other he shut the door before placing a loving kiss on your lips. You could feel him smiling which made your stomach bubble up with joy. He pulled away then took your bag that had your clothes for the next day, "Let me take that for you, my lady. Wait for me here." He gave you a dopey smile and placed a soft kiss on your forehead. You listened to him and stood by the door slowly taking your coat off. He came back less than a minute later still with his dopey grin he placed his hand on your lower back, "Now if you would just follow me outside my songbird."

You couldn't help but giggle at his behavior, "Hello to you too. Are you feeling well? You're acting a bit strange Seb."

His hand still rest on your back as he walked you towards his patio, "Of course I'm feeling well. What? I can't be happy to see my lovely girlfriend?" He faked being offended.

"No, of course, you can it's just-" But when he opened the door to his patio you stopped with a small gasp. There were blankets set out on the floor along with a couple of pillows. He set out a picnic basket and next to it was a small tin bucket with a bottle of wine and ice. The sun was starting to set but you saw fairy lights and candles set up.

"Surprise!"

"Seb, this is amazing." You stood there in shock. Sure he's taken you out on dates and you've had lunch/ dinner out on his patio before but he's never taken the time to set it up nice like this before.

"I want to have an amazing night with you before I have to leave for a few months." He took your hand and sat you down on the blankets with him. "So, I didn't want to ruin tonight with my horrible cooking so I got us food from the restaurant we had our first date at. It's not as romantic as a home-cooked meal but I thought it would be pretty close."

You smiled at him as you put your hand on his cheek, "This is amazing Sebastian. Thank you."

"Anything to keep my girl happy." He leaned in kissing you sweetly. When you both pulled away he rested his head on your forehead wanting to stay as close as possible.

The evening went by quicker than either of you expected. You both sat out there talking and sipping on wine for hours. Neither of you even noticed when the sun went down or when the air got colder. He noticed you beginning to shiver. Quickly he unzipped the sweater he had on placing it over your shoulders. Once you had your arms through the hole he pulled you into his embrace to keep you warm. You both sat there in the quiet for a few moments just enjoying each other's presence.

"Do you have to go tomorrow?" You turned your head to look up at him.

His eyes were closed as his head was facing up at the sky, "I wish I could stay or you could go with me." You shivered again as the cold wind blew, "Let's go inside now my songbird. I don't want you getting sick."

"I want to stay in your arms." You whined.

He chuckled, "How about we head inside we can cuddle under the blankets?"

"Do you have more wine?"

"Yes?" He said more like a question.

"Ok, let's go." You got up and headed for the door. His head dropped as he laughed.

After the both of you put everything away Sebastian took a bottle of wine from his fridge and walked you to his room hand in hand. You kicked your shoes off as he turned the lamp by his bed on. "I'm just gonna change really quick before we cuddle." You opened up the bag you brought then groaned.

"What's wrong?" Sebastian perked his head up concerned.

"I didn't bring clothes to sleep in."

He laughed walking over to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and bent down to rest his head in the crook of your neck, "It's ok you can just wear my shirt and the shorts you left the other night."

"Thank you."

He kissed your neck quickly then pulled away. As he walked over to the dresser he pulled off the shirt he was wearing and tossed it over to you.

"What?" You held the shirt up confused.

"I said you could wear my shirt."

"Yeah, but I thought you meant you would give me a new one."

He just shrugged, "You know I sleep shirtless anyway." A second later you felt another piece of fabric softly hit your head. You grabbed it seeing he just threw your shorts to you, "Thanks." You said sarcastically.

You began pulling off the shirt you were wearing to replace it with his. As soon as he saw you lift your shirt he turned. You've changed in front of him before but he always keeps his back turned to give you some privacy.

"Ok, I'm done changing." You sat on his bed as he followed suit. He grabbed the bottle of wine and began taking swigs of it then offering it to you.  For the rest of the night, you both sat on his bed drinking and talking about your horror stories of past relationships. Much to your dislike Sebastian ended up drinking more than half the bottle. He laid back on the bed and pulled you down with him. He grabbed one of his blankets then threw it over the both of you. You both laid there silently. You listened to him breathe as it looked like he was falling asleep.  

"Y/N?" He softly spoke.

"Yes, Sebastian?"

"I'm glad we met. I don't know how I survived so long without you."

You blushed, but he couldn't see it as the room was dark.

"You make me so happy Y/N. Thank you." He kissed the tip of your nose then pulled you closer to him. Soon he drifted off to sleep. You listened to his heartbeat as you thought to yourself.

I love this man so much.

[stillchaoticlogic]

Falling

Pairing: Raihan x Reader

Falling in love is easy...

It's falling out of love that's the hard part.

As you try to run from old feelings you meet someone who is determined to bring the spark back into your eyes. Raihan isn't sure what happened in the past and he doesn't care. He's got one shot to make you his and he's going to take it.

Begin at the End

You gaze in disbelief as, with a final fire blast, Hau’s Incinaroar sends your Ninetales to the ground. Your eyes widen and you summon her back into her Pokeball robotically. You smile at the new victor and you know, for the first time in three years what freedom tastes like. You walk towards Hau, no longer a boy of fifteen, but a young man of eighteen, and Alola’s new champion. You feel nothing but relief as you shake his hand and congratulate the shell-shocked male in front of you. 

You can practically feel the world jump to life as a new champion joins the ranks. You walk out of the arena for the last time. You wish you could say it’s bittersweet, but all you can feel is the joy of escape.

The hallway leading to the locker room is long and dark. You notice a figure leaning against the wall near the end, you don’t pause just keep walking until his voice pierces the silence. 

“Did you throw the match?”

You stop and turn towards Kukui, your friend and co-worker, the man you had fallen in love with. The man you could never have. 

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me…”

“It doesn’t matter if I did or I didn’t… I’m no longer the champion of the Alola region. As far as I’m concerned I’m a free woman now.”

“You make it sound like we’ve been holding you prisoner.”

“I came here to escape the limelight and yet you were determined to throw me into it all over again. I did as you asked! I built your league, I chose and trained your gym leaders and I put Alola on the map. I would like to be left alone now.”

“(Name)... what happened? I thought you liked it here… You’ve been so distracted lately… and now your loss…”

“Hau will be a great Champion, he grew up on the islands and his grandfather will help him. He will be a wonderful leader and a shining light to trainers here. Don’t worry, your league will be fine.”

“But-”

“Kukui I need to go. I can’t stay here anymore…” You mutter forlornly as you continue on your way leaving him to his thoughts in the darkness. 

That night as you sit gazing at the TV screen a ping on your phone alerts you to a new message. 

Hello (Name)! 

This is Leon, Champion of the Galar region! It has been brought to my attention that another champion has taken over your mantle. Your final battle as champion was absolutely smashing, by the way! The Galar League would like to invite you to consider heading our own league. We are aware you helped to build The Alolan League from the ground up and after the recent loss of our own chairman we are looking for someone to take his place! We believe you would be perfect! We understand that this is a large commitment, so we would like you to come to Galar to get a feel of our League. All expenses will be paid by the committee, of course!

I look forward to your reply!

Leon 

You gaze down at the email before you and you can’t help but feel desperation come over you. A way out! A purpose! A distraction! Better than all of that… An entirely new region away from the man you aren’t supposed to be in love with. 

Your reply back is simple: 

I’ll leave tomorrow.

(Name)

Your escape from Alola is quick and quiet. You are dressed in a pair of ripped blue jeans, with a black top and a blanket like ruana along with your combat boots. You board the plane that almost no one is on and sigh in relief as the plane takes off. Perhaps you will feel more guilty about running off without an explanation later, but right now you need the solitude. 

***The Galar Region***

Raihan can hardly believe his eyes as he watches the replay of the championship match. The (Name) (L.Name) lost to some kid? Raihan is mad about her and had looked up to her for the last couple of years. She is cool, confident, and funny with this cunning wit that he loved. He loved to watch her battle because it was always wild. He could tell that she had grown up battling with these intense strategies and insanely powerful pokemon. They were all powerhouses in their own right; his favorite though, is definitely her Garchomp.

He had noticed the last few months things had been different. She seemed bored in her battles and where she had always been quick-witted and charming during the post-battle interviews, she was now short with her answers. He was a little worried about her, but he had also never met her before, so it’s not like he can just slide into her DMs and start asking personal questions. This last battle had confirmed his suspicions though. She looked relieved when she lost. The champion that he looks up to would never be relieved to lose. Raihan frowns over his eggs as he continues to watch the report. 

The distinct ring of his phone woke him from his musings. Raihan would normally ignore a call so early in the morning, but it’s Leon and he had been helping him look for someone to replace the chairman. 

“What could you possibly need this early?” Raihan asks as he answers the phone. 

“Raihan! She’s coming! She’s on a plane and she’s arriving this evening!”

“Who is?” 

“(Name) (L.Name)!”

“What? How?” he asks in bewilderment. 

“I sent her an email last night! She replied while I was asleep and she said she’s leaving today! It’s a ten-hour flight from Alola! She’s going to be here tonight!”

“She lost her title yesterday! How is she already getting on a plane!”

“I don’t know! But we need to book a room and arrange tours and dinners! You know she would be perfect to run the League! And we’ve been looking for months!”

“I know man… I know… Let’s just take this one step at a time…” Raihan says with a sigh as he leaves his uneaten eggs on the table and heads to his room to change. He hadn’t been expecting his idol to arrive in Galar tonight, but he’s not complaining about it. 

***Later***

You pull the ruana closer around you and adjust the sunglasses. Your steps are quick and sure as you head towards the front of the airport. The nice thing about being a champion is the perks it affords you as you flash your credentials. You walk over to the luggage carousel and pluck your bag from the belt when it comes around. 

You notice a small crowd formed around a couple of people. Upon closer inspection, you see Champion Leon and the eighth Gym Leader Raihan. You walk closer to them and only stop when you hear a small gasp. You look down at the small girl and smile as she squeals.

“Y-you’re- (Name)!!”

“I am! And who are you? You ask as you bend down to speak to her. You don’t notice the silence that has taken over the crowd, or the awe in which they look upon you. 

“I’m Claire! You’re my favorite!” she declares in excitement. 

“Why thank you! Do you have a favorite?” you ask indicating the pokemon on your belt.

“Aurora!” she squeals. 

You tap the top of one of the Pokeballs and Aurora pops out. She gazes around at the crowd before addressing the 8-year-old girl in front of her. You smile at the look of wonder and awe on her face. 

“She’s...beautiful!”

Aurora sits regally beside you then yips at the little girl and bowing her head. Claire looks up at you, you give her a nod of permission then she takes a hesitant step forward and gingerly touches the soft fur on Aurora’s head. 

“She’s fierce in battle, but a total sweetheart otherwise.” 

Aurora lets out a soft cry as she looks back up at you. You run your fingers through her soft fur. 

“Thank you!” Claire says as he gazes up at you in wonder. 

“You’re welcome!” you say as you pull a card from your pack. You sign it before you hand it to her making her gasp. 

“This the best day!” She exclaims as she rushes back to her parents. They look over at you with gratitude before beaming down at their daughter. 

Aurora taps her Pokeball with her nose and a moment later she is nestled inside against your hip. 

“That was...really cool of you to do,” Raihan says as he walks up beside you. He takes the bag from the floor beside you silently offering to carry it for you. 

You shrug in reply, “She’s sweet and how can I turn down such a face?” 

 “I wasn’t expecting you so soon, but I’m glad you could make it! I’m Leon!” Leon says as he steps forward. 

“I’m sorry it was such short notice, but I need a break from Alola. I know I didn’t really give you any time to prepare anything, so just take your time with things. I’m in no rush.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re hungry! There is a great steakhouse near here if you would like to go? My treat of course!”

You give Leon a soft smile, “That’s very kind of you to offer, but I’m tired from the flight. Perhaps something quicker?”

Raihan, who had been letting Leon do the talking and silently psyching himself up, interjects, “What about pizza?”

“A man after my own heart…” you say as you give him a smile, he happily returns it.

Sitting at the pizza place you feel yourself relax a little bit. Leon is doing most of the talking and Raihan seems to be shooting you glances every now and then but doesn’t speak much. 

“I was thinking that you could take a day tomorrow to get adjust, maybe we could show you the town. Then we will start the tour of the gyms and give you a breakdown of the League.” You rest your head on your hands as you listen to Leon. You can tell both of them are nervous, most likely due to the upcoming Gym Challenge. Their former chairman has been stripped of his title and is currently atoning for, well almost destroying the world. They need someone to run things, and you can tell from the bags under Leon’s eyes that he’s been burning the candle at both ends. 

“Don’t be so nervous, I think this will be a good fit for me. I’m mostly curious about the challenges and your gym leaders. My understanding is you don’t have an elite four? You do a challenger competition then a tournament leading up to the championship battle. It’s a little different than what I’m used to, but I can roll with it,” you say with a shrug.

Leon’s shoulders sag in relief, “I’m glad you think so, things have been crazy trying to figure out what needs to be done for the upcoming challenge. I don’t think I can coordinate that and fulfill my champion duties. Raihan and several other gym leaders have been helping out, but they won’t have time for long. I think you would be a great fit and I hope you think so too.”

“No, of course not, you all have things that need to be done for your own gyms. Also, I’m not trying to be presumptions but it sounds like the job is mine if I want it.”

“It is,” Leon says with finality. 

“I think that was the easiest job interview I’ve ever had,” you say with a smile as you take a bite of the pizza in front of you. 

Both men look relieved as they bite into their own food. 

The next day dawns with a text message from Leon stating he’s got some business to attend to, but Raihan will be showing you around. So you’re not surprised when Raihan is waiting in the lobby for you with a cup of coffee and a danish. 

“Did you bring me coffee and food? Watch out… I may decide to marry you on this tour.”

He laughs as he hands the treats over to you, “I wouldn’t be too opposed to that…”

You pretend not to see his wince and the silent chiding he gives himself. 

“Oh? So you like getting married to women you just met?” you say with a smile over your coffee cup, teasing him. 

“Ehh more like getting married to women I admire. I’m kinda a huge fan of yours…” he trails off and looks down obviously embarrassed. 

You smile as he attempts to hide his face from you, “I think that’s awesome that you’re a fan. You’re a really amazing trainer so it’s an honor that you like the way I battle.”

He looks up in surprise, “Really? You’ve seen me battle?”

“Of course! I don’t want to play favorites or anything… but I’ve been hoping you’d take the title for a few years now. You’ve got a… wildness… that Leon doesn’t have. Kinda reminds me of...me…”

“I’m not going to lie… Several of your strategies have inspired a few of mine. That battle you had with Lance a few years ago… That was intense!”

You laugh, “Lance is an old friend, every time we get together I goad him into a battle. He taught me a lot about dragons and battling in general, he’s a little stiff, but he’s great at what he does. He mostly just thinks I’m the little sister he never wanted.”

“You know a ton of great champions and trainers don’t you?”

You shrug as you head off down the street towards the taxi he called, “It comes with the territory… When you make champion I’ll make sure you meet the right champions to further your career.”

“When?”

“We both know it’s going to happen… You have too much passion and drive for it not to.”

Raihan stops at the casual way you proclaimed his victory over Leon as if it had already happened. As if it’s set in stone. Do you really have that much confidence in him? 

“Well if you keep talking like that then we just might have to get married today,” he says with a laugh as he bumps your shoulder. 

You giggle as you climb into the taxi, and for just a moment you feel light and free with the giddiness of hope that this is where you need to be.

Notes: 

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my Raihan fic! I think it’s an interesting dynamic and it’s going to be fuuunnnn! I basically just want awkward yet smooth Raihan flirting with me making me feel like a queen all day. Come at me....

Anyway! Please let me know your thoughts!! Also, do you like the thought of certain parts being told from his POV? Let me know and I’ll play with it if you do!

[crackinglamb]

gimme 10-13 of the kiss prompts. give

All right, Bugs, you asked for it. 😘

Stolen Kisses

~1900 words, rated M for non-explicit smut

Read it here on AO3.

---

Solas was not a publicly demonstrative lover. He rarely did more than hold her hand as they traipsed across Thedas from one mission to another, be it a rift or a piece of lost lore of his people, or some clue to further their fight against Corypheus. Sometimes, after a battle, after the blood, dirt and exhaustion, he would hold her face in his hands, looking her over with both eyes and magic for more hidden injury. On the rarest of rare occasions, he would press a kiss to her forehead where anyone might see him do it. And when she said rare, what she meant was once. He had done it once. That brush with death had laid bare for both of them just how fleeting and fragile her mortal life was. Those moments of clarity were not to be squandered, even if it meant crossing his disciplined principles.

Imogen understood this about him. She didn't hold it against him. He was a trickster, a rebel. He had outwitted millennia of enemies. He had learned the hard way why one needed to keep their loved ones secret. It was a habit as ingrained into him as his effortless ability to misdirect, to lie by omission, to manipulate events and perceptions. She didn't hold those things against him either. They'd kept him alive, and she needed him that way every bit as much as he needed her since she'd absorbed the Anchor into her hand.

They were an odd pair, to say the least. Elf and human. Mage and archer. Quite literally two worlds collided. Few outside Imogen's trusted inner circle even knew of their intimacy. Fewer still knew how deep it went. Their time together felt stolen, concealed from prying eyes and wagging tongues with utmost care. On the road it was easier, with night watch shifts and too few tents to go around so they had to double up regardless.

In Skyhold it was a choreographed dance. Slipping in unseen after darkness blanketed the fortress, gone again by morning. Therein lay the difficulty in keeping things secret. Imogen had never really been one to lounge around in bed for hours. She was an energetic person who liked to get up and get her day started. But Solas liked his sleep. She compared him waking and leaving the Fade to one who was leaving behind a homeland, no matter that he would see it again when the sun set on the day. She often teased him about it, to which he countered that he gave her little reason to complain about sleeping in with him.

Well, he wasn't wrong on that score. She'd admit it.

Because when they were alone...oh, when they were alone...

