#i love when ao3 feels like a neighbourhood

[captainkirkk]

Love spotting an author I know and love in the kudos or comments section of a totally separate fic. It's like looking behind you in the movie theatre and seeing a local celebrity munching on popcorn right there with you.

[starleska]

The Nightmare Picnic - Wally Darling x Reader

You're a brand new resident in the wonderful Welcome Home Neighbourhood, and it's the perfect day for the picnic! But your dear friend Wally Darling doesn't seem to be enjoying the fun. What will happen when you decide to try and cheer him up?

content warnings for: eye imagery, scopophobia, hypnosis, impossible physics, Eldritch, and unreality. go in assuming that Wally is a weird little guy, and you’re both terrified of and kind of enjoy that fact! 😉 you can also find this fic on my AO3. i hope you enjoy!! 

The day you learn how to love Wally Darling begins like any other.

It is a balmy day, the air soft and thick and dizzy with butterflies. The sun shines with relentless cheer, and nary a cloud can be seen in the sky. Such a day in the Neighbourhood cannot be spent languishing inside, and all your new neighbours think the same way. So, which lovely activity did they decide upon? Why, a picnic on the grass, of course!

The organisation of the event is efficient and cheerful. In no time, the lush meadow surrounding the outskirts of the Neighbourhood is replete with cosy blankets to lie on, fun games to play, and a plethora of delicious foods contributed by each neighbour. Luckily, you’d baked a whole tray of cupcakes the previous day, with the intent of handing them out when bumping into your neighbours going about their daily business. The cupcakes were a huge success; even the ever-curmudgeonly Frank, who always has something to complain about, graces you with a begrudging, “It’s good, I suppose,” when you hand him a vanilla cupcake topped with a green-icing butterfly.

'I needed this,’ you think as you look around at your new friends. You’ve only been a resident of the Neighbourhood for a few months, but in that time you’ve grown so close to its colourful cast of neighbours as if you’d known each other your whole lives. Right now, they’re dotted across the meadow, smiling and laughing without a care in the world: Howdy’s busy putting together an impossibly long string of daisy chains; Eddie and Sally peer into an origami fortune-teller and giggle at the results; Frank leans over a bush, studying a caterpillar, and Julie and Poppy clap and cheer whilst Barnaby entertains them with a juggling act.

It’s a gorgeous scene. Today, your heart is warm.

A small flash of yellow catches your eye. Of course, it’s an incomplete picture. You take in Wally, who sits cross-legged under the shade of a verdant apple tree. He’s holding an apple between both hands and staring at it intently, as if willing the fruit to communicate with him. It’s an odd expression - you aren’t used to seeing Wally in a state of concentration.

“Hey, Wally!” you call.

Wally looks up at you and smiles. He beckons you over.

“Hello,” says Wally, in his simple way. “I��m happy to see you.”

Oh, what a beautiful voice. Every time you hear Wally speak, it’s like the gentle lapping of his syllables sweep away your worries in a single wave.

As you get closer to Wally, you notice a few strands of his deep blue hair turning flyaway and giving in to the heat, curling away from the otherwise-immaculate pompadour and escaping the death-grip of his hairspray. He’s a little dishevelled elsewhere, too; Wally’s neckerchief is coming loose, and though he’s long since abandoned his cardigan, a stray button on his shirt remains stubbornly popped. You find yourself grinning. Wally takes such pride in his appearance that you never get to see him a little less than perfect.

“Same to you!” you say. “Aren’t you hungry? All the food’s down with the others.”

That unusually pensive look on Wally’s face deepens. He turns his eyes back to his apple. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” You rummage in your backpack and pull out a chocolate bar. “You’ve got to eat, bud. You not feeling so good?”

Wally takes the treat from you and examines it for a moment, as if the bar is a scientific curiosity. “That’s very nice of you…but this doesn’t work for me. You should keep it.”

When Wally hands the bar back, your fingers touch for the briefest moment, and a shiver works its way up your spine.

You don’t know when this… thing you have for Wally Darling began. Despite the countless nights you’ve spent desperately trying to focus on something, anything else, your thoughts inevitably return to the little yellow puppet-man and his catlike smile. There’s a strange magnetism to Wally which befits his profession as a television host; everything from the delicate way he handles his paintbrush, to his ridiculous affinity for apples, leaves you with a little more fondness than before. Wally has so much affection stored in one small body, and when you first met, you wondered how any person could love so much all at once.

But now, when you look at Wally, you understand.

“If you’re sure.” You pop the bar back into your bag and sit on the ground in front of Wally, mirroring his cross-legged pose. “The offer’s still there.”

“It’s tempting,” says Wally, now turning his apple over and over in his hands. “I’d like to know what would happen, if I tried. But Barnaby told me it isn’t worth the risk. I trust him to know.”

You have no idea what he’s talking about, but the look on Wally’s face is so uncharacteristically brooding that you don’t feel it’s polite to pry. Wally’s always been the drifting sort: those large, dewy eyes of his are perpetually lidded, and always seem to be gazing at something no one else can see. But Wally’s inattentiveness is usually matched with an infectious, excited kind of energy, bursting with nonsense and love.

Today, he almost looks sad. The idea makes you feel sick.

It occurs to you that this may be a personal issue, and Wally doesn’t know you well enough to discuss it. So you ask, “Do you want me to look away?”

Wally’s fingers still. To your surprise, the apple actually drops from his hands and rolls into the grass. You’ve never seen Wally mistreat an apple before - there must be something seriously wrong.

“Actually,” says Wally, now looking at you properly, “I’d like to try something.”

He gestures for you to shuffle closer. When you do, Wally reaches forward and takes hold of your forearms. You make a surprised noise, but Wally squeezes you, and fixes you with a smile full of reassurance and warmth. A rush of heat leaps into your cheeks, and you’re suddenly reminded of an interaction you had with another neighbour not too long ago.

It was only a week after you arrived in the Neighbourhood, and you were finally moving the last of your belongings into your home. All of your new neighbours had graciously donated their time to help you in some fashion, and you were overcome with gratitude. On that final day you were more than capable of doing the rest of the moving yourself, but your closest neighbour - the excitable Julie Joyful - volunteered to help with the last handful of delicate items. At first, you were unsure - Julie is a lovely girl and incredibly fun to be around, but so spirited that you feared for the safety of your items. But a good twenty minutes of allowing her to help with the least fragile of your boxes allayed all your fears: Julie moves with the grace of a ballerina, and the two of you soon had all your boxes stacked in your living room.

Burnt orange sunlight poured through the window, streaming soon-to-be-dusk and casting the wooden floorboards with a vibrant glow. You take a moment from the heavy lifting to look out the window. Across the lawn, you can make out a couple of your neighbours engaging in some game. Upon closer inspection, you realise it’s Wally and Barnaby, the former laughing and tossing a series of colourful balls for Barnaby to catch.

You watched as Wally swung his arm and threw a few of the balls a surprising distance, letting the large, spotted dog race off to retrieve them. Wally put his hands on his hips, as if exhausted by the exertion. He turned - and locked eyes with you. Wally’s face broke out into a huge grin, and he gave you a hearty wave. Feeling horribly embarrassed, you waved back, trying to ignore the painful squeezing of your heart. You’ve only known Wally a week, and yet you’re utterly charmed by everything he does.

A tug on your arm brought you back to the present: it’s Julie. She bats her long eyelashes at you, a knowing smile on her face.

“You like hiiiiim, ” she teased, her voice all sing-song.

“What?!”

You grabbed Julie by the shoulders and yanked her away from the window, as if Wally could somehow hear you both through sight. “No! I don’t know where you got an idea like that-”

“It’s okay, sweetie. You don’t need to pretend.”