---

Imogen woke to the touch of lips against her collarbone, a brush so light it was barely there. She lay there with her eyes closed and tipped her head further back on her pillow. He wasn't truly awake yet, she could tell from the laxity in his arms around her, the smoothness of his brow under her chin, the slow rhythm of his breath in the hollow of her throat. Still, he took advantage of their position, and her tacit invitation. He pressed closer, feathering butterfly light kisses up the column of her neck, across the slope of her jaw and over her cheek. She started to smile when he reached her nose, trailing soft and slow and tender down the length of it until he tilted his head, and she automatically did too.

They weren't lined up perfectly, the corner of his mouth was under hers, his landed in the space between her nose and lips. She felt him smile, even as she let her own grow wide, giddy with the silliness of missing a kiss because they were fuzzy with sleep and not looking. She puckered her lips against his anyway, crooked as they were, making the smallest smacking noise when she pulled away. His hands slid up her back to cradle her as he dragged his lower lip against her mouth until he was just right. Then he plundered.

He was always like this, it seemed. The first touch was tentative, almost wary. The second was raw. As if he'd given himself permission to take what she offered. It never failed to fill her with sparks of joy deep in her body. The Dread Wolf take you. It gave a whole new meaning to the curse, one that she'd teased him with on many occasions. And to her delight, he never failed to deliver on it.

She hitched her leg over his hip, hooking her calf behind his backside. One of his hands stayed between her shoulder blades, while the other smoothed down ribs and waist and the curve of her leg wrapped around him. He rolled onto his back, bringing her with him. She was now straddling him and their eyes were open, his storm gray ones meeting her hazel shot blue. She was balanced on her elbows over his face, pressed against him from breast to thigh.

“Good morning,” she murmured, leaning in to nip at his mouth again.

“On dhea, arasha.”

She rocked on him, her spine loose and fluid with arousal. The frequency of waking up this way made her ready with barely more than a single touch, and the glint in his eye told her that he knew it. He pressed up and she tilted down and they both gasped as he filled her. The steady rocking of their bodies became a rise and fall, languid and easy. It was her turn to leave sipping kisses along his cheekbone, following the sharp line of it to where it met his ear. With a grin, she caught his earlobe between her teeth. He lifted into her with a jerk and a hiss and she let go as she gasped at how full of him she was.

Then she giggled at him. “What is that saying? Take the Dread Wolf by the ear...?”

Solas growled in his throat and his hands clamped onto her butt, fingers digging into her with bruising strength. “Careful, arasha. You'll get more than you bargained for.”

“Oh, will I?” she taunted, dropping close once more to run the tip of her tongue along the edge of his ear to the point. Just before she bit him, she whispered, “I can't wait.”

The bed in her chamber was large, large enough that when he rolled them over, they didn't fall off the edge. Not that she was able to pay much attention to that, since he hooked his arms under her knees and thrust into her so deep she saw stars. He chuckled at her loud cry, dipping his head to capture her lips again as she thrashed in his grip. No more slow seduction, he was intent on making her shatter now.

And he did.

There was an undeniable urgency in how they slid against each other, muscles taut and straining as they each urged the other on to completion. He let go of her legs to thread his fingers into her hair, the coiling curls wrapping around his wrists as he held her in place. Her legs were crossed over his back, giving her leverage to lift into his hard thrusts. It built, so fast and so high that she had no choice but to fall over the edge of her climax with a shout, muffled by his mouth sealed over hers, his tongue pressed between her teeth. He followed her, groaning against her as she cradled him, their bodies shivering with aftershocks.

“You and morning sex,” she laughed when they finally pulled apart.

“I could always stop.” He lifted his head from her chest where he had fallen and smirked at her. He placed another kiss on her lips and began to sit up.

Imogen clutched at his arms before he got out of reach. They tumbled back together in the mess of sheets and pillows. “Don't you fucking dare.”

They laughed together as they tussled, sneaking in fresh kisses and touches until they both heard the morning bells of the Chantry chapel. She pushed her riot of hair out of her face and grinned at him, swooping in to plant one final lingering kiss on him. He helped her sit up and untangle herself from the covers. Then he leaned back against the headboard and watched her wash and dress, turning from Imogen to Inquisitor.

“And what duty calls today?” he asked, beginning his own slide away from lover to associate.

“The usual,” she replied, tugging on boots and belts and gloves to hide the Anchor from those who wanted nothing more than an intrusive gawk at the Herald of Andraste. “Meetings and paperwork. You?”

He was silent as he sat in the rumpled bed. Imogen glanced over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him. He finally met her gaze with an almost sheepish expression. “I should check on my...”

“Agents?” she grinned. He nodded. “Solas, my love, don't act like I don't know you have them. C'mon now. I'm not that much of an idiot.”

He snorted in answer. She brushed back her hair and tied it into a haphazard ponytail, then skirted around the side of the bed to cup his face. She leaned in and kissed him one last time in farewell, brisk and chaste.

“I'll see you later?”

“Of course, arasha.”

Then she bounced down the stairs of the chamber to the Great Hall. How her lover would escape the confines of her room was his own business.

The day passed, her meetings and small tasks taking her from wing to wing of the fortress. It was hours before she skipped through the rotunda to see that he hadn't returned from wherever he met his unknown forces. She didn't ask, didn't pry into his network. They were ultimately after the same goal, the pair of them. But she needed plausible deniability as long as she was the Inquisitor, and so Fen'Harel was a separate man from Solas in the day to day, as far as she was concerned.

It was nearly suppertime before they circled back into each other's orbit. In the darkened recesses behind the kitchen, where Imogen was putting away the newest bottles of her collection, Solas snagged her from the shadows and kissed her breathless against the rough cobblestone walls. Her arms wrapped around his neck, breathing in the scent of fresh air and sunshine. Wherever he'd been, it was not within Skyhold.

“Did you miss me or something?” she asked when he finally let her go.

“Of course not,” he said, a sly little grin crooking one side of his mouth. She scowled at him and mockingly smacked her palm against his chest.

“Liar.”

He kissed her again, slower and hotter. There was a tempest brewing under his skin, she could feel it, nearly taste it. He pulled away to rest his forehead on hers, neither of them letting the other go.

“Was your day successful, arasha?” he asked in a low grumble.

“It was.”

“Is it over?”

She grinned. “Yup.”

His eyes met hers, molten silver in the dim light that spilled between the storeroom and the kitchen. “Shall I have you again?”

“Oh yes,” she breathed, holding him tighter.

[novembermurray]

Gentle Hands - Part II

Read on AO3

Rating: Teen (Some description of injury, death, and violence)

Pairing: Din x Omera

Summary: While working with Fennec Shand on a favor for Boba, she shares a sliver of her backstory with him. It sparks a memory of a similar tale he heard from anther woman... Maybe it really is a small galaxy after all.

(A continuation of my submission for Mandomera Week - previous part here!)

“I think that’s the last of them,” Fennec said, brushing blood and sand off her gloved hands and jumping down from the back of the pick-up speeder. Piled on the bed of the vehicle were the varied corpses of half a dozen slavers that— until a few hours ago— had been terrorizing the southern Dune Sea. 

Din looked around at the emptied camp around them, a handful of tents and scattered crates baking under the twin suns amid the endless sand, checking for any last body they might have overlooked. What Boba Fett wanted with the bodies of the criminals who defied his recently established rule, Din wasn’t sure and wasn’t inclined to ask. He’d come to Tatooine out of his early— and blissful— retirement as a favor to Fett, not to get involved. 

“On to the next location?” Din asked wearily. They’d already hit two, leaving two more to clear out before they met back up with Fett and Vanth at the Palace.

“In a moment,” Fennec replied. “First, come sit down over here.” 

She waved him over to a pile of crates where there was an open med kit strewn across a tattered blanket on the sand. Fennec started scavenging through it, ignoring the large wet red circle of sand right beside her knee. 

Din groaned and followed, plopping himself down on a crate beside Fennec.

“I saw your shoulder was bothering you still,” she said, gathering a few packages and a bottle of disinfectant. Her gaze flickered over towards his left shoulder where his flight suit was torn and a white bandage showed over the recently cauterized knife wound from the previous night.

“It’s fine,” Din said. 

“Sure. But Boba would feel bad if you lost an arm over this little favor. Let me have a look.”

Din’s incredulity must have shown in the tilt of his helmet or Fennec was telepathic because she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, really. I know a thing or two about first aid. Don’t live as long as I have in this business without it.”

“You’re not that much older than me,” Din said. 

“That’s the most personal detail you’ve ever shared with me,” Fennec said, somehow managing to make it sound mocking.

She sat on the other end of the crate and got to work pulling off the bandage without waiting for Din’s permission. He hissed at the relieved pressure and the heat of her gloves against the injury. He glanced over to see his skin beneath was an angry red around the cauterized line of the knife wound. 

“Yikes,” Fennec hissed. “That’s infected. I’ll probably have to cut it open and drain it.”

“Do what you need to do.”

“Predictably all the pain killers are gone from that pack,” she informed him.

“Had worse.”

“Figured. Hold still.”

Din pulled his own vibroblade out of his boot and handed it to her wordlessly. He tried not to grit his teeth too hard and gripped his knee with his right hand as he braced for the pain. Fennec was not a gentle nurse, that was for sure. But she was at least fast and efficient, slicing open the burned edges of the wound and diligently flushing it with antiseptic. Din was reminding himself how to breath and blinking back tears and spots of black from his eyes when Fennec ripped open the suture pack and started threading a hooked needle.

“Better not to burn it shut again in case the infection is deeper. I’ll bandage it up good and tight to keep the worst of the sand out till you’re back to the Palace.”

“I can do that,” He said, somewhat breathless. Fennec just smacked his hand out of the way. 

He turned so his HUD gave him a decent view of what she was doing on his arm. He’d long ago lost the nausea that came with seeing his own flesh pulled and pinched by needles and worse equipment. To his surprise Fennec was making neat and precise work of stitching the gash closed. 

“You’re pretty good at that.”

She made a huffing noise and pulled a rare wry smile. “My sister taught me. She’d be pretty exasperated to see what I’m putting those skills to use for now. She was trying to teach me to make baby clothing or something.” 

“I can’t imagine that,” Din said with a chuckle.

“‘Mera was that kind of person,” Fennec went on. “Always helping someone and always nagging  me.  She’d say ‘What are you gonna do when you’re too old and too slow, Fen?’ Know what I said? ‘I guess I’ll die.’” Fennec tied off the last stitch and snipped the thread. “But then I didn’t. Woke up with a stomach full of metal. Now…” She opened a sterile bandage pack and started wrapping Din’s arm. “I don’t know, maybe I do need a retirement plan after all. Seems to be working out well for  you .” 

“Certainly has its benefits.” Din said thinking of the cool Sorgan breezes, a nice bath to wash away the days of sweat and strong skillful hands rubbing tension from his shoulders. Something else was tickling at the back of his mind though, distracting him from his imaginings, a vague memory of a conversation… a name… a hint of a story…

“Oh yeah?” Fennec said, raising one eyebrow. “Want to help me win the bet I have with Boba? Tell me these  ‘benefits’ have a name, maybe a pretty face and a warm bed.”

Din sighed, more out of habit than actual exasperation. Every time he came to help Boba out Fennec would needle him about who he spent his off-time with. She didn’t say exactly what the bet was, but Din wasn’t gonna take away her amusement by giving her an easy answer.

“Alright.” Fennec stood up suddenly, grabbing her rifle from the sand. “Let’s get on with it before those corpses start to stink worse than they already do.”

“You know, you could try it out,” Din said, following her towards the speeder. 

“What?”

“Retirement. Come with me after this job, just for a week or two.” 

“You’re not serious,” Fennec said, looking back at him incredulously. 

“I am.”

Fennec turned around to stare him down straight on. “What? You’re gonna take me back to your love nest and introduce me to your lady friend?” 

Din hesitated before answering simply, “yes.” He walked away before Fennec could recover her usual stoicism from the shock he left her in. 

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” She said, climbing into the speeder beside him. Din smiled under his helmet because he knew she was hooked. 

He set the Mudhorn down in the field just south of the village he had cleared for just this purpose. It was only large enough for his little star-hopper to land, close enough no one could make land-fall without alerting the village, but far enough away there would be time to prepare if anyone unfriendly used it. Fennec looked around the forest she could see out of the view port, then over at Din with an expression that said more succinctly than words: ‘Really? Here? Of all the places in the galaxy?’ Din suppressed his chuckles and headed down to get his bag from his bunk. 

His helmet’s audio sensors picked out the sound of running feet approaching before he saw the small figure darting through the trees down the path from the village. He picked up his pace ahead of Fennec down the boarding ramp and reached up to pull off his helmet. Behind him, Fennec’s steps faltered and halted. He thought he might have been able to hear her jaw dropping.

“Din-buir!” Winta squealed as she burst into the clearing at full tilt. 

“Win’ika” Din greeted her with a wide smile, stepping forward to scoop her up as her arms latched around his shoulders, heedless of the hard beskar pauldrons. She squeezed him just as hard as he squeezed her. “I missed you!” He said, running a hand over her dark hair. 

Winta pulled back and scrunched up her face with concentration. She tripped a little over the words of her reply in the unfamiliar language: “Ni briikase gar yaimpa.” (I’m glad you’re home.)

Din’s eyes grew wide with surprise. “Ori’jate, ad’ika. (Very good, little one.) Gar ru’cuyi hibira’la. You’ve been practicing.” He repeated the last phrase in basic for her. 

She grinned at him with pride, nodding. Then her eyes flickered over his shoulder and she leaned around in his arms to look at his guest. 

“Did you bring a friend?” She asked. 

“Not exactly,” Din replied, shifting her onto one of his hips for easier carrying, as she showed no intention of letting him go yet.

“Winta! What did I say about running ahead?” Omera’s voice called from the tree line. She jogged into the clearing looking slightly winded, but her anxious expression melted into joy seeing her daughter and husband.

“I knew it was buir’s ship,” Winta argued. 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s…” Omera trailed off as her eyes too flickered from Din to the figure still standing frozen on the boarding ramp of the ship. Omera’s jaw fell lax and she took two slow, dazed steps forward. Fennec walked down the ramp at the same hesitant pace, her eyes locked on the other woman. 

“Fen?” Omera breathed her long lost sister’s nickname.

“Hey ‘Mera.” Fennec said, the clear lump in her throat ruining her usual casual demeanor. “I didn’t know—” 

Omera didn’t let Fennec finish, bounding across the space between them to envelope her sister in a tight embrace. Slowly and stiffly at first, Fennec’s arms came up to hold Omera back, then took a firm hold of the other woman’s rough spun dress and gripped her back just as tightly. 

“Come on,” Din whispered to Winta. “Let’s let your aunt catch up with your momma for a bit.” 

“Aunt? I have  another  aunt?” Winta asked. 

“I’ll tell you all about her,” Din offered, starting toward the path back to the house. Well, all the child appropriate parts at least, he amended silently. 

“She’s so cool looking,” Winta whispered against Din’s shoulder, unabashedly watching Fennec and her mother disappearing between the trees. “Is she more or less scary than Aunt Cara?”

Din chuckled and bounced Winta on his hip. He loved his daughter truely; she had her priorities straight. Winta didn’t question the existence of her new aunt, but skipped right ahead to the important questions.

“Like, who would win in a fight?”

[moonbelt]

»worth the wait

↳ soulmates au | somewhat bootleg coffeeshop au

pairing » jeon jungkook | reader

genre » soft angst + fluff + sexual themes

word count » 9.280

» on Earth V12 everyone is born with half of their emotions – the other half is safely kept within the soul of their soulmate. however, its been a few wee years and it’s safe to say that you don’t have one. or at least you dont think so. but the universe cant possibly hate you so much as to leave you without your emotions for the rest of your life, or can it?

authors note » yeah yeah, it’s been a while. but soulmate aus are literally the only thing that give me joy and hope about love so.... hope you enjoy it!

The doctor at the local health clinic tells you that there's no use in holding out for a soulmate. Giving up is the best way to ensure less heartbreak, she diagnosed. It’s much better that way.

You've already passed the age criteria to find one, she said. Typically, a year or two after nineteen is the maximum time it takes for you to find the one, she'd told you with a tone of neutral candor. Your doctor probably felt sad – pitiful almost, at that fact. But she was careful to not let it show. That although there was nothing biologically wrong with you, the hard-cold truth remains that you can't feel what she does, what other seven billion people in the world feel — emotions. Or at least a subset of them.

To emote, you believe, is a privilege that not everyone receives. However, history and biology books taught you, just like it did to everyone else on Earth V12, that once you came of age you earn that right. That once the universe believes you've merited it, you get to experience the wild, wide and boisterous range of emotions.

You've read about it. Oh, how much you've read. Huddled and bundled up in thousands of blankets on the window seat in your bedroom back at your family home. Even now in university, in between study breaks and long hours of researching on metaphysics. You read to feel but you don't know exactly what you should be feeling. You read to understand, to know the differences between being sad and being upset. Am I sad that the Universe has decided I'm not worthy of a soulmate? Or am I upset that I believe I need a soulmate to begin with? You don't know. Like a thousand other things that simply just do not make any sense.

They told you not to worry. After all, everyone has a soulmate. It's unfathomable to believe otherwise. That's just the way things are. The way things have always been. The beginning and the end.

You watched, a little wide-eyed, disoriented and mystified as your closest friend and associate, Taehyung, became a different person in the five seconds after he met his soulmate, Eden. It was like a dam had been bust open right before your very eyes. It's a little hard to explain, even now that it's been a couple of years, you'd never quite seen anything like it.

The books say that eons ago gods, back in the time when they walked amongst us, granted wishes. But they also took gifts away. And one day when a fight broke out between two demigod children which resulted in one of them dying, the Sun god came down from his place on high and decided with a few other gods that the human emotions within us — the ones that spark hate and contempt and love and weakness — were to blame. Emotions, the god argued, did not play into reasoning or knowledge. And hence they needed to be earned back. Or at the very least, we needed to recognize their value.

But he couldn't just hoist billions worth of people's emotions into thin air. Instead, what he stripped from one he placed in another. The very essence of soulmates. By splitting the emotions people carry and making them search for The One with their other half, the god decreed that he had made the most beautiful creation. The Sun god ruled this as a magnificent feat, tooting his own horn about his generosity to break humans apart.

To take something apart and then put it back together again, just as you found it — perfect in all its nature, is something you long for. Something you yearn to understand. How is it possible to place jagged pieces back together and get something so phenomenal in return? To get something whole?

To experience Love the way the novels and books you devour describe it. To feel that Sadness that can cause people to cry rivers. You want to know this whole other world that everyone seems to get but you. You have Apathy — loads of it. You understand what it's like to be Disinterested; very much so. Frightened and Scared, you know. However, Hope and Serenity, you do not.

It's a struggle because it makes you insensitive. You simply can't understand what others are going through if you've never had an inkling to what they feel. And you have no idea what to say to comfort them because everything you say comes out wrong, everything you try to emote comes out forced and makes you feel like a bad liar.

"I just don't get why anyone would do that, you know?" Taehyung sighs loudly and over-dramatically before he takes a sip of his macchiato. "Like I hate when people take my stuff without asking. It makes me absolutely livid."

Eden nods in agreement. "It's the principle of the thing."

"Exactly!" Taehyung cries out in joy of being understood. Of being related to. "I swear I can't wait to move out and get a place with you. Everyone in that frat drives me up the fucking wall."

An odd third-wheel is what you feel like. So out of place next to your friends that you've known for years. You don't quite get why Taehyung is so mad at his frat brothers for borrowing his stuff, typically if he told them not to, they wouldn't. That's just how communication works. But nah, Taehyung is livid. And Eden agrees. He’s been livid before too.

"You could always tell your roommate to not touch your stuff," you say, interrupting Eden and Taehyung as they throw around other instances when people took their shit without asking. "I would do that."

Taehyung rolls his eyes, not in a condescending way like the other people in your university, but it still very much rubs your spine the wrong way. "The thing is; I have told him. Repeatedly. He’s got like, I don’t know, cement filled in his ears or something. He never listens."

Every soulmate pair is different in their mannerisms and the way they flow into each other. For Taehyung and Eden, it's like they complement each other and always have to add on to what the other says. Like a sign that they are there, and they've got their back. You guess it's adorable, in the same way little cats pawing at your ankles is adorable.

"It's like common decency," Eden tries to explain, his mop of ashy-white hair haunting over his eyes. "People generally just don't like other people touching their shit without permission."

And see, this is where your problem lies. You understand the principle of the act; you understand why someone would get theoretically mad at it. It's an inconvenience at best and rude at worst. But is it worth getting absolutely angry over? You're not sure. You're not even sure how someone can get angry with it. That's the big distinction between the people with soulmates and the people without.

Taehyung looks at you with pity swimming in his light brown irises and smiles. But it's without humor, without the type of light he reserves for Eden, without feeling. "Oh, you just don't understand."

There was a time when you understood your friend and he understood you. There was a time that both of you scoffed at the imperfections of the soulmate enigmatic system. And for a moment it leaves you in a state of disarray with how far he has evolved from you. How different the two of you have become.

You spend the rest of the hour focused on your hot chocolate and reading your Mythology and Folklores That Absolutely, Factually, Most-Definitely Happened book. You leave Eden and Taehyung to discuss whatever it is they discuss about. You so clearly can't simply understand what they go through, it makes no sense to dawdle in their conversations then.

It's the last week before the university closes for winter break but the snow has been piling up for months now. Hanging out at cafes felt like a good idea at the time, what's not to like about baked goods and the smell of heady caffeine? But now you wish you'd never come at all. Or at the very least, that you'd come alone.

So, when Taehyung and Eden start packing up – they have work to get to – you don't budge. You look them in the eye and tell them that spending a few more hours in the cafe sounds like something you're craving. It's been a while since you left your apartment for something other than school and volunteering.

Taehyung scrunches his nose and pouts his lips. "You're coming out to the party tonight though, right? It's the last one before break and it's time you had some fun. Today is your birthday, after all. Maybe you'll find—"

Before he can finish that sentence, you force a grin onto your face and a pep into your voice to try and drag him off that course. You're desperately tired of remembering your own birthday. Nothing good ever comes out of it. And you doubt the ripe old age of twenty-one would do anything different. "Don't worry, I'll be there. Your fraternity is the one hosting, yes?"

He nods his head as he slings his messenger bag across his shoulder. "Yeah. Don't be late, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you guys then." You long for them to go already and leave you to your lonesome. You have a very interesting book to get back to. "Bye Eden, have fun in the studio." You wave them off on their way out and hope to the gods that they do not drag this outing any longer.

Once they are gone and the chatter around you falls into a nice subliminal background noise, you peel open the pages of the myth and folklore book and begin to read again.

Ah, yes, the Sun god. The creator of soulmates and the one that cursed all humanity. You wonder now if the god regrets his decision. What about the people like you? The ones that seemingly never find that other half. Are you just supposed to swagger through life with one leg oddly bent? Did the god merely not give a flying crow-shit? How come it was so easy for Eden and Taehyung to find each other whereas it's become exponentially hard for you? Are you not worthy of your own emotions? Are you not worthy to experience that all-encompassing love? Is it simply just an haute club that you could never even dream of barging into?

You sigh and lean back in your chair. The book gives you more questions than it does answers. In fact, it barely gives you any solutions. All it does is relay what happened ages upon ages ago in hopes you will understand. But you don't. These days it feels like you don't understand a thing.

You were meant to have found your half exactly three years ago and nothing of that sort has even thought of happening. Sometimes you feel little bursts, like your half was feeling so much intense emotions that it filtered through the cracks into your side. But nothing to write home about. It leaves you with a lingering sense of hoping for something… more.

Maybe it's because you're not paying attention — after all, you're too busy lamenting on your disproportionate life — that you don't notice the chime of the bell as the café door is pulled open. You don't notice the swells of oohs and ahhs that erupt from the shops teenage companions like they've witnessed the second coming of a god, or better yet some YouStreamer.

You do not notice the slow, creeping feeling of madness that is seeping into your bones. No, you could never notice that when it feels one and a part of you. You don't notice anything really, not until a voice above you lets out a sound of admiration and awe all laced into one exhale.

"Oh," the voice says. "That's a good book."

Your body isn't made to be twisted around but you do it anyway. Testing the limits of how far it will go. And when you crash into deep, soulful brown eyes that look to you like they hold all of the world's greatest mysteries, you freeze. And even though you know time is a theoretical construct and there's no way to actually stop the passing of it, you believe that in this tiny secluded café, time with all its boundaries, halts.

Academically, you know this isn't true. The world still turns, and as much as you wish it, it does not revolve around you. The snow still falls softly to the ground outside, the graceful music pumping through the coffeeshop's stereo is still playing. Nothing truly stops, but something inside of you does.

It takes all you can give to break forth from the haze cast upon you to speak. Speak, dammit! But you're in awe, mesmerized by a sight you've never sensed so well before. You've met countless people, some conventionally attractive, others more idiosyncratically beautiful but none have made you feel like this.

Taehyung describes attraction as something that is either there or it is not. The books describe attraction as a feeling that can make you desire somebody. You've never felt attraction, not like this. You've felt the vague need to be intimate with another but never like this. Like you crave something – someone – you don’t even know.

The person is tall with hard, crystal cut angles and visible confidence. It's with the way he holds himself like he knows his place in the world. Like he never has to question it. It draws you in. Makes you examine him thoroughly from the tip of his fluffy black hair to the heel of his patent leather boots.

He cocks an eyebrow and for a shy of a second, you are highly embarrassed by the fact that you've spent gods-knows how many moments just ogling him. You never ogle. You've quite literally never ogled in your life… until now that is.

You clear your throat and attempt to come off as blasé. Which is hard considering the awkward positioning of your body and the rigorous pounding of your heart in its cage. "It's not a good book. It's a great one. Probably why I read it so much."

"Debating the existence of the old gods, are we?" His voice is laced intrinsically with mirth and amusement.

"More like debating the existence of my life, really."

He chuckles, a sound that fills all the jagged crevices of your soul and body. He moves and you do the same, shifting from your oddly angled position to look at him better. You don't really know how to explain it, this feeling coursing through your veins. Like you know everything there is to know about him, even though you clearly have never met him before.

You clear your throat and will your mind to stop. This is honestly atrocious, outrageous and, frankly disconcerting. It feels like some random spaz has possessed your body and is making you mewl and purr like some damn cat on the street.

"I'm Jungkook, by the way," he finally says when you find the courage to look back up at him. You respond with your name, pronouncing the syllables clear enough so that he doesn't mess it up. But he gets it. And then he tries the name aloud, twisting it around on his tongue. "It is a good day to question our existence, isn't it, __?"

You smile up at him, a different smile from the one you gave Taehyung and Eden earlier. This one comes easily, and it tilts the corners of your lips without feeling faux and fraud-like. You don't even have to try.

"Depends," you say. "Do you consider a cold as shit day in the middle of Winter to be a good day?"

The tips of his lips upturn into an uncanny lopsided grin. One that feels like he's withholding more than he lets on. "A little."

The line in front of him moves and you find yourself watching the way his body propels forward almost gracefully to order a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and extra salted caramel drizzle. It's then that you turn your head back to your table and busy yourself with fiddling with your fingers.

You feel something nudging your chest as if begging you to listen for a hiss in the wind – of a window or door being carefully opened. But you push that away. You have no idea what it means. And now, you're too busy focused with reeling your cheeks back to a substandard level of hot. You're not sure why basic communication with this dude has you channeling the same emotes as one of the schoolgirl children in the movies you watched when you were younger. You're an adult for seven heaven's sake. You are better than this!

Your cheeks and your ears do not agree. Instead, they inflame themselves hotter than ever. What is it about Jungkook that has you willing to sell a piece of your soul just to talk to him? You've never felt like this. Like nothing you say could surprise him, mind the fact that you just met him.

This time you are aware when he strides over to the seat that had Taehyung had previously occupied. You look up at him, into those deep russet eyes that hold flecks of something so beautiful and then you feel it. The magnetic pull of someone enigmatic. Someone that holds simply more. Maybe not for others, but to you.

His backpack loosens around his shoulders and his veiny hands clutch the Styrofoam cup with an ardent need as he speaks. "Would you mind if I sit here?"

Normally you would be repulsed by the question. What would ever possess someone that you don't know to act so familiar? But you don’t think as you motion for him to take it. After all, it wouldn’t feel right to just send him away. There’s a thin thread tangling and stretching between the two of you and you would be damned if you cut it on your own accord.

Jungkook finds himself lowering his body nimbly into the chair in front of you. And then you find yourself discussing more with Jungkook than you’ve spoken with anyone else in years. It feels relaxing — freeing. But also like a cruel joke from the Sun god. Here’s someone that makes you feel somewhat whole but there’s no indication that the two of you are even meant to be. How sad.

He talks as if his mind has no filters; effortlessly switching between topics. Do you play any sports? Piano is about as rigorous an exercise as you can handle and Jungkook laughs as he tells you that he’s Vice-Captain of the Baseball team, although now they’re not participating in any tournaments. The air in your lungs turns frigid when you ask if he attends the same university as you and then the air is goddamn stolen from your lungs when he responds with a yes.

“No way,” you cry. “I would have seen you on campus.”

Jungkook sends you a lazy grin. “You would’ve but I doubt you take your head out of your books often.”

You concede. “Okay… maybe a little. But still, isn’t our school defending champions or something? I’m pretty sure I’ve heard of the team doing well before, just not you in particular.”

“Ah, I get it. I’m not popular enough.” He jokes. “Perhaps I need to print out a flyer of my face and paste it around school?”

“That’d be fun. There’s no way I’d miss you then.”

He laughs, a loud sound that expands the more seconds pass. He laughs as though you’re the funniest person in the room, which you doubt. But you laugh along too.

“So, what do you do for fun?” Jungkook asks.

“Other than the obvious reading and playing the piano?” You tilt your head to the side and scratch the nape of your neck before you continue on. “Well, I’m studying Metaphysics and researching the fundamentals of soulmates. Why some find theirs and why others don’t.”

“That’s fun?”

You shrug, a small smile playing on your lips, but you refuse to apologize for your interests. “To me. I guess it just helps me understand.”

Jungkook seems to soak in your answer, his eyes drifting from your eyes to the top of your head, down to your gray turtleneck and glitzy star-shaped earrings. And you take your time to truly examine his face. How perfectly in line his nose is with the rest of his bone structure. How perfectly his jaw and cheekbones accentuate his physical beauty. And how for some reason he reminds you of what you believe the children of gods looked back when demigods were a thing. His face makes you think regal and heavenly all at once.

“What’s your theory?” Jungkook finally breaks you out of your ogle match.

“My what?”

“Theory,” he repeats. “On why some find their other half and others don’t.”

You bite your lip. Not sure if what you say might offend him. There’s no sign that he has found his soulmate or not and you don’t want to be increasingly insensitive. You do not want to hear another ‘Oh, you just don’t understand.’ Especially not out of his lips. You reckon you won’t be able to bear it. At least not today.

“It’s simple, I guess. It all boils down to has the person merited it? Earned it? The Sun god split us apart because he believed we needed to find the value in our feelings. I guess the ones without soulmates simply haven’t attained that understanding yet.”

Jungkook frowns and your heart thrusts itself into a deep panic. See, now you’ve gone and done it. This is why you hate talking, hate speaking. You ruin people’s moods (much like you do your own) without a second thought and honestly, now that you think about it. This must be why you have yet to find your one. You barely understand the emotions you do have; how can you possibly comprehend others?

After a minute or maybe three, Jungkook takes a big sip out of his drink before he focuses his attention back on you and you feel yourself burning. A light excavating through the muggy mess that is your mind.

“Have you merited it? The other half of your feelings, I mean.”

Is he asking you if you’ve found your soulmate?

“No. Not yet.”

“Oh.” Is all he says but you hear the unsaid meanings. “Personally, I think the god did something terrible by rupturing us apart. What good has it really done anyone?”

You don’t answer. Not only because you don’t have a good response but also because the topic of soulmates has you on edge already. Someone like Jungkook obviously has all his emotions and has found his half, you think. You doubt the two of you are even on the same wavelength on the matter. So, instead of answering you change the direction of the conversation to him and his collegiate baseball career.

And everything after that clusters into a ball of yeses. When he asks you for your number, when he asks you if you’ve heard of Beta Tau Sigma, and subsequently when he invites you to Beta Tau Sigma’s end of the year party later today even though you already promised Taehyung you’d be there.

Suddenly, you wonder if Jungkook and Taehyung are friends, you guess they should be since they are frat brothers, but he never mentioned his name before. So now you wonder if Taehyung has separate friendship circles for those with and without soulmates. You don’t get mad or angry at the thought. But your mood dampens anyway.

“Wanna know what I think?” Jungkook speaks up just as the two of you are packing your stuff from the table. He doesn’t wait for you to say yes; he presses on almost immediately. “There’s no time limit on soulmates. And to believe so is to believe there’s a time limit on life itself. Our whole lives we’ve been told that the old gods exist and that the old gods did this and that and blah, blah, blah. But then they tell us that if we don’t find our other half by eighteen, better yet seventeen, there’s something wrong with us?”

Jungkook laughs but there’s not a shred of sparkle in it. “Us… the people born out of the happenings of gods? Okay, riddle me this. If we are so clinically incapable of finding our soulmates, then why do we long for them anyways? Why would there be pieces of my very soul that feel so incomplete?”

You’re dumbstruck by him. And again, you feel the little tilt in the wind that sounds to your ears like someone is knocking on a door that you can't see. But this time even though you do not have an answer for him, you force yourself to spit something out.

“If I were to find my soulmate this very second, I’d believe you.”

He smiles down at you, the one where his eyes fold into deep crescent moons and again you think that he’s holding out on you. Holding onto a secret that only he knows. “Won't that be amazing.”

The day goes by without you paying attention to much else. You meet with your philosophy professor on the advancement of your thesis paper even though you have no idea what you want to base the paper on. Almost every relation between soulmates and reality has been explored and at times you find that your professor and you clash on too many issues. You grunt through the meeting, walking on thousands of eggshells before you finally head back to your apartment but once you put your feet up on the couch, you get a text from Taehyung.

TAE » Remember, you promised!!

You » ...

TAE » Don't tell me you've forgotten Beta Tau's party slash your birthday bash? You promised!!! People might start thinking I made you up L

Although you know deep in the deepest crevice of your heart that Taehyung doesn’t mean anything harmful by his statement, it makes you squeamish.

You » What's that supposed to mean? Now I'm the token soulmate-less? Bragging about all my deficiencies to your fraternity brothers that I've never met? Be my guest.

TAE » Oh fuck. You know that's not what I meant __. I'd never do that. I didn't mean for it to come off that way.

But it did.

And you’re not sure where this surge of despondency is coming from. Almost like a switch in your psyche has been flipped. Some part of you acknowledges that earlier today, you would not have read that message as anything but harmless. But the situation has changed. It’s like your body is thrumming with unshed resentment. Resentment at who? You don’t know but Taehyung seems to be on the receiving end of it.

It’s this feeling of deep antipathy that propels you into getting dressed for the damn party. Not the fact that it is your birthday, not the fact that there is a slight possibility of finding your soulmate at the wretched place. No. You get dressed because there would be free booze and people stupid enough to pick a fight with you in your current state. Well, maybe not a real fight. But there’s a thrumming in your veins and you don’t know how to curb it. You’ve never felt anything akin to it before. Oh, and maybe the small huge chance that you’ll see Jungkook again.