Your face felt like it was on fire. You’d always been the careful type, ensuring your innermost thoughts and feelings stayed stuffed as far down as possible to keep you safe. But the Neighbourhood bred a kind of emotional honesty with which you were totally unfamiliar. Everyone is so exuberant, always wearing their hearts on their sleeves - some of them even literally, as plenty of your new neighbours wore outfits stitched with cute little hearts! Keeping a secret in the Neighbourhood felt wrong…even a secret crush on the silly little artist whose smile lit up your insides.

So, you give in. “How did you know?”

Julie giggles. She fishes in the pocket of her dress, and pulls out a daisy.

“I know a lot about flowers,” she explained, as she twirled the stem between her fingers. “What kinds grow in different meadows. How much sun and water and love they need to grow. They show it in their petals, and how they lean. People are a lot like that too.

“When you arrived, you looked…wilted. Like you’d been kept out of the sun for too long. I could see it, but didn’t want to ask why. I think everyone else could, too…and we all wanted to help a new friend who lost their colour.”

“You’ve all been so lovely to me,” you said, by way of thanks.

Julie nodded. “Sure we have! And it worked, for a little bit. But for a flower at the end of its days, even fresh soil, plenty of sun and lots of water can only do so much. Your petals seemed faded for good. And that’s okay. I just wanted you to be happy - whatever that looks like for you.”

You swallowed. “You see a lot, for a gardener.”

Julie smiled. “When you care for flowers, you learn to listen to their needs. Sometimes, you’ll have a flower who has everything in the world…but they’re still curling up, and shying away from the light.”

She pressed the daisy into your palm.

“Wally brings the colour back to your petals,” said Julie. “Do yourself a favour. Don’t hide from your sun.”

Another squeeze from Wally brings you out of your recollection. You suck in a deep breath, facing this new reality of Wally holding you, his fingers pleasantly warm and fuzzy.

“Close your eyes,” says Wally gently.

For anyone else, you would’ve paused - but for Wally, you comply immediately.

Slowly, you feel Wally’s hands slide down your arms to your hands. He threads his fingers through yours and holds them firm, so tight that you start to feel your blood thrumming from the pressure. Your hearing, sensitive now your sight is compromised, picks up the distant chatter of your neighbours, as well as the friendly sounds of nature at play. Your skin tingles, sweat-slicked from the heat and the nerves.

“I have a question,” says Wally, his voice wonderfully calm and soft.

“Yes?”

“Why do you eat?”

“Uh…” What kind of question was that? Wally is admittedly prone to posing questions that only a truly strange mind would think up, but this one is so baffling, you’re thrown entirely for a loop. “...So I don’t die, I guess?”

“Ha ha ha ha!” Wally’s unique, halting laugh almost startles you into opening your eyes. “You’re so funny. Okay. Do you know why I eat?”

This time, it takes you a little longer to answer. A simple enough question, surely with the exact same answer? But Wally’s voice has taken on a teasing, knowing edge - a sound you recognise from when he’s setting up a punchline. The question must be a trick. So you rack your brains, trying to think of all the times you’d seen Wally eat: where he was, what he was eating.

With your eyes still closed, you reach a strange realisation.

“I…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat.”

A soft chuckle from Wally. “That’s right. You haven’t.”

Wally’s grip on your hand tightens. Strangely, a weak, static noise buzzes to life, seemingly from inside your skull. You shift, trying to locate the source, but Wally holds you in place. As the noise grows, the sounds of your friends fizzle out and die. It’s as if you’ve been placed on an invisible train and are moving steadily down the track, away from all the familiar sounds of your Neighbourhood - but you can’t feel the rumbling of the track, or hear the whistle of the wind.

“But…maybe you should.”

With Wally’s words the temperature noticeably drops, and gooseflesh breaks out on your arms. You shudder, wanting to open your eyes but finding that you can’t: your eyelids feel impossibly heavy. You’re stuck in place, pinioned to the grass (which you can no longer feel) as that buzzing sound inches up by the decibel, a nasty, steady crawl which leaves your brain awash in a sea of noise.

“Open your eyes.”

You do so.

And you can’t make sense of what you see.

The sky is gone. The tree is gone. The meadow is gone. Every detail from the Neighbourhood’s comforting landscape has evaporated, leaving nothing behind but a grayscale emptiness which fuzzes in and out like television static. Even the awful buzzing sound abruptly falls away, leaving your ears with nothing but the distant sound of an unseen tide.

Wally still sits in front of you, his hands grasping yours, but it’s like he’s sitting on nothing at all: somehow supported by a cushion of emptiness. It’s like the texture of the world has fallen out of reality.

Seized by vertigo, you tighten your grip on Wally’s hands. “What’s happening?!”

“Don’t worry,” says Wally. “You’re safe.”

“There’s nothing here,” you whisper. “Where is everyone?”

“Back Home,” says Wally. “They can’t see us right now. They’re not ready.” His smile turns coy. “But I think you are. Watch this.”

Wally reaches over and rustles in your backpack. Your heart crawls into your mouth; although you can see Wally’s hands in front of you, you can somehow still feel his hands holding both of yours, keeping you locked in place. You try to look down and make sense of this impossibility, but your eyes are stuck, glued to Wally’s face. You can only watch, terrified, as he takes out your chocolate bar and locks in his gaze.

Without warning, Wally’s eyes flare open, heavy lids drawing back and revealing the full size of his large, black pupils. Wally’s stare travels steadily down the chocolate bar, a focused intensity searing from his eyes like a laser. Somehow as he stares, bite marks are chunked out of the chocolate, as if some great invisible person is taking enormous chomps out of both the bar and wrapper. In seconds, the chocolate is gone.

Panic grips your chest, and you start to hyperventilate. The world tilts, and you’re scared you might actually puke. Wally blinks, his eyelids half-blanketing those pupils once more, and he looks at you with concern. When his eyes connect, your chest convulses with panic: a type of terror you’ve never experienced before threatening to claw its way out of your body and devour you whole.

“What happened?!”

“Oh, don’t be scared,” says Wally, his voice floating and cloudlike. “This is just how I eat.”

“How - did you - do - that?” you gasp.

“I’m not sure. I’ve always eaten this way.” Wally inclines his head in sympathy. “I am sorry if I’ve made you afraid. I usually only eat when others are blinking. That way, I don’t interrupt them. I don’t want to be rude."

You suck in a huge gulp of breath. “Wally, this is…impossible,” you manage. “I want to leave - I want to go Home-”

“You can’t.”

Wally shakes his head mildly from side to side, but his eyes seem to stay still, locked into the centre of his face. No matter how much you strain to move, those incredible eyes remain right in front of you, always at the same distance, never looking away - and never blinking. In your peripheral vision, you see Wally’s hand reach up towards your face. He cups your cheek. The sensation of feeling three arms belonging to a two-armed person on your body sends a rush of nausea through your throat. Wally strokes your skin with his thumb.

“You understand me so well,” says Wally. “You see me, don’t you?”

“I don’t understand.” Another wave of dizziness rises up, pushing behind your eyeballs. The sensation is the same as the pressure of allergies arising on a high pollen day - yet you can no longer smell the flowers of the meadow. You try again in vain to rip your gaze away from Wally’s, but you can’t - and you’re finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

Wally’s thumb stops, resting in the dip of your cheek. “I love my friends, but they only see one part of me. The part they want to see. But you…”

His thumb trails to the edge of your lip.

“...you see all of me.”

You’re split in two. Your brain, the logical part of your thinking, is screaming at you to do anything - to move, to scream, to run as fast as you can into the nightmare emptiness and beg for help. But the other part of you - your traitorous, emotional heart - douses the runaway fire of your fear with the intoxication of Wally’s touch. You find yourself leaning into his hand, savouring how perfectly his cheek cups your palm, and the slight fuzz of his thumb teasing your lip.

“I do,” you whisper. Suddenly, your body relaxes, and you slump forward. You feel very tired. The panic which gripped your body only moments ago is now quashed, flattened into a fine layer of dust by the weight of Wally’s impossibly black eyes. Now your nervous system is nothing but the aftermath: the feeling of fight-or-flight chemicals settling into your bloodstream, leaving you weak and sluggish.

Now, Wally’s eyes are not a source of terror. They’re a blanket you wish to curl up beneath, and never wake up.

“I think you’re special, you know,” says Wally. “The way I feel when I’m around you is…different, than with the others. You’re the absolute most.”

Wally’s words settle over your brain like a dream. You watch, your eyes heavy and drained, as Wally brings his hands up to his chest and forms the shape of his heart with his fingers. You’re no longer scared of the physical contradictions of Wally holding your hands whilst signing his affection. It seems in this reality, Wally can have as many hands as he wants.

This is why Wally’s next question confuses you so:

“Do you think if our friends saw me like this…they’d run away?”

Wally’s words are becoming harder to process. The world around him tunnels. Even though you’re sure that you’re fixed in place, sitting on some immovable, textureless cushion, Wally’s eyes grow larger, encroaching evermore on your limiting field of vision. The longer you look, the more of Wally’s scleras are swallowed by his expanding pupils. Those blown, void-black pools seem to come with their own gravity, and you’re slipping into their inconceivable pull, ready to be strewn and stretched and ripped apart by their physics.

“Oh, Wally,” you try to say, but your tongue slackens, and his name comes out as, ‘Waaalllllyyyy.’ “We love you so much. You can’t make us run away.”

Wally smiles, and you think it’s the saddest thing you’ve ever seen.

“How I wish that were true.”

Suddenly, Wally’s eyes shift just the slightest bit to the left. The effect is like unsealing a pressure chamber. For a moment you are released from his eyes, and your brain and body scramble as one, free-falling and bracing to break against the ground with a hypnic jerk. However, Wally realises his mistake and grabs you by the shoulder - another impossible arm - and forces you to look back into his eyes.

“Shh. Don’t strain yourself. The more you resist, the worse you’ll feel.”

You blink rapidly, trying to reorient yourself in space. Wally’s touch grounds you again, holding you steady in this non-existent space. You try to reply, but your mouth now hangs open, jaw useless. Saliva collects in a pool under your tongue, but Wally still keeps his thumb at the edge of your lip, now rubbing soothing circles against your flesh.

“We don’t have much time,” says Wally. “But…thank you for this. You can’t know how much I appreciate you.”

The warm flush of his approval works its way through your unresponsive body. Your muscles contract, dopamine and serotonin coating your insides and bringing your fingers - still interlocked with Wally’s - into a sudden contraction. You force your mouth into a speech-ready shape, fuelled by his words and his touch and the sheer paradox of his being, and you try so desperately to say, ‘Wally, I love you- ’

But then he looks away.

The spell is broken. Like flipping to another television channel, the world around you snaps back into place in one vivid bound. All the colour, sounds and scents of the Neighbourhood re-enter your senses in one huge burst, and the force of it almost knocks you over. Wally - who is still holding your hands, just like before - keeps you steady, crushing your hands together like he would rather die than let go.

“Hey, you two!”

Looking away from Wally feels like ripping off a plaster. Your eyes alight on Julie trotting up the meadow’s slight incline, clutching a hotdog in one hand and a cooler in the other.

“Eddie wanted me to tell you we’re packing up,” Julie chirps. “Looks like a thunderstorm is coming.” She looks down at your hands, still intertwined with Wally’s, and grins. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Just some good old-fashioned fun,” says Wally, his voice impassive and gentle.

The ability for words has deserted you. You stare back at Wally, searching desperately for something supernatural in the darks of his eyes. Wally looks normal - as normal as a small, yellow puppet can - and his eyes are back to their half-lidded, sleepy-looking state. It takes a couple of nudges with his foot for Wally to bring you back to earth.

Wally lets go of your hands, and you can feel the blood pumping in the spaces between your fingers. You try standing up, but your legs are weak and wobbly, as if you’d just run a marathon while sitting in one spot. They would’ve collapsed beneath you, but Wally catches you before you slip. He hauls you up and loops his arm around yours.

“Just hungry,” Wally says with a smile. “Let’s get you Home."

Julie leads the way down the small embankment, with Wally supporting your timid, uneasy steps. You soon reach your neighbours, now busying themselves in tidying up the remnants of your picnic. Upon seeing you, they all crowd around, asking if you’re okay. Barnaby remarks that you look terribly pale, and Sally offers to bring you a drink. However, Wally shoos them off, admonishing them in a familial sort of way. He reassures them that you’ve just had a small fainting spell, and need to get some rest.

Now free of the others, Julie, Wally and yourself make the way home - and you’re thankful it’s only a short distance. When you finally reach your porch you want to fall over onto the steps, but Wally keeps you held upright: a firm, reassuring presence at your side.

“You need to tell us if you get this again, okay?” says Julie, looking at you with worry in her eyes.

“Okay,” you say, giving a weak nod.

“Thank you. Feel better soon, okay?”

Julie gives you and Wally a final glance over. Having determined you’ll be more than fine in Wally’s care, she bids her goodbyes and skips off to help the rest of your neighbours.

“Ha ha ha,” laughs Wally. “Julie is a good friend. I’m lucky to have her in my life.”

You look sideways at Wally. He catches your eye, and dips his head in a nod. “I feel the same way about you,” he says.

The question is implied in his voice - a little waver at the edge of his words.

“Wally…I don’t really understand what happened today,” you say. “But…I know it doesn’t change how much I like you."

The beam that dawns on Wally’s face is so wide, it almost cracks in two. “Thank you,” he whispers.

You can’t help but return the grin. “Thank you for being vulnerable with me.”

Wally lets go of your arm, and turns to face you properly. He reaches up one hand, and then hesitates, his eyes flickering back and forth between yours as if pondering a question.

Finally, Wally leans in and gives you a small, gentle kiss on the cheek. You inhale sharply, your arms hanging limply by your side and your fingers curling into questioning shapes. His mouth is plush and downy, and the impression of his lips sends a toasty-sweet feeling rocketing through your body.

When Wally pulls back, his yellow skin is dusted pink about his cheeks.

“Always know,” he says softly, “that I love you very much.”

Then, he’s leaving. You watch in stunned silence as Wally’s back retreats into the distance, making his way to join the throng of your neighbours. A slight rumble in the distance makes you look up: a cluster of thunderclouds gather at the edge of the Neighbourhood, fat with the promise of rain.

You touch your lips gently, and smile. Then, you retreat inside the safety of your home…with the warm memory of Wally’s kiss playing in your mind, and static still buzzing in your fingers.

[stargirl-writes]

promises

pairing : f! reader x rots! anakin skywalker

word count : 1k

masterlist | ao3 link

summary

ever since anakin had killed dooku, your anxiety has never settled. for you were watching him slowly lose himself in the war. and you lie late at night lost in the idea that maybe, being with you didn't make any difference at all. so, you watched him sleep, at peace, stealing what little time you could have with him.

tags : angst, comfort, love, flangst (?)

warnings : pretty much none, just angsty stuff to cry to hehe

notes : hello beautiful people! i finished the film past lives and there's this one line that just shattered me 😭 so i just wanna share this little imagine before i go to sleep :) hope ya like it 🪽🩷

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated ! (and fuels me hehe)

Anakin Skywalker is your secret.