By the time you get to the Beta Tau Sigma house lined up on Greek Row you are quite literally ready to burst at the seams. The weather is cold as fucking shit and although it stopped lightly snowing, the breeze has you tightening your hold on your navy jacket. What is up with everyone today and being a major dick to you? First, it was your professor, and then it was your neighbor that stopped you on your way out of your apartment to pity the fact that you hadn’t found someone on your twenty-first birthday.

Fuck off, you almost screamed at her. Leave me the fuck alone and go shag your boyfriend in the back of his termite-ridden Honda!

But you’d smiled through it, bearing the stinging of your cheeks as you stretched them past your limit and fisted your palms so hard that you created crescent shapes into your flesh.

And gods, you’re tired of smiling through it. Tired of being told that you’re not allowed to feel anything other than your predisposed emotes. Exhausted with having to always be passive. Nothing is supposed to hurt you. At least not emotionally. But you feel a swelling in your chest like your heart is about ten beats away from finally asphyxiating itself.

You push through the frat house and find Taehyung almost immediately. And you watch with a hint of simmering hatred as he cracks joke after joke and his brothers and friends laugh and you feel more and more isolated between their world and yours. And then the hatred comes to a boiling point when you catch two lovebirds giggling and making out on the sofa next your foot.

You blink and blink and blink again. Coming here was a bad idea. To be surrounded so much by the one thing you desperately want but can't have. The irritation and animosity that’s been brewing within you transforms into something more solemn. Dimming itself down to a feeling of major disappointment. At yourself, at the world, at the cursed Sun god.

The second you're about to pivot the fuck out of there, a pair of eyes to the side of the room fixes on you and you are stunned into a halt.

His eyes say a thousand things at once and you hear it deep in your soul. His eyes rake over your entire body as if looking for the source of your imminent distress but when he comes up short, his pretty lips squeeze together and form words that you suddenly want to be etched onto your very being.

“You okay?”

No one – and you mean this without irony – has ever asked you that in all seriousness. Not your parents, not your friends, and certainly not you. Your parents try, you guess, they know how hard it is to not have a soulmate, but they found each other early and never had to question themselves. Never had to question the essence of their souls.

And that’s when you feel it; a quiver in your lips. You open your mouth in an attempt to say something – anything – but nothing comes out and you close it, only to repeat the motion with no improvement.

Jungkook crosses the room in long strides and before you know it, he is everywhere around you. All black. Black tee-shirt, black cargo pants, black sneakers. You didn’t realize how big he was before but now that you have, you can un-see it. Lean and lithe but strong and sturdy. A walking contradiction. Especially with the light shining from his eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks as he puts his hands on your shoulders and centers you.

You hate, absolutely despise, how watery your voice sounds when you say “Nothing. This party is just so lame that I’m feeling a little off.”

The both of you know how bad your lie is but for some reason, he rolls with it. “Yeah? I was thinking the same thing actually. This has to be the worst thing Tae has ever put on and to think he said it’s supposed to be a birthday party. I could do much better.”

And now you feel utterly terrible. You’d been so ready to rip Taehyung a new one, assumed his prejudice against you for what? Awful. You’re so awful as a person that of course, you haven’t earned the right to find the other half of your emotions. Of-fucking-course.

You’ve never felt so out of your own body before. Who is this impostor that has possessed you and when can you get your body and appropriate feelings back? You need it back before you completely annihilate all your relationships.

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually act like this.”

“Why are you sorry?” He seems genuinely confused.

“I… You probably wanted to have fun with your brothers and all. And here I am just – “

Jungkook squeezes your shoulders hard which forces you to raise your attention from staring at your shoes to gazing at his face. It’s a much-needed distraction from the wobble in your voice and the feeling of cotton in your throat.

“You need some fresh air?” He poses his statement as a question, but you don’t really have a choice in the matter anyway because he slides his warm fingers into yours and although you feel a momentous spark, you let him drag you through the house.

Taehyung notices you then and begins to rush towards you. Perhaps he’s glad that you still came out tonight even though you had a fight with him earlier. Perhaps he’s relieved that you don’t utterly hate him. But you attempt to give him a watery smile that is both apologetic and reassuring, but his eyes fly down to you and Jungkook’s conjoined hands and he pauses.

And it’s not the smile he usually gives you. No. This one closely resembles the ones he reserves for Eden. Like maybe you’ve found your sanctuary. Maybe you’ve come to finally understand.

You scoff at the thought just as Jungkook snatches two Margarita cans from a cooler and pulls you up the stairs and through a hallway that leads to a balcony. When you're outside, he motions for you to take a seat on one of few white benches. Without saying a word, he passes a can to you. You clasp the cold drink between your fingers and revel in the iciness sipping through your flesh.

You've never experienced this feeling of tranquility meshed with a creeping sense of foolhardiness with another person in your life. And you're struggling with how to process it.

“Wanna talk about it?” Jungkook finally breaks the silence, sitting right beside you. The warmth emanating from his body warms you down to your toes and you revel in it.

No. Yes. Fuck. “I don’t know. I’m just being stupid, and it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“I know you're not stupid and it does matter. It matters a lot.”

Great, you think. One more person in the grand universe that you're destined to disappoint. You sigh and stare out at the starless sky. You always hold your feelings in check and rigorously work to not let the few emotions you do have to get the best of you. To not cloud your judgment. But during the course of this whole day, you’ve felt like you're on a ledge. On the precipice between falling and drowning. Like your mind is waging a war against itself.

You are not a crybaby. But even as you think this, you feel wetness at your eyeballs and a stinging in your cheeks, and you blink and blink to try and push it away. But it feels like your body is burning with never before experienced sensations and it scares you. You open your mouth and the choking feeling from before returns, it muddles everything else and you panic. You refuse to cry in front of Jungkook. Not now when you feel so downright weak.

“P-pieces of my –” Against your will your voice cracks. “Pieces of my very soul are so incomplete.”

The corners of your eyes fill up more with tears that you desperately do not want to shed. And it takes everything in you to not raise your hand to swipe the madness away.

Stop! Stop, goddammit! Stop this very instant! You’re above this. Better than this. You didn’t cry when the doctor told you that there was nothing biologically wrong with you, you didn’t cry when your group friends slowly diminished as they found oneness with their partners and others more attuned to them. You didn't cry then, so why are you on the verge of it now of all times and days?

And even though you're trying your damn hardest to not have a full-on breakdown, you feel your body heave and then sniffle. Gods this is so embarrassing. You turn your face away from the sky and instead focus it on the cold can in between your fingers.

You pushed away your feelings until they were stuffed in the darkest parts of your mind and now it seems, they are breaking out without a care in the world about the consequences.

“Remember I told you that my theory has to do with some of us earning the privilege of someone else? I haven't earned it. Heck, I haven't earned anything. I'm passive. I try not to be but investing myself into others has never worked in my favor. All the emotions I do have feel so negative that when I'm around people I can't help but not connect. Because I don't understand half of what they are saying or feeling, and I hate it. I hate it so much.”

You're a piece of work, __, your ex-partners had said. You've dated around before; scavenging for love in uncanny, dim places with people destined to be with others until they finally realized that you were not theirs.

Because everyone eventually did. Realize the oddity of not being empathic. There's something defective about you. You can't seem to find anyone willing to be around you for two weeks talk less of forever. But everyone you'd been with magically happened to find theirs. The stars seem to gravitate away from you like you exude such a power that is so repulsive.

And it hurts. It hurts so fucking much. Like hot coal sliding down your spine and marring flesh. But you can't stop your mouth from speaking, the words tearing the edges of your lips with each choked up sound you exhale. "A part of me doesn't care if I don't have a soulmate, I mean, my life shouldn't be dictated by whether or not I have someone tied to my arm. But the other half of me desperately wants it. I get this ridiculous chasm of sadness when I think about every emotion that I can't experience because I'm not worth it. I've never been worth it."

Your throat is burning. Your eyes are burning. Every part of your body is aching madly but Jungkook doesn't say a thing. Your chest begins the act of carving in on itself and if you didn't know any better you would reckon that your heart is cracking into two halves.

Gods, this is pathetic. You feel so pathetic. All your life you've never felt like the world had conspired against you until this very moment. Like the Sun god had taken a special hatred on you and dumped all these folds of resentment into your soul. You wanted to claw it out.

And for some reason you will never understand, you keep going. As if the cracking of your voice and the upheaval of your shoulders wasn't enough, actual tears started to slip and slide down your cheeks.

“Why the fuck does our society bank on soulmates anyways? What's so great about them that everyone acts like if you don't have one you've been done a great disservice? Why me?" A whole bunch of unfiltered anger bursts inside you and propels you from the bench and a graver sniff infiltrates your voice. "Seven billion people on Earth V12 and you would think that I would be able to find someone in this mess of a world but no. I've wasted twenty-one years of my life without knowing anything. Without feeling anything. I can't do it anymore. I don't want to do it anymore. I want to feel something. Anything. I'm tired of being like –”

Oh, seven hells, you feel like you are dying. Decomposing to dust on the balcony of a fraternity house in the middle of winter in your favorite jeans and so-so high-tops.

It feels like every section of your body is withering away. Rotting. Falling apart and there's nothing you can do to stop the trajectory. Tears pool beneath your chin before they cascade into the neck of your shirt. Your lips quiver so badly you're afraid they might never be the same. If this is what sorrow feels like you hope you never experience it again. It makes you feel gutted.

Your vision becomes so blurry that you can barely make out the dark sky in front of you. Can barely even think. And try as you might, the tears just keep rolling.

You’re not sure of when Jungkook stands up but you feel him wrap his arms around you – tentatively, all-encompassing and fully, and rest his chin on the side of your head. He doesn’t say a word, and maybe it’s because he doesn’t need to. You feel him. The budge on the window sill that leads to your soul. You feel him there. But you want him to let go. There are certain things you acutely feel like you do not deserve, and he is one of them.

“Let me go,” your voice sounds like two trains grinding against each other and it makes you pull away from his embrace. But Jungkook’s arms stretch around your torso.

“No.” Is the soft reply that weighs on your ears. His body is warmer than you want it to be because it's making you feel at home.

“I –”

“It’s okay. You can let it out.” In some kind of way, he feels even closer than before. Like he's impressing himself into your lungs. Like he's giving you the very air that you so desperately need to breathe. Like he's forcing you to bloom and he doesn't care if he has to be the one that solely weeds away at all the nonsensicalities in your chest to make sure it happens.

And maybe some part of him just knows that a part of you is desperate to run away from the unknown because he hugs you harder, tighter, and firmer. So much so that now you can't breathe for different reasons. You don’t know what to do so you let him.

“You don’t need to prove your worth to anyone. Not me, not the gods… no one. And –” You make a move to interrupt him but Jungkook cuts himself off. “Do you feel it?” He asks with his torso pressed against yours and your heart syncing along with his.

“Feel what?” You croak out.

“I can't explain it, that’s why I need you to feel it. It’s every around us you have to, I don’t know, listen.”

You don’t want to, but you do it. You squeeze your eyes shut and wrap your fingers around the Jungkook’s shirt and wait. You wait for the madness in your mind to calm down. You wait for the apprehension in your heart to subside. But nothing happens and you feel worse than before.

“Jungkook,” you start.

“Don’t.” You swear you hear a slight tear in his voice. “Just listen.”

Listen, he says, but what are you even listening for? Here you are, miserable than ever and being told to listen. To the universe? Or listen for that goddamn hiss in the wind again? But all you hear is the sniffles that your chest is releasing and the slight exhale of Jungkook’s hot breath against your cheek. And you don’t know how to explain it. But it is then when you are doubtful and least expect to hear – talk less of feeling anything, that you identify it.

And it’s a beautiful thing. Like two halves of a comet melding into each other to crest a dynamic explosion into your very being. Something that lifts the burden weighing down on your heart and helps you to finally breathe. Breathing in through your nose feels better. Feels easier.

The thread you’d felt before in your mind that had been so tangled and messed up that you could barely discern what it was suddenly fizzled, expanded and stretched out and when you feel for the force at the other end of the cord and come in contact with an aura that reminds you so much of the person in front of you, you are shocked. Better yet, surprised.

You don’t know to explain it. Heck, you’ve never experienced such a colorful array of emotions in your life that for a minute or maybe three, it leaves you dazed and disoriented. It feels like your body is in a vacuum and is receiving dangerous sensations at the speed of light.

It’s burning. Oh, how it's burning. It’s burning through every fiber of your existence but unlike before, this burn doesn’t make you want to choke up and die. Instead, it revitalizes you.

“Do you feel it?” Jungkook asks again.

This time you have an answer that you don’t have to scour for.

“I feel it. I feel it so much. I feel it everywhere. I –” you don’t know whether to cry even harder or laugh at the oddity of the situation and that leaves you in an awkward limbo of both. “Oh, gods. It’s you.”

All the haphazard sensations you’ve been feeling all day. The anger – no lividness –at your neighbor, the overwhelming sadness, the uncharted pettiness at Taehyung with a bare minimum reason to be. It all finally starts to make sense. Everything – or at least, all of that – happened after you’d met him. After you’d been exposed to someone akin to a livewire.

This is nothing like the books said. You’d gone your whole life thinking, believing, that when you met your other half, you’d instantaneously know. Like the skies would crack open and some kind of bell would resound. Now you realize how ridiculously absurd that would be, but it had made sense at the time.

Words lose their meaning in an effort to explain what you feel. Your body is being put back together again. Pieces that you hadn’t realized were even missing suddenly fit into each other. You welcome the tingling in your veins and instead of ignoring the sparks igniting beneath your bones, you embrace it. And oh, it is magnificent.

In this loud, beer-infested fraternity house with slovenly college students pushing against each other downstairs and on the day you turn a striking twenty-one, you find someone that the history and biology and mythology books could have never predicted.

Jungkook’s voice is much softer than before. Is that possible? But it is. And he holds you tighter, holding you like you’re unbreakable.

“To me, you're the moon, the sun – the whole fucking galaxy. I’ve always known you existed, and I’ve waited to find you for a long time. I carried your half with me for so long, how could I not? In the depths of my mind and when I really concentrated about it, I could feel you. Somewhere close but sometimes distant. I held out for you… always. So, you’ll forever be worth it. And you don’t need to earn me, you already have me. You’ve always had me.”

The stain of his words etches itself onto your soul and becomes a part and parcel of you. They quiet the chatter of your heart and bring subliminal teardrops to the crooks of your eyes but this time you don’t mind it. How could you ever mind it?

“So, you’ve always known then?” You don’t sniffle or sob and your voice doesn’t pathetically crack. Instead, you maneuver your face away from his chest so you can see his eyes. In the process, your bodies disentangle and you miss his warmth but this is really happening. And you’re desperate.

He smiles. It's blinding in its glory and it blitzes straight into your core. ��Always. It's destiny; you and me.”

You and him. Him and you. You like the sound of that.

“Even though we had to wait for so long.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes like he’s tired of you thinking about time as some enormous continuum rather than the now. “We have the rest of our lives to be together. I don’t think knowing you a bit earlier would change that. It is what it is. And even if I had to wait five years, fuck, even ten. I wouldn’t give up. Not on you, __. Not on my other half.” He spits the last words out so vehemently you don’t have the audacity to doubt it. “What we have is more sacred than anything in the world. I’d be stupid to let that go without trying.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“And you’re not unloved by anyone in this world so stop thinking that.”

“I was not –”

He sends you an exasperated look, one that you immediately identify because the bond the two of you have defies all logic. One that says that he knows you. He knows that the tears that sprung to your eyes earlier were not simply because you were overwhelmed by everything in the universe but also because you felt like you had lucked out of the love train. Watching your friends find havens with their other halves and seeing that couple giggle on the couch like it was the end of high school all over again, it made you feel desolate. And Jungkook felt that. Somehow in some way, he knew.

“I love you. I’ve only met you and I know that much. So, what about your friends? Your family? They love you too albeit in different ways than what I'm feeling. But no matter how much the Sun god split us apart, I, you – we – have always known that we were made for each other. So, yes. I love you.”

You’re pretty sure your mind all but blows up into a tiny clusterfuck of a mass because you can’t even hear what Jungkook says next. You’re hyper fixated on what he had just said. He loves you? How does he even know that? What was this? Had your brain and ears finally imploded on themselves? Was this alternate reality?

“Do you need me to repeat it?”

What? Huh? What?

“I don’t know what to call it. Maybe love at first sight?” He carries on like you’re not having a self-induced heart attack right before his eyes. “Never believed in that before but then I saw you and gods, you’re the most beautiful person I've ever seen in my life. I sure hope when you saw me it was the same because I have no idea how to describe what you do to me.”

But you understand what he’s saying because you did feel it. You felt so much when you first looked at him and you still feel it now.

“Like everything suddenly made sense. The whole craze about finding soulmates finally made fucking sense. I finally understood.”

You blink and blink so fast that you fear your eyelids might not keep up with the action. You never thought your other half would be a huge, spectacular talker and that they would know just how to steal the breath from your lungs away. But Jungkook knows. You're finding a lot of new things this night and one of them is that Jungkook is a hopeful romantic. It almost makes your body bring on another set of waterworks.

“I love you.” He says the soul-breaking words again. “And I already know that love is malleable but what I feel in my bones is for forever.”

In your bones, transformed out of what had laid dormant you felt Love. All around you love. Like you could mess up, you could do the oddest thing in the universe and the love would still be there. You want to shout it out. For the first time in your little life, you feel love and you want it always. And you want to give it always.

And you don’t know how you know but you know that he’s about to kiss you. Oh, gods. He’s about to kiss you right after –

“I love you too.” You hurl out fast enough and it slows down Jungkook’s advancement towards you. “And I have no idea what I'm doing but I'll do it with you. I don’t trust just anyone but what we have is bigger than trust. Like you said, it’s life itself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I would wait forever for you too.”

“I know,” he says and you don’t run away when he steps closer to your body. And his fingers reach for a set of yours. You raise your free hand to his chest and feel the rapid, erratic beating of his heart in its cage.

“And I've never done this before. But I'll do my best I –”

“We don’t graded,” he cuts you off with a laugh. “And I know.”