Your beautiful little secret.

Here wrapped in these sheets, where everything softens. Hushed. Kissed by the gentle rays of the moonlight.

You have been awake for some time now. But you didn't dare move. Anakin was still deep in his dreams exhausted from the day before. Despite his slumber, his arms wrap around you protectively.

You placed your head on his chest, following his breathing and listening to the soft thuds of his heart.

Your gaze lands on his peaceful expression.

How can someone look so beautifu?

You thought, he looked like the people in the paintings. Like how an artist would imagine a being with the perfect proportions. And he'd move as if each stroke is intended with grace.

The force made him. You'd sometimes catch yourself lost in his eyes, staring, studying the way it'd crease at the ends when he smiles. Is he even human? You'd think to yourself. He is the galaxy made flesh. That has to account for his prettiness, you think.

You take a deep breath; the scales of the ongoing war are further tipped to the Republic's advantage after Anakin had killed Dooku.

It was so close. Even the air itself has shifted. You can feel it, the end. You can almost visualize it.

Maybe then, things will change...

Selfishly, you feel your heart ache by the little amount of time you could share with Anakin. You can't help it, you have always belonged to him, and for that, you have suffered.

He is the Jedi Order's first. Before you can call him yours. You're not even sure if he is his own's anymore. Because you've watched how this war takes so much of him.

Be smarter, Be more cunning, Be more ruthless. Offer yourself again and again and again.

There's so little of him that remains.

You blinked, sighing once more. You reminded yourself that you are here, tangled in his embrace. It was enough to know that here he lies, with you.

Anakin shifts and you hold your breath. You begged the Gods to not wake him, not yet, let me have him, just for now.

Anakin mutters something. Huttese, the language he grew up on. Your eyebrows furrowed, you never really got to understanding the language even after studying it.

His heart paces under your touch. You kept your gaze on his face, deciding whether you should wake him up or have him rest.

He has been having so many nightmares lately...

His eyes abruptly open and you lent your weight on your elbow to better survey him.

"It's alright, Ani, it was just a dream" You spoke softly, careful not to startle him.

Anakin's wide-eye terror softens at the sight of you, his chest heaves trying to catch his breath.

"It's alright" You coo once more, placing a kiss on his forehead.

He presses his eyes close, and his eyes are intent in yours as he follows your breathing.

You can't help but feel a sting in your heart. He is reaching his limit, and it worries you that whenever he's away, he is close to blurring the lines and crossing it.

Anakin presses his face to your clavicle, and your hands find a way to tangle in his hair. Noticing his silence, you spoke soothingly "What's on your mind, Ani?"

Anakin's breath felt warm against your neck. You used to be able to read Anakin's thoughts. Like he'd write it down in words on pages of a novel for you to be able to understand him. But now, he's been more distant, more incoherent, and you feel as though you have to decipher every little thing that he allows you to see.

"mmm—just tired" Anakin's voice was gravelly and of resignation.

Stop turning me away. You wanted to say. But you already know that the more you try to push him, the further he'll hide away.

You take a deep breath, wishing you could take away some of the weight off his shoulders. "You know you speak in Huttese when you're asleep"

"I do?" Anakin tilts his chin, his eyes are still half-asleep.

"Yeah, I could never understand it though" You managed a wan smile.

"That's probably good for you, Huttese is a very coarse language" He claims.

"Still—" You held back your tongue, deciding it would only drive him away if you asked about his dream.

"I fear that you dream in a language I can't understand"

The silence hung. Anakin must be asleep.

Your gaze moved faraway— deep in contemplation. Wondering if you being in his life made any difference at all.

"You know, I only ever feel like myself when I'm with you, right?" Anakin speaks, voice barely above a whisper.

Your cheeks flushed scarlet, realizing your force signature may have revealed your anxieties.

"I know"

Anakin shifts his head, eyes latched on to you like he was memorizing every detail of your face.

"Ani" you began, "If there's a life after it all, will you come with me?"

Anakin's eyebrows flashed at the suddenness of your question.

"What do you mean?" He places his hand on the small of your back, tracing small circles.

"Well, I'm only wondering, will you come with me, even then?"

Anakin's expression softens, recognizing your fears. You were losing him, slowly, bit by bit. And if you're bound to him in this life, why not in the other?

When you can finally feel like you're not constantly the only one holding on.

He doesn't answer for a while, you feel the need to ramble, to withdraw.

It was silly of you to ask, he is free to choose whatever life he wants to live after it all, besides, if he decides to want to rest, you won't take that away from him, if he ever wants to—

"I'll go wherever you go" he declares, halting the thoughts plaguing your mind.

His eyes drift away from yours "I can't... I know what my duty requires of me and I'm sorry if I haven't been here for you."

"But, I'll love you in a time that isn't stolen" he promises, tucking your hair away from your face.

You felt tears glistening in your eyes. You smiled, leaning in to tenderly kiss Anakin.

The hope of it all would be enough to keep you going.

Just a little while longer.

© to @cafekitsune for the borders as always !

[sugdenlovesdingle]

A different first meeting AU inspired by Blink182 - The Rock Show because I think Tommy is a rocker (no pun intended)

I'll post to AO3 when I've had some sleep.

🎵 fell in love with the boy at the rock show🎵

---

It wasn't his usual hang out, but after his break up with Natalia, Buck was desperate to surround himself with as much life as possible.

Some hole in the wall bar advertising live music, outside the 118's jurisdiction, seemed the perfect place to do it.

And also to forget he was currently the only single member of the 118 A shift.

The music was decent, the drinks not too expensive, and he liked the general vibe in the place. Even if he didn't recognise the majority of the songs the band was playing.

"Haven't seen you here before." someone said in his ear and he turned around.

The guy was gorgeous. Bright blue eyes and cheekbones that could cut diamonds.

"Oh uh... yeah... I mean... no, you haven't. I just wanted a change of scenery, I guess."

"Yeah? And how is that working out for you?" the guy asked, sitting down on the barstool next to Buck.

"Not too bad." he replied. "I think I like it here."

"That's good to hear. It would be a shame if we'd never see you again." the guy smiled and Buck was almost mesmerised by the way his eyes crinkled when he did. "Do you want another?" he nodded at the almost empty glass in front of him.

"Sure."

The guy got up and rounded the bar, grabbing two bottles of beer from the fridge.

"Is this your bar or something?"

"It might as well be with the amount of time he spends here." a woman of around their age said, as she walked back behind the bar carrying a serving tray with empty glasses.

"I keep telling you Gina, you should let me buy into this place. Tommy and Gina. Living on a prayer."

"Why does your name get to go first if its my bar?" the woman asked, hand on her hip.

"Because that's how the song goes. Take it up with Jon if you don't like it." he told her and laughed when she rolled her eyes at him.

"Get back to your side of the bar, you menace."

The guy, Tommy apparently, laughed again and went back to his seat next to Buck.

"Is she your girlfriend?"

"He wishes! I'm a catch!" Gina said while preparing a cocktail.

"Sure you are. If I was into women I would have made a move on you years ago." Tommy told her, looking at Buck from the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction.

"If I was into men, I might have appreciated that."

"She loves me really." Tommy told Buck. "Has done since we were kids."

"He was the new kid in the neighbourhood and my mother made me go say hi and play with him. Haven't been able to get rid of him since." Gina commented, and walked away with the cocktail.

Tommy laughed and took a swig of his beer.

"So now you know my name and how my best friend was forced to befriend me... but I don't know anything about you... yet."

"Well... what do you want to know?" Buck asked, trying to tear his eyes away from Tommy's lips when he took another swig.

"Everything." Tommy replied. "But let's start with your name."

"I'm B- my name's Evan." Buck told him, holding out his hand.

Tommy raised an eyebrow at the stumble but didn't mention it.

"Nice to meet you Evan."

They talked for a while. Laughing about everything and nothing, with Tommy getting mock offended when Buck admitted he didn't know the song Tommy insisted was one of his favourites and not many of the others either.

"Hey I spent most of my twenties travelling!" Buck laughed, defending himself. He liked talking to Tommy. He was fun and friendly, and definitely easy on the eye.

Objectively speaking of course. He'd always been able to appreciate a hot guy when he saw one. Just like he'd look at hot women. It meant nothing.

"And you didn't listen to music on your travels?" Tommy asked incredulously.

"I did... but I didn't pay much attention to it I guess" Buck shrugged, taking a swing of his drink. He hadn't really kept track of how many he'd had but he was starting to feel the buzz. "My sister's..." he shook his head trying to think of a word to describe Chim's relation to him and Maddie. "My brother in law..." He settled on. "He's this movie buff and he's always rolling his eyes at me when I don't get his references."

"Not a movie guy either?"

"Not really. I get distracted. I prefer documentaries. I like learning new things." Buck explained and took a good look at Tommy, taking in the amused look on his face. "Let me guess... you're a movie buff too?"

"I like the escapism, sue me." Tommy replied. "But I'm happy to teach you all about the classics. I've been told I'm a good teacher." He smiled and leaned a little closer, and for a minute Buck thought he was about to kiss him.

And how much he wouldn't mind that. At all.

"Thomas, get your ass up here and make yourself useful, man!" the singer from the band that had been playing all night suddenly called out.

And suddenly the moment was gone. Tommy laughed, leaned back, quickly finished his beer, and got up.

"Duty calls... are you sticking around, Evan?"

"Uh y-yeah, sure."

"Great." Tommy said happily and squeezed his shoulder in passing, letting his hand linger just a fraction too long.

He walked up to the stage and someone handed him a guitar.

As the band started playing, Buck recognised the song as one of Tommy's favourites he'd pointed out to him earlier, and couldn't help but stare at the man.

He was laughing with the others and making playing the instrument look effortless.

He was confident. Interesting.

The band played a few songs before Tommy handed the guitar back to a woman Buck hadn't noticed before and he stepped off the stage again.

Buck made his way over, suddenly eager to talk to him before anyone else would have a chance to.

"Hey!" Tommy greeted him and the crinkly smile was back. "Glad you stayed."

"Y-yeah me t-too..." Buck stammered, his brain somewhat disconnected from his mouth. "S-so... you play guitar?"

"Bass actually." Tommy corrected him. "Everyone knows the bass is the most important instrument in a band." he grinned. "I've been playing since I was a teenager and I play with these guys sometimes when I'm around."

"Yeah? You sounded pretty good. You made it look so easy. I wish I could play."

"I could teach you." Tommy offered without missing a beat.

"Yeah? Is that before or after you teach me about classic movies I need to watch?" Buck tilted his head and smiled as he stepped closer to Tommy, only vaguely aware he was doing it.

Tommy glanced down at his lips.

"No reason we can't do both."

Suddenly there were two fingers under Buck's chin, tilting his face up and Tommy's lips on his for the softest first kiss he'd ever had.

It was over before Buck's brain had really caught up with what was happening and he just stared at Tommy with a dazed and confused look on his face.

"Sorry I - " Tommy started but Buck cut him off, putting a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close and kissing him until neither of them could remember their own name.

~ A few days later ~

"There he is, Tommy Kinard, the man of the hour. Long time no see. " Chim said, pulling the guy that had just walked up to them in for a quick hug.

Buck couldn't get a good look at him from where he was standing. The guy was just muscles under a straining blue flight suit and slightly messy brown hair, until Chim stepped away and Buck choked on air.

Chim's buddy was the Tommy from the bar. The bassist who had turned his world upside down with two fingers under his chin in a dark corner of a bar he'd ended up in by chance.

"Let me introduce you to these two knuckleheads. This is Buck and Eddie." Chim gestured at them. "Guys this is Tommy, he used to be at the 118 when you two were just a twinkle in Bobby's eye."

Eddie stepped forward first and shook Tommy's hand.

"Eddie Diaz, thanks for helping us out."

"Sure thing. If Howie calls I answer. I owe him my life."

Eddie nodded and stepped back and gave Buck an expectant look.

"Oh. Right. Yes." Buck stammered and walked up to Tommy holding out his hand. "I'm Evan... E-Evan Buckley."

Tommy smiled as he shook his hand and Buck's knees turned to jello. Again.

"Nice to meet you Evan."

[venoyale]

AO3 MASTERLIST - Jujutsu Kaisen

will be updating :)

Gojo Satoru/Reader

Neighbourhood Watch (ongoing) - Rated E: AKA: THE Satoru Gojo being down bad for one (1) single mom. ★ fluff, SMUT, angst/comfort

Anteros (oneshot) - Rated E: "In Greek mythology, Anteros (/ˈæntərɒs/; Ancient Greek: Ἀντέρως Antérōs) was the god of requited love (literally "love returned" or "counter-love") and also the punisher of those who scorn love and the advances of others, or the avenger of unrequited love." ★ fluff, SMUT, angst/comfort

Kiss Me Better (oneshot) - Rated E: You've always understood the importance of words, especially ones that are said to someone who won't come back. However, you were foolish enough to believe this concept doesn't apply to your boyfriend, AKA The Strongest. Arguments break out, Shibuya happens, and you're left haunted by the last words you both uttered to each other. But what happens when he's quite literally sitting on your bed twenty days later, obviously missing you? And why aren't you kissing him?? ★ fluff, SMUT, angst/comfort

All I Need (oneshot) - Rated E: A friend of Shoko's is a friend of yours, right? So why does it seem like Satoru Gojo wants a lot more from you than expected? ★ SMUT, slightly obsessive but NOT yandere Gojo

Satosugu

Heartbeat (hiatus) - Rated E: When they reach the peak of ecstasy, Satoru wraps his arms around Suguru, eyes boring into the man on top of him. He wants to convey his feelings through words, but it gets stuck at the base of his larynx, so he only hopes that his saccharine moans and the unadulterated emotion pouring from his gaze sends the right message. Suguru burrows his face in Satoru’s neck so that he doesn’t see him falter under pressure. ★ SMUT, angst/comfort, misunderstandings

Venus Fly Trap (ongoing/semi-hiatus) - Rated E: What's the easiest way to capture (the heart of) the only daughter and heiress of the Gojo Conglomerate? Seems like only a certain woman has the answer to that, despite her shady and mysterious presence. ★ SMUT, sexual tension despite having marathon sex

Occult TV (ongoing/semi-hiatus) - Rated T: When Itadori, Iguchi, and Sasaki's Occult club expands into something big, like a paranormal investigation YouTube Channel, they're tasked to investigate the former home of a friend's guardians. Will they, a trio of amateur ghost-hunters, be able to find any solid evidence? Stay tuned to find out, only on Occult TV! ★ fluff, crack, slight angst/comfort

Valentine's Day 2018 (oneshot + platonic satoshoko) - Rated T: It’s not that she doesn’t care, but if she’s being honest to anyone including herself, she does not have the mental capacity to even try to be there for her white-haired friend. It’s futile, because the last person who truly understood Satoru left, and now he’s gone forever….Forever. That’s why Shoko’s here today, though. This Valentine’s Day marks the first of infinity where Suguru is gone forever. ★ angst/no comfort

Slow Mornings (oneshot) - Rated E: "Suguru now realizes just how scarce domesticity truly is, and how he almost threw it away when he wakes up on a chilly December morning with a sleeping Satoru in his arms. The expensive silk sheets that his husband had handpicked are wrapped around them tightly, bundling them up like a baby’s swaddle, or a hubby burrito as Satoru lovingly dubs it." ★ comfort, fix-it, fluff, a pinch of angst in the beginning

Character Studies

It's My Birthday, Did You Remember? (ongoing) - Rated M - Gojo Satoru: As a friend, teacher, and colleague, Satoru Gojo will always be the first person there when it comes to celebrating someone’s birthday. He thinks it’s important to celebrate the existence of a person, even if it’s for one day, and let it be known that they’re greatly appreciated. But what’s only known to a few, is that, his own birthdays weren’t like this when he was growing up…. ★ angst

[massivedrickhead]

merry christmas, merry christmas (but i think i’ll miss this one this year)

Words: 1907

Summary: Chloe isn’t going home for Christmas, and her aim is to make it to the 25th without the Bellas finding out.