He knows.

His free hand cups your cheek and you almost hyperventilate. Almost. But you’d rather die than miss this. So, you take deep, long breaths that inflate your system with the mix of sandalwood, earth, and hope. And then his lips press onto yours and give you a happy death. His lips crush yours with a force reserved for rocks and specks of dust breaking away from comets. His kiss wakes you up. And you love it.

Before you can even push further, his lips move to the side of your cheek, barely-there before it cascades to the other. And then his mouth is on your brow bone, a light presence that feels heavenly beautiful and nerve-wracking all at once before his lips rest on the middle of your forehead.

Jungkook’s lips came back to yours and kissed one corner of your mouth and then the other. Oh, seven hells, you can’t think. You don’t want to either. Instead, you open your mouth and kiss him back with more fervor. You lithely raise on your toes and kiss the apples of his cheeks, his temples, his brow bones, beneath his lips and right on his chin. Gods, it feels like you kiss him everywhere.

The hand on his chest feels how frenzied his heart is pounding and it makes you smile because you’re sure your heart is doing the same. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t need to say anything in this moment because what needs to be said is all around you and under your skin. He reached forward and kissed you again. This time harder, and more frivolous and you gave and gave and took and took. And when the two of you finally break apart for air, you feel a tingle of cosmic goodness down your limbs.

Fuck.

He grins, actually no, he does more than that. He momentarily lights up like a firetruck and pulls you impossibly closer. And you think he has the most beautiful smile in the universe. You want to keep that on his face forever.

“You’re worth it,” you tell him, breathless.

“Worth what?” He asks smugly, his smile turning cocky as he acts like he doesn’t know.

You roll your eyes, your shoulders shaking as you laugh. A genuine one that warms your belly. “Worth the wait.”

a/n » hooo my god, this is the first thing i’ve written in about a year? and it feels so good to write and even better to pour my soul into this soulmate au. i really hope y’all loved it!! and please do tell me what you think! 

⇢ masterlist

©️ 2019 kai, moonbelt [aka high-on-food]

[writingonesdreams]

The tears of silver night

About a dragon and a boy mourning in different ways and together. 

This takes place after the ending of 5th Magic, not sure if it will be canon or not. You don’t have to know the wip to understand, but I do wonder what you would think if you do. :D I dreamed about this the whole week and I loved writing it now in one go.

Sometime he just wants to run away.

Not to be who he is, not to be where he was left behind. It's impossible to do for long though.

The presence of his parents is everywhere. Their legend hangs in the air like a heavy cloud before a storm, their names whispered in admiration. The legacy of the changes they brought to the world, the wars they ended, the storms they stilled. 

And Alec, their only 8 year old son. 

It's not like he has time to be lonely. There are countless big brothers and sisters that have either worked with or under his famous parents, people that are all too eager to help. All those mentors, students and fans that would do anything to be in his presence, all those family friends that promise him a bright future and believe in his uniqueness.

He doesn't care about being special. He would much rather be normal and had his parents around. 

It's not fair. It's not fair they gave themselves up to the world and didn't think to leave anything for their own child.

Shouldn't he had the priority right? For their time, attention and care? 

Those people, they don't understand. His uncles, those that look almost exactly like his father don't understand him, they aren't him. Nor do the generals, his mom's most trusted comrades. 

He is alone in his anger, one that the world wouldn't agree with.

Alec runs along the shore, kicking the stones on the way into the sea. Sea, his mother's favorite place. Even in death, he can't be free of her presence in everything she cherished. 

He runs until he can't breathe, until the lights and chatter no longer reach him. There, between the reefs, only with the annoying sound of clashing waves, does he sit down, his lungs burning so much he can't do more than breathe in the salty air. It's in pain he realizes the present the most, the overwhelming pain of senses and body.

It brings him peace to feel it on the outside. He can't deal with the other one. It's like he is frozen inside, numb where the love is supposed to be, with a blanket of anger over it and whirlwinds of frustration around he doesn't understand. 

He sits in silence watching the sun coming down, relishing the pain of the itching rocks and biting cold.

That's when he sees it. A flicker of silver between the rocks, the scraping on the sand. 

Crouched on the ground, he crawls forward, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

There is a dragon on the beach.

Just as few meters away, in all his magnificence. Long snake-like body glitters in all shades of white, silver and gold, a thick dark mane and a almost dog like muzzle. His legs are so short compared to his length, but ending with impressive bent claws. 

Alec almost forgets to breathe. He never saw so much dangerous beauty all at once.

The dragon doesn't look peaceful. It scrambles on the rocks, coiling between the reefs, his tail slashing restlessly.

Alec heard about dragons. They were the most powerful magical spirits, beings of pure magic with their own will. They have been invisible for most humans, even the most skilled mages. 

You had to see the world in a special way to be able to perceive them. Feel the magic for its viability. And they had to be very strong, wanting to be seen. It was only possible in places where energy flow was strong and many mages with an open presence and clear minds were around.

Alec isn't sure he counts as either. He is still a child and his mind is anything but open and clear right now. 

The dragon twists its head sideways. Alec lowers himself a little more down, chin scuffing the ground. 

The dragon sniffs the air and turns its head - and for a moment he can't measure, Alec can see only his endless shining eyes. There is no name for those colours, they change in chaos of sparks and shadows. Frozen in fear and fascination, he felt like the dragon could see right into his soul. 

And then it is over. The dragon turns and springs away right into the sea and disappears in the waves, his long tail and slender body slipping out of sight. 

Alec goes home that night feeling weirdly satisfied. Like he has found something that is finally only his.

###

Alec keeps returning to the rocks. Looking for the dragon is probably not a smart idea. He doesn't have to like humans, he might even hurt him if he keeps bothering him. But Alec can't make himself worry. Or feel anything much at all. 

So he looks between the rocks, climbs the reefs until he finds a small clearing between the high pointy edges. Alec can feel the magic of this place, mixing in with the ocean's weight and salty wind. This would be an ideal place for a magical spirit.

So he waits. He waits until dawn, when the dragon comes again. Emerging from the sea, shaking the water out of its mane. 

He curls in the clearing, stretching its long snake body. Then he keeps still, watching over the height reefs into the water. 

There is something melancholic about the sight, a taste Alec can't quite name, but recognizes as familiar. If he felt something, he might have felt like this beast.

The dragon clips his ears, as if hearing Alec’s loud breathing, flipping its tail in annoyance. But it doesn’t move away or nearer and soon lies down to rest, ignoring the boy behind him.

Alec takes it as a permission. 

###

He keeps coming back not really knowing what he expects to happen. In the blur of the days that follow, he doesn’t remember and he doesn’t care for anything else, but sneaking away to see the dragon.  

Each day he dares to come a bit closer, until the dragon shifts uneasily or jumps away and Alec knows to keep his distance for a few days before trying again.

His parents left something amazing behind, made a mark on the world and yet he hides alone, not wanting to be reminded, not feeling proud.

It bothers him sometimes, but he doesn’t want help. There is no relief to be found in this. They are everywhere, but they are never really here and it’s tiring to realize it every day. 

###

Days get longer with the nearing summer. He is glad he doesn’t have to leave, that these people would do anything to keep him happy, even if he doesn’t know what that is other than staying away. 

It hurts them, being pushed away and he doesn’t want to hurt them. What is he supposed to do? 

He doesn’t think the dragon understands him any better. They do, and they are right there, inside, waiting for him, wanting him and Alec knows he is lucky to have them. He should feel thankful and at peace.

But he only feels at peace right here, with the only being that doesn’t care. Doesn’t care who he is, what’s wrong with him or how he is feeling. The dragon doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t welcome or chase him away. 

He isn’t expecting him to throw tantrums, burst into tears or shut the doors. Isn’t waiting for his undeniable talent to show. Not for his blood to prove its worth or start taking over the legacy left behind.

The dragon doesn’t care and so Alec doesn’t feel so wrong, being just himself. 

###

“He always comes here and yet you never talked? Not even once?”

Wes wriggles restlessly, rubbing his hands along his arms as if he is cold in his human form, despite the clothes that always appear alongside it. 

“Kid doesn’t need talking. He has you for that.”

“That’s the thing. He hardly talks at all. Always has this bored stoick expression on his face. All he does is so mechanical, like he is on autopilot.”

“Kyler was the same.”

“Yes!” Grayson throws his hands into the air and starts pacing in a circle. “But he was a clone with years of abuse behind him! The kid has everything he didn’t. That we didn’t. He was born, not created, he is loved where we were just sharpened into shape.”

Grayson paces a bit more, feeling the dragon’s colour changing eyes on him. It’s easier to read the annoyance in his human face. 

“I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” He says curtly, knowing the dragon doesn’t have the patience to listen to him for much longer. 

“He is not like his parents then.” 

“Who else would he be like?” What a stupid statement. 

Wes shrugs and stands up, having enough for one day. 

###

Wes isn’t sure what he is so angry about, but he can’t stand humans anymore. He doesn’t want to be near them, doesn’t want to see the familiar faces or show off. 

Not when Acacia and Kyler aren’t among them. 

Diving into the sea and losing himself in the currents became his favourite escape. The flashy mage world seems so far away in the immersive but endlessly silent deepness of water. Their annoying songs, talks and noises from the beach muffled in this dimension, where sight, smell and sound feel so different. 

It’s the only escape he has left, since Acacia has taken his joy of flying from him. He can’t go to the sky without thinking of her, how she held his horns, laughed as he twirled in the clouds, her golden hair flying behind her.

The kid doesn’t look like her. His hair is too dark, his features too sharp and his eyes are the wrong shade of gray.

Kyler has taken lighting from him. The Pulsor mage loved hearing the thunder, being close to storms. His heartbeat in sync with the pulse of the sky, when he teleported high into the clouds and wanted to race the dragons. 

Such an arrogant fun mage. They don’t make mages like this these days.

His brothers are so boring, don’t have the same spark in their eyes as their clone.

The kid isn’t like him either. Hair isn’t raven black, but a muddy brown-blond, and his nose and cheeks are too much like Acacia’s.

Alec just isn’t them. 

Wes wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn’t show him his human form. He has had enough of it for next couple of centuries. He answered to Grayson out of respect for his brother, but he would stop coming to his calls like a faithful dog soon enough.

Dragons weren’t meant to be around humans anyway. Getting involved in their petty insignificant little lives was the worst mistake he has ever made. Letting himself care about them, knowing their time wouldn’t last even a breath of his out of nature. And sometimes not even that. 

Yet he can’t turn the kid away. 

At first he was curious, wanting to see if there was anything left from his parents. But the kid was a strange mix, both and none at the same time and it just makes him anxious now. But he can’t make himself leave for too long, knowing he is there. 

###

The kid doesn’t talk, but it wants to be close. Wes doesn’t know why, would prefer it if he didn’t.

But he looks so excited, crawling a bit closer each time, until they are foot apart. And he reaches his hand and touches him at the side. Pulls away quickly, like burned, before trying again. 

The feel of a human hand running along his scales is a unique feeling you won’t get anywhere else but from the humans themselves. Wes is surprised he missed it, thinking he would not allow it again. That no one else would be worth bearing it for.

The kid looks happy, genuinely happy for once and his smile is not like Acacia’s, not like Kyler’s.

But it’s neat anyway.

###

The kid talks sometimes now. About his day, about his friends in school. About what changed and what didn’t.

Wes falls asleep to his chatter each time, somehow appeased by his voice, by the life returning into it. 

As he does, sometimes he can hear Acacia in his tone. Her philosophical, abstract thoughts, how she noticed things that no one else did. 

It jolts him awake each time, in delighted surprise she is back, followed by horror of the realization she isn’t right after. 

The boy moves closer, when it happens, as if he needed soothing from a child. As if it would help.

###

When the kid comes back all sullen and angry, he finds himself resisting the urge to turn into the human form. To ask him, to talk, to calm him like humans do.

But it’s not a human he needs. Acacia didn’t either.

So he does what a dragon would do. He pushed his head under his arm, nudges him towards his back, lets him wrap his arms around him, before leaping.

He goes for the sea, because the sea helps, muffles the reality of the shining world.

Being careful of the boy’s breathing, he leaps and dives and flows with the currents and against them. And the boy is smiling at the end. He flashes him Kyler’s smile, Acacia’s eyes shining with joy. It’s them both and none, and somehow he feels comfort and not anger this time around. 

###

“Alec is getting better. Did you talk to him yet?”

“I don’t need to.”

Grayson rolls his eyes.

“Just wanted you to know, whatever you are doing is helping. He talks more, smiles more. Less like a robot now.” He nods his head. “They would have been grateful to you.” 

“I’m not doing it for them.” 

Kyler’s brother raises a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Did Alec grow on you that much?” Grayson laughs. “He truly is his parents’ child.” 

“He is not them. You should stop seeing him that way. Maybe he would be more with his own and less with me then.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” The pitch in Grayson’s voice tells Wes it does. 

###

The thought hunts him. If he wasn’t a legendary dragon, a rare sight, would the kid still come?

If the kid knew he was like all the humans, comparing him, looking for shadows of his parents in him, would he turn away? 

He keeps away from the shore for a few days, writhing in doubts. 

No. He isn’t like the stupid humans. A dragon is a dragon and he won’t be ashamed of it. A dragon only does what he feels like doing. It wasn’t because of the kid he wanted to be in his true form. 

Wes was wrong about something else. 

It’s not just a random kid or their kid - he is so much more. It’s a boy that likes similar things, who sometimes acts like them and sometimes doesn’t. Who knew them, but also didn’t. Being someone new, combining them, surpassing them. He can’t be exactly like them, because he is his own person. 

Yet they are also part of him, inside him and Wes understands now. Humans aren’t as fragile as he thought. Loving them isn’t a waste of time. They are immortal in their own way. 

It’s not him. 

It’s Alec.

Wes wants to call him by his name. And Wes is a dragon.

### 

Alec didn’t see the dragon in a few days. He looked for him, waited for him at the shore.

He wouldn’t break the tradition. If the dragon needs time, he will wait for him.

It isn’t so hard to be around the others anymore. His parents’ shadow still feels suffocating sometimes, but the veil lifted a bit. 

He doesn’t act like them. He can’t. He doesn’t want to. 

But he is still loved. They didn’t turn away, and he believes when they say they never will. Uncle Grayson, uncle Casey and all his aunts and big brothers and sisters.

They loved his parents. His parents loved him. He will be loved too. 

“Hey there, Alec.”

He turns to the new voice. A young guy with blond hair, symmetrical features and amber eyes. They change colors, turn dark when he smiles. 

Alec sees the dragon in the human face and grins right back. 

[courageouslyfearless]

Summer Storm ☀ Sehun

Pairing: Sehun x Reader  Genre: fluff; implied sex Word Count: 1.5k  

You had always hated storms. But even more the ones during the summer. Those were the worst. The fear started when you were very young and it had grown as you did as well. The one raging on outside at this moment was particularly nerve-wracking. Thunder shook everything all the way down to your bones. You were grinding your teeth together as lightning painted sparks of white across the sky. You looked away from the dreary picture outside the window and hugged your knees close to your chest, burying your face in the space between them.

You were scared.

Yes, the storm was bringing to life unrealistic kind of fears, but that wasn't what was worrying you the most. Sehun had left an hour ago to pick up that stupid chocolate cake that you loved, because you had mentioned you were craving it. You regretted the comment instantly as he perked up from the dining room chair and announced he would go get it for you.

He was sweet. Always had been. But he had been particularly sweeter the past few weeks and you could feel yourself swooning every time he looked at you.

The truth of the matter is, when you had started dating him, you weren't particularly over your ex yet. You had warned Sehun of this fact and he promised it did not matter to him. He swore to change the way your heart felt and he did so with possibly the gentlest kiss you'd ever received. In other words, it had been impossible for you to say no.

You felt guilty for quite some time, especially on the days when your past love's face appeared to you in your dreams. But that was months ago. You no longer felt this way. Sehun had kept his word. He now resided permanently in your heart, with no space or even a corner left for any other man. You hadn't spoken to him about it yet. Not because you were afraid to tell him, but because you figured he would know already and there was no need for it. Not even two weeks ago you had agreed to move in with him and a few days later you were both sharing a home.

Home. You never thought you'd get to have one. But he had built one within you and you carried its warmth with you wherever you went.

So now, when the sky threatened to crack in half and fall down with the rain that showered the glass window of your living room, you had more than the fear of the storm raging outside. Because Sehun had been gone for so long and you had started fearing the worst.

That same fear stopped you from calling him. You imagined him driving in this weather and you'd hate to be a distraction on top of an already difficult task. So you waited.

But the fear in your heart grew by the second and before you'd know it, tears hugged the slope of your cheeks. The roar of thunder swallowed the creak of your front door opening, a drenched Sehun slipping inside the safety of what you guys called a home.

You were still on the couch, face covered by your own hair that fell down like a curtain over your wet eyes, when he noticed your sitting figure as he closed the door behind him.

He knew you hated storms. It hadn't started raining when he left, the downpour came when he was half way to the grocery store. He knew he had to get back to you as quickly as possible, for he didn't want you to be alone when the storm started. He had no such luck. So when he saw you sitting, face buried in between in your knees, he rushed to your side, placing the cake he had gotten you on top of the coffee table in the center of the room.

"Hey baby."

Something in you chest clenched at the sound of his voice as you felt a pair of arms covering you protectively. You quickly look up at him and he finally notices the tears trailing down your face. He frowns as he pulls your body to him, so that your head can rest comfortably against his chest. Through the fabric of his soaked shirt, you feel the rapid pacing of his heart.

"It's okay, honey. I'm here. You're okay. It's just a storm."

He whispers soft words of comfort and you shake your head against his chest, looking up at him again, placing a hand on his face, his skin is still glistening with the rain that he'd encountered.

"I was worried about you." That's all you say as the rest of your words get stuck on the lump you feel at the back of your throat. His expression softens and he covers your hand with his, keeping it against his cheek.