Notes: Merry Pitchmas @psychoteacher90, I’m your secret santa! So, confession time - I misread the initial message and thought you’d said you like a little angst sprinkled in with your fluff, but after I re-read it last night I realised it said you could tolerate it… I hope you like this anyway, and next year I’m definitely going to read the message more than once 🙈

Read on AO3

@merry-pitchmas

-

“Hey, when are you going home for Christmas?”

The question caught Chloe off guard. Not because she wasn’t expecting it, she just wasn’t expecting it so early into December. 

She thought she’d have more time to come up with an answer. A lie that wouldn’t result in further questions. 

But she didn’t get that time. Beca asked her on the first weekend of December while eating toast with one hand and scrolling through her phone with the other. 

“Oh, I dunno yet,” Chloe replied, trying to sound casual. “Why?”

Beca shrugged. “Just wondering.” 

Chloe thought about maybe telling her the truth. The Bellas’ house was quiet for once, with the rest of the girls either still in bed, or out, or home for the weekend. 

Now would be as good a time as any. 

She opened her mouth to speak but shut it just as quickly. 

No, not now. 

Besides, she didn’t usually go home until a few days before Christmas Eve. Anything could happen between now and then. 

-

Beca asked again a few weeks later, a scowl on her face as she squinted at her phone.

“Do you know when you’re leaving for Christmas yet?” She asked. “I’m trying to organise the Bella’s Christmas party, and no one is free on the same night. Since when were a capella nerds so popular?”

Chloe couldn’t help but smile and roll her eyes as she pulled Beca’s phone out of her hand. 

“You’ll give yourself a headache,” she said, looking down at their shared calendar. Chloe had completely forgotten all about their Christmas party, which was especially surprising since she was the one who had organised it for the past few years.

It was true, there was no night that was free. Each square ticking down to December 25th contained a coloured dot representing at least one of the Bellas and their plan for that day.

Chloe noticed her own baby blue dot was the only one absent. There were no Christmas market trips, or festive nights out with classmates, or neighbourhood carolling. 

She hadn’t been feeling particularly Christmassy this year.

“I guess we just skip it this year,” Chloe said, handing Beca back her phone.

Beca raised her eyebrows. “Skip it?”

Chloe shrugged. “I don’t see any other option, everyone is busy.”

Beca shook her head and looked back at her phone. “You love the Christmas party. I’ll figure it out. Even if we have it at 2 pm on a Tuesday.”

“I wouldn’t stress about it,” Chloe said, standing up from the sofa and grabbing their dishes from the coffee table. “It isn’t important.”

“You didn’t answer my question by the way,” Beca asked, looking up from her phone as Chloe stood. “When are you going to your parents?”

I’m not. 

“I don’t know yet.”

-

Their Christmas party never happened, but Chloe didn’t notice. Or, at least, she pretended not to.

She had been trying to spend the majority of her December trying to pretend that the holiday didn’t exist.

When the Bellas had decorated the tree, Chloe had been hiding in the library.

When they made gingerbread houses, she went to the gym.

When they got drunk on Amy’s mulled wine, she’d been studying in her room, ignoring Beca’s repeated attempts to get her to join them.

For the amount of time Chloe had spent trying to avoid Christmas, Beca had spent double trying to get her involved.

Chloe couldn’t blame her, she knew she wasn’t herself, but she still couldn’t bring herself to tell Beca the truth. 

It would start a much bigger conversation that Chloe wasn’t ready for. One she’d never intended on having in the first place.

She kept it buried and tried to avoid Beca as much as she could for the next couple of days.

-

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride to the airport?” Beca asked on the 23rd. 

“I’m sure,” Chloe said. “You were supposed to leave for your Dad’s like 20 minutes ago, you’ll be late.”

Beca looked at her watch but still dithered. “You’ll text me when you land?”

“Yes,” Chloe said. “Get out of here already.”

“Jeez, Merry Christmas to you too,” Beca said, giving Chloe a hug. 

“Merry Christmas,” Chloe replied, trying not to hold on too tightly. 

She needed Beca to leave, because if she didn’t she might cry.

“See you next year, I guess,” Beca said, ending their hug and grabbing her keys from the counter. 

“Drive safe,” Chloe said.

Beca raised a hand in farewell before closing their door behind her. 

Chloe’s tears fell quickly after.

She picked up her suitcase and carried it back to her room before dumping out the contents on her floor. 

Her plan had worked. 

She would make it through Christmas without anyone finding out she’d spent it alone. Without anyone finding out why she’d spent it alone. 

-

Later that night there was a knock at the door which Chloe assumed was the pizza she’d ordered. 

She had assumed wrong.

Beca was standing on their doorstep, hands shoved into her pockets because she’d forgotten her gloves.

Chloe could only stare back, mouth slightly agape. She swallowed. She could still get out of this. 

“Forget your keys or something?”

“You aren’t going to Florida.” It wasn’t a question, and Chloe couldn’t argue. She was standing there in her pyjamas after all. Her hair up in a towel, face scrubbed of makeup. It was hours after her supposed flight was supposed to have taken off.

“What are you doing here?” Chloe asked, her shoulders dropping. 

“I could ask you the same question.”

Chloe sighed and stood aside so Beca could come in. “Fine,” she said. “I’m not going to Florida. Your turn to answer.”

Beca tilted her head as if confused. “I came here for you,” she said. “You aren’t spending Christmas on your own.” Again, it wasn’t a question.

“Beca-”

“Look, you’ve been distant and sad since Thanksgiving, and I’m guessing it has something to do with you not going home for Christmas,” Beca said. “And you don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to - and I’m assuming you don’t otherwise you’d have said something before now - but just because you aren’t going home, doesn’t mean you have to spend Christmas alone.”

Chloe opened her mouth to speak, but she was cut off by another knock on the door, and this time it was the pizza guy.

“I’m fine,” Chloe said, returning from the door with her pizza. “I have pizza, and trashy movies, and wine. I’ve spent plenty of days by myself before, and this one won’t be any different. It’s just a day, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t think you believe that,” Beca said. “But, whatever, if you don’t want to spend it with me that’s fine.” Beca pulled out her phone. “But you also have an invite from Jessica to spend it with her family, as well as Ashley, Flo, Legacy, Cynthia Rose, Amy, and Stacie also told me to tell you you could crash her and Aubrey’s Christmas plans. Also Lily offered too, but she also mentioned something about needing a sacrificial lamb, so maybe don’t go to her place.”

Chloe laughed and shook her head, tears burning her eyes.

“Even if you can’t go back to Florida, you can still spend Christmas with your family. Maybe not the one you were born into, but a one that loves you.”

“I don’t want to impose-”

“Chloe I had barely finished typing out my message to them, and all the Bellas were falling over themselves to invite you to their homes. You’re not an imposition.”

“And you?”

“I said I had first dibs,” Beca said. “Plus, this way I’ll get to give you your present. I pulled your name in Secret Santa this year.”

“I didn’t do Secret Santa,” Chloe responded, confused.

“Fine, I pulled Legacy but I have a gift for you anyway.” Beca took hold of Chloe’s hands. “Come on,” she said. “Sheila bought a turkey that’s way too big, my dad needs someone to talk about books with, and I… I want to spend Christmas with you.”

Chloe pulled her teeth across her bottom lip before she eventually nodded her head. 

They ate the pizza while Chloe changed and packed, and then they piled into the car for the short drive to Beca’s dad’s house.

“How did you know that I wasn’t going home?”

“Your flight didn’t exist,” Beca replied. “And I just had a feeling that there was something you weren’t telling me. You haven’t been yourself.”

“I know,” Chloe said. “I’m sorry I’ve been so… Well, you know. I just didn’t want to get into it.”

“You still don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I’m here to listen if you do.”

Chloe didn’t respond right away. She rested her head against the passenger window and watched the flurry of snow begin to fall. 

“I had a fight with my parents at Thanksgiving,” Chloe said.

Beca turned down the music, but didn’t interrupt.

“Things have been tense with them for a while,” Chloe said. “It all sort of boiled over. They overheard me on the phone to Aubrey… Heard me talk about stuff they didn’t know about me and… Yeah. A lot of yelling later and I was, I mean disowned sounds so serious but I guess… I guess that’s what it was.” 

Chloe tried to swallow the lump in her throat but it wouldn’t budge. 

She recognised where they were, and knew they’d be entering Beca’s neighbourhood soon. She wanted to pull herself together before then.

“Jesus,” Beca said, her voice just above a whisper. “I mean unless you were confessing to multiple murders on the phone to Aubrey, I don’t-”

“I was telling her about someone I like. About… About a girl I like.”

“Oh,” Beca said, glancing across the car. “They didn’t know?”

“No,” Chloe said. 

“I’m really sorry, Chloe. You… You don’t deserve that. And they don’t deserve you.”

Chloe sniffed. “I know.” They pulled into Beca’s drive but neither made a move to get out of the car. Chloe could see the glow of Christmas lights through the window, and she felt a pang of homesickness mixed with a rush of gratitude for Beca. “Thank you for coming back for me.”

“I always will,” Beca said. “I hope you know how loved you are, Chloe.”

They sat in silence for a little while longer before Beca spoke again. “So, there’s a girl you like, huh? Anyone I know?”

Chloe laughed. “You know, considering you were able to figure out I lied about going to Florida, you can be a little oblivious sometimes.”

“It’s that obvious? It can’t be Stacie or Aubrey, or Jessica or Ashley. Is it Emily? Or Cynth-”

Beca’s voice died in her throat as Chloe pressed their lips together.

“Oh.”

“I get it if you don-”

It was Chloe’s turn to be cut off as Beca pulled her back into a kiss. 

They didn’t break apart until they heard the front door of the house being pulled open. 

Light from the hall spilled out into the driveway.

Beca’s Dad sighed. “Sheila, I owe you 20 bucks!” He shouted before shutting the door again.

Chloe giggled, and Beca felt it in her chest.

“I guess we should go inside,” Chloe said.

“I guess we should. Merry Christmas, Chloe.”

“Merry Christmas, Beca.”

They kissed again.

[dandylions101]

Poly Xianle Quartet Dynamics Headcanons/Thoughts

Okay so first we have our main big ships: Hualian and Fengqing

Xie Lian x Hua Cheng: our star-crossed lovers duo. Constant heart eyes. We know them. We love them. It’s very important to me that they both love each other the same intense amount tho.

Feng Xin x Mu Qing: Rivals to lovers type. I think they both definitely had a crush on each other when they were younger, a bit of a “fuck this guy but also he’s kinda pretty wait what-“. I think post-canon they finally try and do get over their general angst and bad communication and become a duo that really make a fantastic team when they can. Like. Not kill each other enough to actually listen. The Martial Gods of the South. They’ve been at each other’s side (and at each other’s throats) almost always since they’ve met, and I think that fact really is the foundation of their dynamic.

Alright, now the more fun stuff.

Xie Lian x Feng Xin: ‘Body Guard x Royal’ dynamic my beloved. I think they’re very much childhood friends to lovers too. Like saw each other in diapers type. I think Feng Xin was born to a noble family (with a strong martial background) that was mostly dead by the time the kingdom fell, and therefore was one of the few people deemed high ranked enough to be friends with the Crown Prince. Which makes him like. The person Xie Lian knew the longest. Intensely loyal, especially post-canon once they get over their angst. Honestly I think they may be a little bit codependent for a bit, but they ease out once they’ve settled into their relationship again. There’s definitely more to say here but I’ll leave it at that for now.

Xie Lian x Mu Qing: Ah yes, it’s the Unrequited Love complex they both nurtured for me. I read It’s In Your Warmth, I Feel The Coldest, by PeacefulDiscord on ao3 (it’s great you should check it out). And they wrote a line which really pinned down their relationship for me; “I always thought of you as my beauty,” Xie Lian says. His gaze is firm even as his hand gentles where he’s still holding Mu Qing. “My jade. My love for you drove me mad, it made me too harsh when I believed you to have discarded me so easily.” And that right there has to be the crux of their relationship. I think they both crushed on each other when they were younger, and they found each other’s differences fascinating. But that difference in class made it so difficult for them to actually understand each other. I think post-canon, once they both have lived closer to the contexts of each other’s childhoods, they both have a much better understanding of the other person. They both had strong insecurities when it came to each other, a balancing act when they never knew what the other might take the wrong way. And the power imbalance that Mu Qing was always intensely aware of and that Xie Lian never even considered. Which made them lash out the minute they felt unsure. Assumptions galore. I think after a long chat post-canon, they settle into a sweet and close relationship again, and I think their experiences after they parted lent them a new understanding of each other they bask in now. The intense admiration (and love) they have for each other goes unshadowed now.

Alright, now probably the most juicy dynamics (at least in my opinion):

Hua Cheng x Mu Qing: I headcanon that they knew each other, when they were kids. Same impoverished neighbourhood type. I’m not sure how close that relationship was, but I think they definitely had one, even if it was just Mu Qing lying about Hong Hong’er’s whereabouts when his family or some other kids try to hurt him. They have lots of animosity to get through, especially regarding the whole Xie Lian stuff. And I think because their childhoods were similar, it made Hua Cheng even less inclined to forgive Mu Qing for what he viewed as his abandoning Xie Lian (especially cause I wouldn’t have done that, he thinks to himself). I think Hu Cheng also envies him the relationship he had with Xie Lian when they were younger, thinking him undeserving. I think any headway they make happens after an explosive verbal fight, which is probably how their other two lovers learned they knew each other when they were young. Once they actually talk out the resentment, I think their relationship eases a bit. The spark of admiration they had for each other when young erupts into a whole forest fire pretty quickly after that. (Mu Qing was definitely Hua Cheng’s gay awakening when they were younger, and Xie Lian was Feng Xin’s. Mu Qing’s was Feng Xin, to his eternal despair and Feng Xin’s eternal smugness. And Xie Lian’s was obviously his San Lang, it was almost Feng Xin tho, but he was too oblivious). They turn that lingering animosity into gossiping and judging people together, it’s their favourite bonding activity. I think their shared background eventually makes Hua Cheng the person that can read Mu Qing the easiest, and Mu Qing the person that catches Hua Cheng’s insecurities the easiest too. Their relationship is surprisingly soft. Theres is a slow burn.