"I'm safe and I'm here with you. You no longer have to be worried or scared." He smiles at you with pure fondness and you feel your heart fill with joy. You couldn't help it, he had a way of making you feel full. In every sense of the word. You felt so consumed with emotions that you could no longer keep it caged in. The truth didn't beg its way out, it tore itself to freedom before you could do anything about it.

"I love you so much, Sehun." Your voice was barely a whisper, but he heard you. You knew because his eyes drew closed into the shape of half crescent moons as his smile widened.

His hand leaves yours, and you miss the warmth of its contact immediately. You don't have enough time to feel its absence because the next thing you know, he is cupping your face with both palms, inching closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes for a second and open them up to meet his gaze.

"I love you too." The words came out with a rush of relief and you can't help but smile up at him.

Still smiling at you, his eyes study your face long enough for you to feel heat spread over your face in the form of a blush. This makes his grin wider.

"God, I am so in love with you," he says. He follows this with a soft kiss on your lips. "Thank you." He repeats the words again and you giggle as another kiss is gifted to you. Before he can pull away again to speak, you link your hands around his neck and pull his face close to you. He doesn't try to pull back, instead he meets your mouth with his without hesitation. You can feel his love through that kiss. The way it felt like falling in love with Sehun was the way he kissed as well. Its tempo was slow, the pressure gentle, his tongue patient but persistent in the tug of war that brought forth a sigh of contentment from your very soul.

He continues kissing you, the motions that started light and sweet, slowly becoming deeper and more passionate. Without unlinking your mouths, his hands travel from your face down to your shoulders and continue their path down your back. His touch on your bare skin, where his fingers find the hem of your shirt, is warm. He doesn't take the clothing garment off. After all this time, he still never assumes he can do anything in regards to your body without permission or unless you start it first. You loved that about him.

After being with guys who thought they owned you and your body because you were in a relationship with them, him respecting you this way was something that you thought you could never get accustomed to. But also something that you now expect only because it's Sehun and this is his way of loving you.

You nod your head in consent and you feel as he maneuvers his hand under the fabric, pulling the shirt up slowly as his touch leaves a trail of warmth on its path up your spine. His mouth leaves yours for exactly three seconds as he helps you pull the cloth over your head and throws it on the floor. His mouth covers yours again in an even more fervent kiss, pushing you back until you were laying down on the couch.

He loved you then. His skin against yours, joined in every way bodies, hearts and souls could. He loved every inch of you that you allowed. He reveled in your love for him as well. In the mist of breathless words and trembling limbs, you felt overwhelmed with everything that you shared with Sehun. Swiftly a passing thought nagged at you. How could you have ever loved someone before him? How could you have ever thought to love anybody else? No guy before him and no guy after him could love you this way.  Or you him.

Outside of the living room window, rain poured from the skies, like a blanket covering the lands. Lightning lit up the dark clouds in a grandiose display of brightness. Thunder rumbled loud and unforgiving. And with it came an epiphany; Sehun and only Sehun could make you forget that you were afraid of storms.

____________________________________________________

A/N: I am so soft. Don’t mind me. 

Also, here’s my masterlist. If you care. Hope you enjoyed :)

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 27

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

—

Wednesday, cont’d

Hands in his pockets, Malcolm wandered his way through the house, ruminating on the letter Wally had left him.  In no uncertain terms it had laid out the entire plan, his uncle’s intention behind it, and what was expected of him going forward.

He wanted to be mad- he wanted to rage and scream, to curse Wallace for his meddling, to say to hell with it all and leave, never to return.  Unfortunately, the last paragraph removed the righteous cause of his anger, leaving him feeling empty, small, and ultimately sad.

At the end of it all, you are the son I never had.  Watching you grow and flourish, as a father and a man, has been one of my greatest joys.  Your selflessness knows no bounds, nor does your capacity for love.  I recognize that my methods are unorthodox, but I trust you know my intentions are pure.  You and Rose belong together in every sense of the concept, but I know your heart, your fears.  She does love you, you fool, and all the world can see it – except for you.  Though, if you’re reading this, you do now.  I would not have gone to these lengths if you had only forgiven yourself for the past, and allowed your future to begin.

Above all else, be happy – you have a second chance at love, which not all do.  Use it well.  Treasure her always, and think of me from time to time.

Wallace

P.S.  I expect you to name your first son ‘Wallace’, though I’ll forgive you if it’s a middle name.

Without consciously heading there, he found himself standing outside the art gallery.  His great-grandfather had been an art collector, and most of his acquisitions still hung as he’d arranged, in and amongst family portraits.

I suppose we’ll have to have our portraits done as Lord and Lady, Malcolm mused, standing in the hallway with his hand on the doorknob, not quite ready to enter.  He hadn’t meant to go there, but he knew Rose was inside, and had been drawn to her like a moth to the flame.  I owe her an explanation for my attitude today.

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside, equally disappointed and relieved she wasn’t in the first room.  Disappointed because he longed to be next to her always, and relieved to have a few more moments to compose himself, uncertain of what he would say or do when he found her.  Crossing the room in long strides, he headed for the door that connected to the second room, finding it slightly ajar and hearing Rose’s voice from the other side.

He paused to be sure he wasn’t interrupting, heart dropping at Rose’s words.

“But that’s just it, Clar, I don’t know.  He’s been so weird since we got here.  I have no idea what he’s feeling.  I mean, he acts like we’re… you know… in some ways, and in others, nothing’s changed except now we have sex!”  She paused, and could hear the eyeroll in her sigh.  “You’re my best friend and I’m in crisis.  You can deal with me talking about shagging your father for one conversation.  If nothing else, you owe me for everything I had to hear at uni- you were not as quiet as you thought you were.”

He could hear his daughter’s squawk from where he was, though not any words.

“Yes, I love him, but I can’t tell him,” Rose said, with the impatient air of someone tired of repeating herself, making his heart leap.  “What if he doesn’t?  I did make the first move!  I agreed to marry him, I invited him into my bedroom under the most obvious ruse known to man- I don’t know how to make it more obvious without saying the words!  He needs- I need him to say it first.  I can’t.  I just- I can’t.”

Heart pounding, a wide smile on his face, Malcolm backed out of the room; he’d heard all he needed to.

Now it was time to plan.

-

Thursday

“Rose,” he murmured, brushing her face out of her hair.  “Time to wake up.”

She whimpered, turning to face into the pillow, making him laugh softly.

“Wake up, sweetheart.”  Leveraging himself up he rained kisses over her hair, the only part of her accessible.  “I have a surprise for you.”  It had been a solid twelve hours since she said she loved him (though not to him), and he was still in awe of that fact.  They loved each other, truly, and it was time for her to know as well.

“Nooooo,” she whined.  “Shag later, sleep now.”

Malcolm snorted.  “It’s not that, it’s a real surprise.  C’mon, you’ll miss it.”

“Fuck you.”

It may have been a result of his unbridled joy and love, or maybe his lack of sleep, but he found her stubbornness in this moment absolutely adorable.  “I promise it’s worth getting up for, my love,” he told her.

That got him a reaction; face turning slightly, one eye opened to peer up at him suspiciously.  He just smiled in response, and after a moment, she groaned, rolled over to her back, and sat up, pushing her hair out of her face.  “Do I need to change?”

“Yes, but loungewear is fine.  You’re changing for temperature only,” he said, hurrying around to her side to help her out of bed.  “I already laid things out for you.”

With an unimpressed expression, equal parts sleepy and mutinous, she did as he asked, pulling her nightgown over her head without any hesitation.  He focused on helping her find her way through the sweatpants and hoodie; there would be time for ogling later, once she Knew.  Kneeling, he guided her feet into her Uggs, before standing and offering her his hand.

“Where are we going?” she asked, a little more awake now- enough to be suspicious, apparently.  “Wha’s goin’ on?”

“Just… trust me.”

“Fine,” she said after a moment.  “But I’m gonna need tea.”

He just smiled, leaning forward to kiss her forehead.  “I know.”

-

Still yawning, Rose curled around the thermos he’d brought, leaning into his side as he drove down the dark road.

They hadn’t gone too far when he turned off, on the side with the water, and parked the car.

“What’re we doing here?”  She trusted him absolutely, but everything about the situation seemed right out of a true crime show episode.

Perhaps sensing her hesitation, he smiled kindly down at her.  “We’re going to watch the sunrise out over the Sea.”

“The Sea?”  They got out, and he held her hand, guiding her down the path to the water while carrying a picnic basket.

“North Sea- we’re only about 14 miles from the coast.  By the time we get down there, the sun will be almost ready.”

She stopped walking, peering up into his face in the dark.  “You’re taking me out to the North Sea to watch the sunrise.”

“Yes.”  His tone shifted, coming across unsure as he asked, “Is that okay?”

Surging up on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips firmly against his for a fleeting moment, grateful for the dark as her cheeks flushed.  “Very much so.  Now, lead on.”

The dock came into view then, a solitary light pole illuminating the area, and she gasped at seeing the boat tied up.  “Is that a yacht?”  For reasons unknown she’d been expecting something small, perhaps a dinky little rowboat, though in hindsight that seemed absurd to travel fifteen miles out to sea in.

“Technically it’s a ‘cabin cruiser’.  Difference is in the size.”

“That’s what she said.”

He shot her an amused glance as they stepped carefully onto the dock.  “This is the cleverly-named Gallifrey II.  It’s a good twenty years old, but still in good condition.  Jack takes her out every so often, oversees her maintenance.  I promise it’s safe.”

Relatively-speaking she knew it wasn’t particularly large, but it had a little deck at the back, and appeared to have an indoor section.  It looked like something she’d seen on telly, showing marinas throughout the world.  It didn’t show it’s age, looking bright and clean, though if Jack was using it to romance his boyfriend, she would expect nothing less.

“Right,” Malcolm said brusquely, leaning over the side to put the basket on out of the way, “ready?”

A little nervous, but willing to trust him, she let her tongue peek out from between her teeth.  “Depends.  Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

He just laughed, offering her his hand.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

-

Rose burrowed further into the woven blanket, moving the edge of it to cover her nose.  It was cold, sailing out to sea in the dark.  Malcolm was at the helm, steering the boat, and she’d chosen to stay with him, perched on the small seating area on top of the boat, right behind him.  She could barely see him, mostly just an outline, but she still felt safe and cozy despite the temperature.  Her better judgement was telling her to go down into the cabin out of the cold, but she resisted the urge, choosing instead to stay with her husband, watching the lights along the coast zip by.

Her nerves were doing their best to keep her warm though, as she wondered what this all meant.  The idea of it was certainly romantic, and she was hoping for a confession of love, something to put her fears to rest and allow her heart to be free, but she was trying to temper those hopes so she wouldn’t be disappointed if she was wrong.

She wanted to be right.

“Just another minute or so,” Malcolm called behind him as the coast seemed to curve.  “I want to make sure we’re out of the way, but with no view obstructions.”

“Okay,” she shouted back, unsure if he could hear her.  Other boats were in the waters now, ones like theirs, fishing boats, and ferries all starting their day early as well.  She could just hear shouts and calls in the distance, see people greeting each other as if they were passing on the street instead of at sea.  She hadn’t been on the boat all that long, but already she could picture them taking sailing trips, exploring the world by sea, maybe with a few sleepy children pressed up against her, waiting for the sun to rise as they did now.

She liked the image.

The noise of the engine abruptly cut, dropping to almost nothing, as Malcolm made his way back to her.  “Here’s as good a spot as any, I think,” he said, picking up the basket and setting it on the seat next to her.  “Budge up, let me behind you.”

They shifted around, eventually settling with him in the corner, Rose snug up to his front and the blanket encircling both of them.  His arms were tight around her waist, holding her close, and she felt… loved.  The words were on the tip of her tongue when he inhaled sharply.

“Look.”

She followed his fingers to a spot where the darkness seemed to be lightening.  Slowly the sun rose as they sipped at their tea, Rose relaxing back into his comfortable chest and strong grip.  This is heaven.  Those three words hovered on the tip of her tongue; so strong was the urge she said nothing lest they slip out of their own free will.

It didn’t take long for the sun to clear the horizon, bathing everything in beautiful hues of pink and orange, so spectacular it belonged on a postcard.

“What did you think?” Malcolm murmured in her ear, once the best of it was over.  “Worth getting up?”

She turned so she could see him, careful to not disturb their nest of blankets too much and let the cold air in.  “Oh, it was incredible.  Thank you.  I just- there are no words.”  That was a lie; there were three, but she didn’t dare risk ruining the moment.

Malcolm smiled back, but it faded quickly as his eyes searched hers, making her heart pound in anticipation.

Say it, her heart whispered to him.  Tell me, so I can tell you, and we can be happy forever.  Say it.  Please.

“Rose…”

Here it is!

“We need to talk.”

What?

[lightscameramagicrp]

Welcome to Behind The Magic, Annie. We really loved your app for Roxanne Taylor with the FC of Alexandra Park and we can’t wait to see what you do with them! Please look at our checklist and send in your account within 24 hours. We’re excited to see more of you here at Lights, Camera, Magic!

PLAYER INFORMATION

Name: Annie

Preferred Pronouns: Alien

Age [18+]: 384

Timezone: the dark ages

How did you find us?: I beat the info out of a russian spy

CHARACTER INFORMATION

Name: Roxanne Taylor

Faceclaim: Alexandra Park

Age: 25

Birthday: August 11th 1994

Species: Shapeshifter ( owl & caracal(wild cat))

TV Show & Occupation:

Actress

Blair Radcoff, Tales of Terror.

Clarisa Reed, Weather the Storm.

Ariel Curry, After the Storm.

(pick any ½, these are just the ones that stuck out to me the most)

BIOGRAPHY:

TW: Death, slaughter, blood, adoption, drug abuse, alcohol, psychologists, general trauma.

Queue the music to Arizona Zervas, god damn, Roxanne, all she wanna do is party all night xo

Right from the get-go, Roxanne’s life was a rollercoaster. She was found bundled in a blanket coated in blood and surrounded by a litter of slaughtered bodies by two hikers moving up the Cradle Mountain in Tasmania, Australia. The discovery made headline news for weeks as investigations went underway to figure out what exactly happened and why the traumatized 4-year-old was the only survivor. The hikers who found her were Australian councillors for the educational research programme. They were also a young couple who had been struggling for three years to conceive a child of their own. With only a knitted blanket with her name, Roxanne to go on, officials followed medical records from the deceased. From there and discovered that she was Roxanne Taylor and the litter of dead around her included all living members of her family, parents and several extended members. Unable to let Roxanne fall prey to the system, the wealthy couple went through every legal channel they had to until finally, almost a year later, permission was granted for them to legally adopt her, and so, Roxanne Taylor, as they chose to keep her surname out of respect for her lost family, now had two new people to call family.

The transition into her new life left her non-verbal and naturally, still traumatized by her ordeal. She saw psychologists three times a week but the only way she communicated was through pictures, which most of the time was only red crayon that represented the bloodshed she could still remember so clearly. Strangely enough, though, Roxanne took to her adopted parents very well, presumably recognising them as her saviours. It was everyone else she was grossly petrified of. Any time she would see someone in a black hoodie she became inconsolable and hysterical with terror. To say she had issues would be an understatement and yet, the couple never once lost patience with her, which turned out to be Roxannes saving grace. After three more long years and nightmares every night, something happened that nobody ever expected. The couple fell pregnant and birthed a baby boy. Worried that Roxanne wouldn’t accept him into the fold, a team of psychologists were on call when the couple came home with the little baby in their arms. It came as a surprise to everyone in the room when her face lit up with joy not only did she present them with a family drawing that included the baby, she spoke her first word in three years: brother. It was a shocking breakthrough and from there on, things started looking up. Her trauma faded more and more into the background with every week that went by and Roxanne slowly began to resemble what people would say is a normal child, happy, kind and loving.

She doted on her parents and her brother and enjoyed travelling around the world whilst they worked, Africa, Aisa, India, Dubai, there was nothing Roxanne wanted that she wasn’t offered. So you could say, she lived happily ever after but of course, happiness as pure as that would always be short-lived. She was thirteen when she accidentally shifted into a caracal (wild cat) that she had found herself studying earlier that day. And of course, she didn’t shift in private, but in the middle of a hotel lobby whilst they were in Africa. Traumatized all over again, everything she’d suppressed by her glowing love came bubbling back to the surface. The difference this time? Her parents had absolutely no idea how to comfort her and Roxanne has never forgotten that flicker of fear in their eyes when they saw her shift. Logically she can understand it, but in her head she can’t help but see it as a betrayal. She began to notice that although they tried not to treat her differently, they did. She was no longer allowed to be alone in the same room as her little brother and if she ever threw a tantrum, the parents would stiffen up as if they feared she was going to shift into a tiger and rip them apart. And then it hit her, one earth-shattering thought that she’d never even considered before: they think I’m the beast who tore my biological family apart. No amount of family therapy sessions managed to convince her that they still accepted and loved her the way they used to even in spite of their research and ongoing adoration. With the discovery of another shapeshifter and a meeting with him, the parents learned everything they needed to know about what Roxanne was and how to deal with it. So, by sixteen she supposed she could appreciate that they were actually trying, but the damage in her mind was already done.

The sweet, innocent girl began to slip away, replaced by a rebellious, law-breaking, drug-taking, alcohol drinking teenager. She did whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted and the worst part? She was so incredibly crafty about it, nearly always managing to hide her antics from her parents. It was easy enough considering they never questioned the money she spent, even when it cost thousands. Roxanne did manage to complete an acting school course, figuring that’s what she wanted to do with her life. Dressing up and pretending to be someone she isn’t? Easy, she does it all the time. She landed small-time roles here and there but it wasn’t until 2018 and the worldwide reveal of supernaturals that she felt her calling: Vancouver. A place she could be herself, a place she could fit in. It didn’t take much to persuade her parents to let her leave Australia and set up home in Canada, especially not after they discovered her drug habits, some might say they were secretly pleased she wouldn’t be leaving her drugs around their home anymore. Roxanne moved in the fall of 2018, landing her first role at LCM studios only a couple months after that. Once more, things began to look up, for the first time in her life she felt like she belonged to something. The move only inspired her to learn more about her supernatural status and everything about everyone else along the way. Her two shift forms are a caracal and an owl and she enjoys the freedom that comes from being in her animal forms.

She’s still not without her issues and by now? It shows. Whilst most people know her as someone who will do anything for you, they also know she tends to be a reckless adrenalin junkie. Or maybe just a junkie in general. Over the last two years, she’s checked herself in and out of rehab three times, never sticking out the duration. Her party antics made headlines and all it would take was one phone call from home and the disappointed tone of her parents to make her go even further off the rails. It seemed a miracle to people that she still had a job but Roxanne always assumed that actually, the heat she generated in the press only made for better TV. Besides, she was smart enough not to show up to her job high as a kite so really, did anyone really have grounds to fire her? By 25, she never thought she would have all the labels she does; shifter, actress, spoilt brat, reckless, junkie and most commonly: wild. Roxanne cares for few but loves fiercely and doesn’t hold back on her opinions. If she has an issue, she will say it to your face no matter the consequences. She is however incredibly loyal and fun-loving, always sparking off energy and bouncing from person to person. Her traumatic history was aired for everyone to read so really, it’s no wonder hardly anyone actually questions why she uses. She uses to escape, forget her trauma like so many others in the studio. Only time will tell if it will one day be the ruin of her.  

[collectionofdestiel]

Silver Ring

“Dean?” A small voice called out through the darkness. There was no sound thrown back at him, no echo or reply. All that clouded his vision and thoughts were silence. An impending silence that caged his heart and froze his fingertips.

“Please, Dean, come back.” The words he were speaking weren’t coming from his mouth, his lips werent moving. But it was his voice, his voice laced in a distant memory. For the first time since Castiel had laid his eyes on Dean Winchester, he was numb.

“Dean, we can work this out. Don’t walk out that door.” Again his voice crackled through the darkness in heartbroken static. He didnt know where he was, how he had gotten here, but he did know that he was dying.

“Please.” This time his voice was softer, more crackled and weak. Like the last word spoken from a soul that was giving up.

“Dean.” Castiel closed his eyes, or tried to only to be met with the same darkness surrounding him.

For a split second he thought he saw a spark of green, felt the comfort of a familiar heartbeat, before he heard his savior whisper, “Cas”, and then even the darkness faded away.

~

“Mornin’.” Dean spoke leisurely as he strolled into the kitchen of the bunker. The mask he had perfected over a lifetime of misery fit perfectly across his aging features. “We gotta hunt?”

Sam didnt move. He didn’t set down his paper or even pretend to acknowledge his brother. Instead he sipped at his coffee and kept his eyes low.

Shrugging, Dean poured himself a cup of breakfast and took a seat across from his younger brother. The lack of sleep and trace of tears were clouding his vision and making pretending everything was okay almost impossible for him. But he bit it back. He bit back all the longing and heartbreak and guilt and misery. Just like he always has.

“I’m thinking about taking a trip to see Jody and the kiddos.” Roughness lined his voice as Dean eyed his brother carefully. “Get outta the bunker and get some fresh air.”

“Don’t.” Sam’s voice was dangerously low, catching Dean offguard. “Don’t sit there and talk to me like it’s another day. You know what you did.”

“Sammy-”

Sam slammed his mug onto the table, coffee spraying as the glass shattered. “Dont, Dean!”

Both brothers stared at each other, neither quite knowing where this was going. For a long couple minutes they both seemed to communicate the disaster that was filling the air of the bunker.

Finally Dean broke. “I had to do it.”

Shaking his head, Sam chuckled darkly. “No, asshole, you didn’t.”

“It’s over! It should have never started!” All the rage and sadness finally broke through the surface of Dean’s facade. Shooting up from his chair Dean paced the kitchen with his face in his hands. “He doesnt love me, Sam! Hell, i mean, maybe before there was a shot that he did but you know what he’s been doing! Disappearing all the time! Barely speaking to me let alone touching me! For fuck’s sake what was a i supposed to do? Let him end it! Wait around like some… like some lovestruck puppy that got kicked in the face?”

Taking a deep breath, Sam stood from his seat. He didnt speak until Dean caught his eyes. “He wasnt cheating on you. And he sure as hell didn’t fall out of love with you.”

“Then what, huh?” Voice cracking, Dean felt the tears start to surface, felt the bile build in the back of his throat. “Then why wasn’t he loving me?”

“He bought a ring.” Sam didn’t want to say it, to let the secret he was entrusted with slip, but he couldn’t stand to see this unfold. He knew that the two of them were stubborn and shitty at showing how much they truly cared. “He was nervous, had doubts, was trying to work up the nerve to ask you.”

“What?” Dean’s chest started to inflate until he thought he would burst. Looking into his brother’s eyes he saw only the truth. “He bought a ring?”

Nodding, Sam peered down at his destroyed mug. “Couple months ago.”

Staring at nothing in particular, Dean traced back when his boyfriend had started to grow distant. He started to analyze every exchange they had. “Fuck.” The word left his lips in a breath. “Fuck!” His feet carried him before his mind quite caught up.

Sam shook his head and started for the paper towels. He prayed it wasn’t too late.

~

The darkness subsided as the hours passed. Upon opening his eyes he was greeted with the ceiling of a motel room. Not any ceiling, but the ceiling he saw after the first night he made love to Dean. It was stained, beat down, and almost ironically ruined.

Breathing came back to him a while after that. Stale air, oxygen he didn’t want to inhale. Of all the movies and pop culture references of heartbreak he had learned over the years, Cas wasn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t prepared for the way his whole world was suddenly meaningless. As if he had jumped off of life and was standing still somewhere outside of time.

Maybe someday he would get up. Maybe someday he wouldn’t open his eyes and forget that Dean Winchester would never be sleeping on the pillow beside him. Maybe… but not today.

Today he planned on simply existing. Even that seemed like a chore but it was the bare minimum he could accomplish. Maybe he would go back to heaven, maybe he would walk the earth. The more maybes he conjured up the more tears ate at his eyes.

What was that one saying? “There are plenty of ways to die, but only love can kill you and keep you alive to feel it”? Was that how it went? Castiel thought it was just in this moment. He felt dead, he felt as though his life stopped, and yet he was still blinking away the hell that the hole in his heart left for him.

~

“CAS?!” Dean’s raw voice pierced through the chilled evening. It had been weeks since he walked out on his angel, weeks since he had been searching and clawing at hints to find him and bring him home.

“Cas! Please, sweetheart!” The tears had dried up a while ago, only leaving him with empty sobs. Defeat was starting to rip at his heart.

His mouth couldn’t stand to open anymore. Dropping to his knees, Dean succumbed to the darkness.

~

Castiel was walking about the motel room now, picking things up before dropping them. There was no weight to anything anymore. For a while it seemed that life had lost its dimensions.

Then it came. Something he hadn’t heard in so long he almost forgot to listen for it. A prayer.

“Please, Cas, I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I need you. I was stupid and fucking wrong and, shit, I can’t believe that I did this. I didn’t know… about the ring. I thought that you were separating from me because you didn’t want me anymore.” Even in Dean’s head his voice was hoarse. “I mean, you’re a perfect angel, always have been and always will be, and i know that I need to work on my self confidence but when you started to get distant I freaked out. I freaked out because the thought of you breaking up with me… it destroyed every good thing I had built for myself. I’m sorry, Cas. Please. Please come home.”

Castiel’s eyes widened as the prayer dissolved. The ring was warm from its place in his breast pocket. Still there, after all this time. Taking a deep breath, Castiel closed his eyes and pictured the only home he had ever had.

~

The sound of fluttering wings only made Dean pinch his eyes tighter shut. From his position curled under a mountain of blankets in his bed, he had been going crazy over the idea of Cas coming back to him. For hours he has heard that sound and looked up onto to see nothing. As if his mind wanted to torture him.

The stillness in the room only made breathing under the blankets more unbearable. But he didn’t plan on moving. He would continue his search for his angel later. Maybe they just needed some time. Dean kept repeating that line, over and over until it hurt his head. He couldn’t believe that it was over. Not yet. Not until he scoured the earth.

“I bought the silver band.” Cas’ rough voice made Dean tense up completely. “They kept trying to push gold on me. They kept repeating that that was what a wedding band should look like for a man. I didn’t tell them then that I wasnt buying a ring for just a man. I was buying a ring for a hero, a hunter, my Dean. I bought the silver because it suited you. I had sigils etched around the inside, all of which are enochian. Their meaning is that I, alone, will always watch over you. I, alone, will be there through all the horrors and joys and never leave your side.

“It didn’t occur to me when I had those etched that I would go back on that promise before I even gifted you the ring.” The bed dipped as Castiel let a sigh slip. “I should have stayed. I should have made you listen to me when you left. But I thought that I had failed you. I didn’t know that you were so upset about my distance, I didn’t even quite realize I was so distant. I had planning to do, people to contact. I traveled to Heaven and asked Bobby his permission to marry you. I called Jody and Garth. I was so busy planning, taking all the steps to ask you to be mine, that I lost track of us.”

Dean tried to sit up, but the confession brought back the tears he thought were all gone. Instead he sucked in his sobs and grimaced at the waves of hurt and relief barreling through him.

“If you do not want to be my husband, I will understand. I would never force your hand on such a matter.” The weight lifted from the bed, followed by careful footsteps. They stopped on the side of the bed Dean was curled on. “Dean?”

With as much strength as he could muster, Dean peeked out from the blankets to meet the bloodshot eyes of his angel. There was no preparing him for how much he had missed that sight. Staring at each other, Castiel lifted a plain black box between them.

“Dean Winchester, will you marry me?”

Opening his mouth to reply, he found that it was too sore to speak. Instead, Dean lunged from his haven into the arms of his angel. His sobs answered the question as his head nodded repeatedly.

Castiel smiled, feeling the weight of life back in his arms.

[emmaswanchoosesyou]

CSBB: Part of the Narrative (4/17)

Emma Swan just wants to write the follow-up to her bestselling debut novel, that’s all. But when she gets off to a rough start with her new editor, Killian Jones, she knows it’s not going according to plan. Then, an unexpected figure from Emma’s past reappears and life begins to mirror the crime thriller she’s penning. Suspicion and secrets abound–but love might too. A writer/editor AU with a thriller twist.

Rated E. Story warnings: sexual content, kidnapping, some gore, violence, and minor character death–not to mention salty language! On Ao3 here.

Chapter warnings: more plotting and lying, and mentions of unpleasant time spent in foster care.

Happy birthday to me! Today I’m going to make like a hobbit and post this chapter (though I’ll let you decide how much of a gift that is, haha.) Just know that your comments and likes and kudos and reblogs have been cherished and squealed over. Thank you to @captainswanbigbang for all you’ve done to make this possible, and all the support you’ve given. Sophie @shady-swan-jones made the delightful banner and another photoset that I adore. Kayla @bleebug did some incredible art for the first chapter, which you can check out here. And all the love and thanks to Kris @sambethe for beta-ing this and making it a ton better.

[Ch. 1] [2] [3]

Chapter 4

Emma turns in some first drafts, and Killian sees another connection between them. His realization of how much her book means to her sparks a realization of his own.

Killian

Killian pressed his hand to his temple, willing the headache to stay away. He hadn’t seen Emma since his meeting with her at Granny’s a couple weeks before. They’d exchanged emails back and forth, terse on her end and exceedingly polite (he might be compensating for something, his brain whispered) on his.

But today was the day he’d asked for her prospectus and an outline. It was due at the end of the day, which was rapidly approaching. He glanced up at the clock, wincing when he saw that it was nearly three in the afternoon.

Then he heard a knock on his office door. “Come in.”

“Hey,” Emma said, poking her head around the door. You could have knocked him over with a feather, he was so surprised to see her.

She looked lovely as always in her simple plaid dress, leggings, and leather jacket. She was even wearing glasses, and he felt some of his frustration draining away at the sight of her. “Er, hello, Swan.”

“I brought you a present.” There was something cautious in her voice, softer than he was expecting given their previous interactions.

“Oh, whatever could it be? Flowers? Chocolates?” He grinned at her, hoping to play his eagerness off as light-hearted flirtation and teasing.

She rolled her eyes, but he saw the ghost of a smile at the corner of her mouth as she walked toward his desk. “No, Jones. A draft.”

“A draft?”

“Of the first chapter. I have the outline and abstract-y thing you wanted too.”

He glanced up at her sharply. “Well, that’s exciting. I was only expecting the latter two.”

“I got extra inspired,” she said, shrugging.

“Then I’m excited to read it, after I look over the outline and, er, ‘abstract-y thing’ as you say.”

Emma sat down, her hands falling to her lap. “I--listen, I figured you might want to take a look at a sample of an earlier draft of my writing, and we could see how to work with it together from there.”

Keep your face neutral, mate, he told himself, inwardly dancing for joy at the tentative olive branch she was offering. Outwardly, he said, “That’ll be excellent, lo-Emma.”

Her face broke into a full grin. “Lo-Emma, huh?”

“Just doing my best to abide by our new no-moniker rules, but old habits are hard to break.”

“No, it’s cool. I think it’s how I’ll introduce myself from now on.” She was smirking, so he took her gentle mockery as a good thing.

Shaking his head, Killian feigned a dramatic sigh. “I see how it’s to be.”

She looked like she was about to say more, but then she started. “Oh! Before I forget--” She placed a small thumb drive on the edge of his desk. “Here’s the drive that has everything on it.”

He leaned forward and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Wouldn’t an email have been simpler?”

“Simpler, maybe. Certainly less secure.”

“Ah, you fear hacking?” He was intrigued. She didn’t seem like the paranoid type.

“Well, my website was hacked once a few months ago.” She shrugged. “And my work in bail bonds taught me that the less you keep online, the better.”

He picked up the thumb drive and inserted it into his laptop. “Hang on, I didn’t realize you actually worked in bail bonds. I thought you tailed had one for a while.”

“And here I’d have thought you’d have done your homework better,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “No, I worked in bail bonds for a few years. It helped me pay the bills and get a feel for the world of law enforcement, since that’s what I wanted to write about.”

“And you did a magnificent job. Your knowledge of the criminal underworld and the people involved with bringing them to justice certainly came through in the text,” he hurried to reassure her.

A wry look he couldn’t quite decipher crossed her face. “Uh, yeah. Thanks. I learned a lot over the years.”

“Your first book was excellent, Swan. It’s plain to see that a lot of research and knowledge went into it.”

That finally drew a genuine smile from her. “I’m glad you think so. Fruit of my labor and all that jazz.”

“Ah, yes.” He shook his head and carded his fingers through his hair. “Which explains why my initial approach went over like lead in water.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Yeah. But you’re right, there’s room for improvement.”

“Nonetheless, I apologize for my rudeness and the way I expressed myself. It was...ill-advised.”

Emma snorted but gave him a small smile. “No shit. But thanks for the apology. Besides, I could have handled the situation--and the criticism--better.”

He waved that aside. “You behaved as most people would when their child was attacked. And your book, as you put it, being the fruit of your labor…”

That same indefinable look from earlier came back to her face, but she pressed on. “Fair enough. So, should we, I dunno, let bygones be bygones?”

“Sounds excellent,” he said, clearing his throat. “Oh, one last thing--in light of said disagreements, I was hoping that we could be a bit more collaborative in our approach. If, perhaps, I was able to find a good, secure server for us to work on, would you be fine with putting the any future work there?”

She hesitated. “Um, if you can? But I want to okay it first, if that’s all right.”

“Certainly. I still have some military and and journalistic contacts who need higher degrees of security, so I’m sure they’ll have something to recommend.”

She bit her lip, mulling this over. “That should work.”

Killian told himself not to let his gaze drop to said lips. “Excellent. Would you like me to get in touch if I find something?”

“Sure. You can call or email.”

He relaxed back into his chair, some of the tension draining from him. “Wonderful. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

&&&

Killian worked at home the next day, having received permission to do so occasionally. After all, today was about doing his first read-through of Emma’s draft, and he wanted to be comfortable while doing so.

After she’d left his office the previous day, he had let Cleo, August, and Regina know that she’d met the deadline. He’d met with a variety of reactions, from Regina’s “Very well, keep on,” to August’s enthusiastic response and desire to be kept in the loop entirely, to Cleo’s subdued but measuring acceptance and comment that she was glad they’d found a way to work together. He’d been tasked with looking over some promising manuscripts, so had spent the rest of the afternoon doing just that.

And now his reward--getting to sit in his comfortable but spartan apartment, drinking coffee and rum while he edited from his favorite chair.

The blasted thing had finally arrived from the UK, one of the few items of furniture he refused to part with in the move. Honestly, it was a monstrosity, an old reclining wingback chair, but it had been Liam’s. For all its resistance to classification, it was comfortable. He’d spent many an hour in the ridiculous thing. On his own in a sullen, drunken fog. Sitting next to Milah in the daintier chair she’d selected, or his favorite of all--when she’d slipped onto his lap and they’d snuggled in the chair.

(The usual dull ache was still present when he thought of Milah, but its sharpness was starting to fade. Killian wondered what that meant.)

Pouring himself a small glass of rum and carrying that and his coffee with him over to the chair, he situated himself with a blanket and pulled up Emma’s summary and outline.

An hour later, he was immersed in her outline, writing notes and comments for parts he wanted to talk about and hear more about. He couldn’t wait.

As he continued to read, he came to a realization--only someone who had lived through the foster care system could write about it so knowledgeably and so passionately. This wasn’t just a plotline for Emma. This was more--this was her life.

Killian bit his lip, regretting some of his previous comments and assumptions about her and wondering how he should proceed. He wanted--no, needed--to make sure she knew he would support her. And that he understood, perhaps better than she knew.

He debated calling or texting her, but finally settled on an email, giving her space so that she didn’t feel obligated to acknowledge or respond to him.

He hesitated, unsure of how to begin.

Swan--

Right now, I just want to take the moment to tell you how thrilled, how in awe I am of your talent and skill with words.

I have comments, queries, and edits, but before I go over that, I needed to let you know how excited I am for this novel. (Oh, and as an aside, a friend showed me a server that I think will do nicely for us. I’ll be in my office tomorrow if you want to check it out, but you can always call if you’d like to make sure I’m there.)

Not only does your book promise to be well-written, but you’re handling this sensitive topic amazingly well.

Confession: I was in the system myself (albeit in the UK), along with my brother. My mum passed away when Liam and I were quite young, and my dad ran out on us a couple years after that. I was all of nine years old, and Liam was just fifteen.

We muddled along for the next few years. Some of the homes were pleasant enough, while others were...well, hell. Liam joined the military at eighteen to try to take care of us, and I was able to leave the system at sixteen. I can’t imagine the struggles that would come with being in for even longer.

Having shared all this personal information--and my apologies if this makes things awkward--I am beyond relieved to see how you plan on handling the topic of foster care and foster children.

If you ever want to have a chat about this, you know where to find me. My personal number is 555-687-9305, in case you ever need another perspective or to share stories (excuse my presumption if I’m wrong).

Killian hesitated, trying to decide on the best way to end the missive, as he was already toeing the line between professional and personal.

Best, Killian

P.S. I particularly like the depth of characterization for the main character and the sense of doom and offness that’s present even in the first chapter.

There. That should do it.

He clicked send and hoped Emma wouldn’t be too put off by his email.

&&&

Killian awoke feeling vaguely nervous and apprehensive about work. He hadn’t checked his email yet, but he hadn’t received a reply from Emma the previous day. He knew it was too soon and that she might need time to see his message, let alone respond. But still, it made him anxious.

To keep himself distracted, he’d responded to a text from Robin Locksley, taking him up on an invitation to meet him at a little pub that Robin swore was just like those at home. Hearing familiar accents had been a relief, a balm for his somewhat weary soul. And Robin seemed like a good sort, for a detective. He was a widower, his wife had been good friends with Milah in the early years of their careers. They’d grown apart, but the tenuous connection had provided some good bonding between him and Robin. They’d drunk just enough to do their country proud but not so much that either would be hungover today.

After greeting Ariel cheerfully (well, with as much as he could muster--no match for her levels, to be sure) and nodding politely to Cleo when he passed her in the hall, he slipped into his chair and took a deep breath as he turned on his computer. He opened his email, and…

Nothing.

Nary a short “okay” from Emma, not even a single, pointed word. Dammit.

He rubbed his hand over his face, not having realized how much he’d hoped she would recognize him as a kindred spirit, a fellow lost boy to her lost girl. He was so distracted by his thoughts, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a short knock on his door before. He looked over to find Emma poking her head into his office.

“Hey. Am I interrupting anything?” She frowned, her forehead wrinkling making her look uncertain and a little wary, and nothing short of perfect.

He nearly tripped, stumbling to his feet to greet her. “No! Not at all. Come in, come in.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. She handed him a coffee cup and lifted her own in acknowledgment. “Thank you. For the feedback and the email. And for telling me about the rest.”

“Oh, er, right…” he fought the urge to scratch behind his ear. What was it about this woman that made him feel like a teenager all over again?

She seemed to pick up on his awkwardness. “So yeah. Thank you.”

“I--it was really no trouble, Swan. I meant what I said la--”

“I’m here to ask you on a date.”

“--st ni--pardon?!”

Emma looked at him, the crease in her brow deepening at his lack of comprehension. He clearly had thrown her off with his stuttering response. She took a breath. “I’m asking you out?”

“Oh!” he said, scratching a finger at the lid of his coffee cup. “Er, as long as it’s not a question...er, yes.”

She smiled then, one of her brilliant, full smiles, and he felt as though he’d been blinded by the sun. “Awesome.”

He smiled back, unable to stop himself. “I have just one condition--let me plan the date.”

“Hey, I was going to show you the town,” she pouted.

He laughed and took a step toward her. “No offense, love, but while you are the one I’d turn to for a well-crafted paragraph, I think planning romantic outings might be more my area of expertise.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but the corner of her mouth still twitched. “You still can’t call me ‘love’.”

“Fine, Emma,” he sighed dramatically, trying to fight off another grin.

She stepped closer, narrowing the distance between them. “Lo-Emma, though,” she said, tapping a finger against her mouth, “that’s cool.”

“Good to know.”

She took a step back. “Cool.”

“So...shall I let you know when I’ve made plans for our date?”

Emma nodded at him happily, smiling serenely as she bid him farewell for now.

&&&

By the time he was able to organize something that worked for both his and Emma’s schedules, it was nearly a week later. Killian hoped the evening would suit her. He just wanted a good way for them to get to know each other better.

And they had been. Getting to know each other, that is.

While they hadn’t had a chance to see each other again, the days had been filled with texts and emails between them. Most were light, casual things, but a few...well, Killian was reminded of his near-celibacy since Milah’s death (other than a brief, alcohol-fueled spell where he had gone home from the bar with a different woman every night, which had ended abruptly when one had stolen a vintage compass that had been a gift from Liam).

Now, as he buttoned his vest in preparation for their date, he felt his gut churning. It was mostly excitement, to be sure. Being around Emma--it was to know life, excitement, both things he’d forgotten about in his grief and anger.

But he couldn’t pretend that part of what was bothering him wasn’t guilt. It had been almost two years since Milah’s passing, and he knew it was time to move on. Milah would want this; he knew that on an intellectual level. He and Emma had something that he wanted to explore.

But was he betraying Milah’s memory? Was he ready?

And then there was the other part of this that left him uneasy...his obligations to August. Now, more than ever, he regretted agreeing to August’s schemes and subterfuge. It made him feel dirty, and however she’d feel about Emma, Milah would hate this.

So would Emma. Actually, hate probably wasn’t strong enough--she’d loathe it, and she’d be right to never speak to him again if she found out.

He had to find a way to end this foul partnership and distance himself from August, even if it would cost him his job and whatever was growing between him and Emma. Even if he had to return to his apartment in London, with the intimidating blokes watching it…

But he would do it, because it was the right thing, and it was time for him to make better choices.

&&&

“I’m done,” Killian said without preamble.

“What? What are you talking about?” replied the voice at the other end of the line.

“I’m done keeping tabs on Emma, done spying on her for you. From now on, you’ll get the same updates as Cleo and Regina.”

There was a long silence, and then August spoke. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Jones? My...partner...won’t be happy to hear about this.”

“I’m sure.”

“I hope you haven’t forgotten that you owe us. For getting you out of the mess you were in, and for getting you settled in here. We can make things very unpleasant for you.”

He gritted his teeth. “I’m sure you can, but I’m also confident that I’m the best choice for editor. I’ll continue doing my job,and I’ll repay my debt. Just not like that.”

August snorted. “Emma’s gotten to you, hasn’t she? Graham liked her too. If he’d lived, the two of them probably would have made a go of it. For all I know, they were going at it--”

“Enough. Emma’s past is her own, and her present is hers to decide. Do what you’d like with me, but leave her out of it.”

“You can’t afford the price to be paid, Jones. And you’re too much of a coward to try to pay it anyway. It’s part of what made you such a good choice.”

Killian hung up, the vein in his forehead throbbing. “We’ll see,” he said. “We shall see.”

He smiled grimly at his reflection in the mirror. It was time to meet Emma for their date, and he had to get himself in line. She didn’t need to know about his turmoil, about this mess of a situation. She couldn’t know.

[micronecro]

Coloured Bricks, Pick Up Sticks

Or: Anything can be a superpower if you get it hot enough. 

Wordcount: 1,900+

Genre: Weirdly and unnecessarily specific diagetic meta/comedy/drama

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki, Midoriya Inko

Perks: Quirk!Izuku, Quirk Experimentation, Quirk Lore, Izuku’s Extremely Tenuous Grip On The Basic Concept Of What Toys Are

Midoriya Izuku is a very warm person.

Not his personality (though that’s also true). It’s his quirk. His quirk is that he’s warm.

Izuku has had his quirk since he was born, burning his way into the world at a hearty temperature of “barely feverish”, and it’s never dropped since. According to Books, which Izuku reads a lot of, this means his quirk is Morphic; he is quite literally made of warm. 

His dad was Morphic too; his insides could catch on fire and there was so much of it he could even breath it out. There isn’t a lot of use for a quirk like that, but it looked pretty awesome. According to the doctors, Izuku has received his father’s quirk. He loves it.

When Izuku is four, he gets to go to daycare, where he impresses everyone with it. Morphic and Shape quirks are impressive to small children. There’s a Shape kid with a big tail, and everyone wants to be his best friend, which proves the rule.

Izuku, on the other hand, decides he wants to be Bakugou Katsuki’s friend. He’s loud and pushy and probably has an Energy quirk. Something like fire. When Izuku pushes to be his friend, Bakugou Katsuki says once Izuku finally figures out how to set himself on fire, Izuku can be his sidekick.

To Izuku, this is a wonderful idea, a dream come true. The first thing he had ever grown attached to was a news broadcast where a hulking blond man walked straight out of a comic book to rescue a seemingly infinite amount of people, laughing all the while. Izuku could watch that video for hours. In fact, he does watch it for hours. Daily. He wants to be a hero like All Might more than anything.

Izuku thinks that it’s wonderful All Might has the power to save so many people and bring hope to everybody. Katsuki thinks it’s awesome that All Might strong and everyone loves him. They are four years old, and to four-year-olds, nuance is fake.

But they both watch the newscasts of this saviour of the new age of superheroes, and Katsuki is a magnetic kind of person who makes friends instantaneously, and he looked at Izuku and said “you can do this with me”.

The heat didn’t prickle at his cheeks, and his skin didn’t flush, because he doesn’t know what it means to heat up, and he doesn’t even know what cold is. But if he could, he’d have blushed with pure joy.

He wants to be a hero.

Kacchan’s quirk accelerates, and his behaviour along with it.

Izuku’s quirk and personality, on the other hand, are at a standstill.

He’s never gotten any warmer, and he’s never gotten any braver, but Kacchan’s boisterous attitude has jumped from “bossy” to “outright violent”.

His quirk is explosions. They scatter from his fingertips, sparking off the sweat on his hands. Reactive quirks are impressive; Izuku knows this because the teachers won’t stop telling Kacchan how impressive they are, and how wonderful it is that he’s gotten one.

At first, Izuku is ecstatic, and heat rolls off him like sun-warmed pavement; he’s a perfect sidekick. He’s practically a recharge station. 

But, as stated before, Kacchan’s behaviour accelerates. 

A lot.

It starts with “You can read it like Deku, that means useless!”, marring him with an obscure and unpleasant nickname forever.

And Izuku ends it somewhere around Kacchan shoving a kid to the ground and marching forth, hands sparking ominously. 

Izuku is five and a half and he’s watched at least fourteen recordings of All Might standing up to bad guys and Kacchan isn’t a bad guy, is he? But he still stands up, puts up his fists, and tries not to cry.

Kacchan’s heat can’t touch him, but he and his friends have fists, which are just as good.

Izuku spends a lot of time being angry.

Not…angry, angry, like Kacchan is, but so frustrated that the warm air rises in great billowing puffs that make his blanket float off him. He simmers. Clenches his teeth. Complains a lot. He is five years old, and there’s nothing five-year-olds love more than whining incessantly.

“He’s not heroic,” Izuku insists over dinner for the eighth time, “he beats up kids which is villain stuff.”

“I’ll talk to his parents, sweetheart,” says his mom.

Izuku doesn’t think that’s enough.

Well, it technically is; Kacchan doesn’t attack people after that. But he doesn’t stop being mean. He still includes Izuku and seems to want him there, but Izuku spends a lot of time being angry all the same. 

Most of the time, they go hang out at empty lots where Kacchan can use Izuku’s warmth to gather up his sweat. He says that the more you work on it, the stronger the quirk is going to get. Izuku (”Deku”) is fine the way he is, Kacchan claims, since the muggy ring of heat radiating off his skin is pretty much perfect for gathering sweat, but it’d be way cooler if he could light his skin on fire at some point. 

Maybe like green fire, he continues, because the dull, dead-leaf pallour of his hair would look ‘stupid and ugly’ with normal fire.

Izuku scowls at the gravel, takes a drink of water and breathes out steam. That happens sometimes. His insides are hotter than his outsides, like his dad, and he…

It is at this point, Izuku, age six, suddenly realizes that he can’t actually turn his quirk off.

He’s gotten into heroes as an industry by now. He’s been paying special attention to people with quirks that work like his do, like Endeavor, who has the same quirk as his dad, except on his outsides, and it looks like it’s always on.

When he gets home Izuku meticulously records notes and compares them and then starts looking up as many Morphics as possible until he stops dead at the obvious conclusion:

There is no existing hero who has a Morphic quirk that’s just kind of there.

He doesn’t know what else to do from there, so he stares at his notes for an hour until his mom calls him for lunch and then he never mentions it to another living soul.

This is the story of an eight-year-old. 

Initially, I mean.

Izuku, age eight, loves experiments.

His quirk is weird and no one really thinks it’s weird? But the thing is, weird quirks, you can do weird things with them. Heroes are good at that. And anyway, heat is the most common kind of Quirk ever and everyone has a bajillion ways of using it so Izuku is enterprising by wanting to do weird quirk stuff.

He gets an All Might lunchbox for his birthday, left to the side when he and his mom go out to celebrate, and it’s not until the next morning that he actually moves to put it on the shelf with all his other All Might collectables. But his fingers trace along the indents in the metal and his brain hits the phrase ‘melting point’ so fast Izuku can’t remember the thoughts that brought him there.

And Izuku, who loves experiments, decides he likes the thought anyway. He collects his notebook and his pencil and his eraser.

Now all he needs is a blowtorch.

He’d ask Kacchan but Kacchan will never let him test how hot his explosions get, and he’d ask someone else with a heat Quirk but everyone else’s heat quirks are different and Izuku isn’t supposed to talk to strangers.

He also isn’t allowed to take people’s blowtorches without permission, but he’s, uh, borrowing it. Like, he’s not taking it off the property. He just wants to turn it on and put it on his skin and see what happens.

According to The Internet, the air-only torch he finds at his third construction site scan will heat up to around 1,900 °C, which is a good start. He’ll find an oxygen-fed torch later if he doesn’t set himself on fire. He’ll also do it if he does set himself on fire, because the scientific process just works like that. He doesn’t make the rules.

Izuku is very very small, and very very quick; you have to be when you have a friend like Kacchan. He ducks in and out of the shed-like building clutching his prize, hides behind some tarps, and fidgets with it until he can get it to turn on.

Izuku doesn’t feel heat like normal people. He doesn’t feel the…vibrations? Vibrating molecules? Friction? When molecules go really fast they make friction and that’s how burns happen. That doesn’t happen to Izuku. People who can make energy have this thing called single progression molecules, which is the same thing hero costumes are made of! They grow fire-making Quirk Skin in a lab to make them, and Izuku was obsessed with this fact for a few months. There are multiple people growing multiple types of Quirk Skin in multiple labs! Kacchan tells him to shut up and stop being gross whenever he brings it up but Izuku can’t help it. 

Well anyway, it’s important, actually. He found out passive Morphics don’t exist. You have to intentionally morph into stuff. That’s the point.Endeavor’s face isn’t constantly on fire, it’s just his hero thing.

Which means Izuku isn’t just a Morphic. His existence produces energy. A…Izuku scrambles to stitch all the terms he’s read in Books together. R…Reactive Energy quirk? Or something. The point is, he’s made out of a material that manipulates heat. And that means he can…he can…erm…

Well, Izuku hadn’t gotten past that in his research, but he’s sure he’ll figure it out by the time he’s ten, because he’s an experimenter, and he’s got a blowtorch right here to help him on his way.

After it runs long enough, Izuku wiggles his fingers in front of the tip of the flame, and then sinks it deeper until he can turn his hand all over in the fire. The heat feels like its curling around his fingers; Izuku thinks he’s always warm because there’s a shield of temperature stuff that might wrap around him naturally, on account of him being made of weird new skin.

It’s not like Weird New Skin is weird, or new. Which is kind of a bummer. Reactive Form is the fancy science term for “people who have skin made out of weird things”. It’s just that they’re not normally energy or fire things. They’re usually textures and stuff, or twisting light around.

Izuku’s never heard of someone with heat-related skin. He hopes they can grow it in a lab.

The fire starts seeping through his Warm, and for the first time in his eight years of life, he experiences hot. It sinks into him more than an hour of his hand on a stove iron could ever achieve. His molecules don’t do friction, so it mostly just sort of tingles and goes numb. He can actually see his skin vibrating. It’s so cool.

After a few minutes of this, his skin is starting to glow red, and  the texture starts feeling…weird. Too numb. Izuku stretches out his palm, and to his awe, the skin breaks and parts into molten slag, with bright glowing yellow lines being pulled open like scars.

He blows on it like you’d blow on a fire, and it erupts into sparks and flickering flame.

He can catch on fire.

He’s going to need to figure out a better way to pull it off, though. He’ll get back to that!

Using one hand and his thighs to carefully turn the blowtorch off, holding his molten hand up high, Izuku tries to make as many notes about his new condition as he can:

- Not gooey or liquid like actual lava. Kind of stretchy. Melty rubber, maybe.

- Hand works fine.

(Would Kacchan be mad if he saw?)

- Prickles a bit. The parts where he blew on it to make a fire feels extra tingly.

- Vibrating so hard that it’s shaking all the way down his arm. Feels like a massage chair, or a chihuahua. 

- Not sure how to get it to cool down.

Izuku stares wide-eyed at his raised arm, actually thinking about the situation for the first time since he decided he needed a blowtorch.

It…it will cool down…

…Right?