Hua Cheng x Feng Xin: These two bitches might actually be enemies to lovers. Hate at first sight. Hate for a long while after. They have no basis for a relationship outside of their assumptions about each other, and the early post-canon years consist of snide remarks and actual fist fights sometimes. Their own unique relationship with Xie Lian means they have no qualms about throwing him at each other’s face, and it wasn’t until they almost made him cry doing that they finally calmed down a little. Still. Lots of animosity that doesn’t get solved until some sort of mission together forces them to actually exist around each other enough to not try to explode each other with their brains. They realise, after a fraught silence, that they’re both quite similar. Especially with loved ones. Especially when it’s loyalty. And they both, respectfully, hate this new understanding of each other. “What do you mean I can’t get mad at him for doing the most for someone he believes and is loyal to?!” “What do you mean I can’t hate him for leaving our shared lover because he proved more loyal when being asked to leave?!”. Unfortunately for them, this does prove to be the ice breaker for their relationship. They end up bonding over their shared drive to keep their loved ones safe, and they understand each other’s intense more than anyone else. It’s a slow surprise to both of them when that starts to include each other as well. But they find it’s nice to be the object of someone’s intense for once too.

Alright that’s all for now. I clearly had more thoughts than I assumed.

[to-thelakes]

escape artist

pairing; frank castle x fem!reader

summary; your orange cat was a menace but at least your gorgeous neighbour - Frank - got to help you out.

warnings; fluff, reader has an orange cat, slight au

notes; okay so this is day 5 of my fluffbruary fics! I'm currently working on day 6 so that should be out later tonight! this fic was so sweet and it makes me wanna write a friends to lovers frank castle suburbia au fic. like especially with this reader?? i feel like it'd be so cute so please let me know if any of you would like more of these two! but enjoy <3

ao3

The neighbourhood was quiet when you woke up. The sun was filtering through your sheer curtains as you blinked awake. The familiar warmth of your cat sitting at your feet on the bed was gone and there were none of the usual yowls for food that woke you. You turned over, rubbing your face with your hand but when you looked across the dimly lit room, there was no evidence of your menace of an orange kitty.

It was just you. No cat. Your eyebrows furrowed and you shoved your sheets back, checking under the bed. There was nothing and then you realised. Your window. You had left it open. The screen had been loose and when you pulled the curtains back, you saw it. Sugarpuff had pulled the screen back and escaped.

“That goddamn escape artist,” You cursed under your breath as you stepped back from the window. It wasn’t the first time she had done this. You were told that orange cats were trouble but Sugarpuff was worse than any you had come across. You loved her despite it all but she was an absolute menace. You grabbed your crocs on the way to the front door, snatching the treats up from the side table. This was a routine now.

That was the one good thing about living in suburbia, early mornings didn’t mean hellish traffic. When you had lived in the city, there would be cars rushing by and Sugarpuff would - to put it bluntly - be dead by now. But in suburbia, she usually came running to the sound of you shaking the bag of treats.

“Sugarpuff!” You called from your front porch. The early morning sun had you wincing, your eyes hadn’t expected the sudden change in light but making sure Sugarpuff got back to you safe was worth any pain. You shook the bag of treats and waited. But there was no sound of familiar pawsteps. No Sugarpuff. You frowned, “Sugarpuff! Where are you?” You called again, stepping down off the porch and looking around. You shook the bag of treats again, “I have treats for you, baby. Just come here.” If it was any other time of day, you would have rather died than call out like that but it was early. Everyone was likely still asleep, having a lazy Sunday in.

Then you heard it. A whiny meow and you recognised it instantly.

“Where are you, baby? Sugarpuff, come on. I’ll give you a treat,” You called as you walked across the pathway of your front lawn. Then you spotted her. Your insane orange cat was perched on top of one of the trees. Her paws were pressed forward and it seemed like she kept trying to climb down but she was too scared. You stared at Sugarpuff, completely baffled by her.

“What are you doing up there, huh?” You said as you walked up to the bottom of the tree. Sugarpuff meowed out pitifully towards you again and you sighed. You ran your fingers through your hair before glancing around, “Stay right there, baby. I’ll get you down.” Sugarpuff meowed again and you pocketed the bag of treats before heading back towards the house. You had stepladders under the stairs which would hopefully reach you to her and she could come safely into your arms.

“You okay, ma’am?” The gruff voice of Frank Castle made you jump. He had moved in a few houses down and although you’d welcomed him with some cookies, that was the extent of your interactions. He seemed sweet enough and he had been helping Mrs Klein, an elderly woman in the neighbourhood, with tasks around the house. She had lost her husband last year and he seemed more than happy to give her support. It was sweet but you didn’t know much about him other than the small snippets from Mrs Klein. 

You certainly hadn’t expected him to be up at this time on a Sunday morning and you whirled back around, he was dressed in running gear. His hair was sticking to his forehead, sweating dripping down the side of his face. He looked exhausted yet there was a soft look on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, just my cat. The orange menace got stuck in the tree,” You gestured vaguely towards the oak tree. Frank chuckled and glanced over, spotting the orange furball.

“Do ya need help?” He asked. You shook your head.

“I’m just gonna grab the stepladders and then I should be able to reach her. She’s a fucking idiot,” You explained as you stepped backwards, an amused smile spreading across your face. He nodded and you headed into the house. 

When you came back with stepladders in hand, you hadn’t expected Frank to still be outside but that’s where he was. Instead, you found him standing at the bottom of the tree and he was talking to Sugarpuff in a soft, sweet tone; you honestly hadn’t even thought he was capable of it.

“Ya pretty lady is gonna get you down but ya gotta stop running out on her,” He said. Sugarpuff meowed back in response, clearly unimpressed by Frank’s assertion. You cleared your throat and Frank’s head snapped back, “Thought I’d keep her company while ya got the ladder,” He explained. You smiled and gently placed the stepladder down.

“She’ll appreciate it more than me,” You said as you adjusted the ladder so that it was firmly pressed into the dirt. The last thing you needed was to fall over in your pyjamas and crocs. You stepped up onto it and stood up on your tiptoes, just about able to reach Sugarpuff. But she didn’t seem like she wanted to be picked up and shied away, stepping backwards away from the edge, “Are you shitting me, Sugarpuff? Come here.” Frank chuckled below you, one hand resting on the ladder and keeping it steady as you stood on your tiptoes, desperately trying to reach out for her.

“Want me to try?” He asked curiously when he noticed that your attempts were futile. You sighed and tried to lure Sugarpuff forward but she didn’t seem to respond to any of it. You let out a huff of annoyance before getting down from the stepladder.

“Be my guest. She’s a fucking menace,” You said, exasperated. Frank chuckled and you switched places. Within seconds, Sugarpuff had let him pick her up and he stepped down from the stepladder. She settled against his chest and you watched in utter disbelief, “Fucking traitor,” You whispered towards the orange menace. Frank was grinning as he stroked Sugarpuff.

“D’you want her?” He asked, meeting your gaze. You sighed and rubbed your face.

“Could you take her inside while I bring the stepladder in? Don’t want her trying another fucking escape act,” You requested. Frank nodded and he gestured for you to go first. You carried the stepladders in and put them under the stairs again while Frank continued to stroke Sugarpuff, “Can you keep a hold of her a sec?” You asked. Frank let out a noise of agreement while you headed to your bedroom and closed the window. That menace was not going to escape again.

When you returned to the hallway, your screen door had been pushed to and Frank was sitting on the floor, stroking Sugarpuff as she rolled over. It was clear that she was loving the new attention and you were honestly in disbelief. Sugarpuff usually hated anyone that wasn’t you and she hated men the most. She constantly hissed at the mailman and any delivery drivers who dared to get too close to the windows. But it was different with Frank, it seemed

“Thank you for rescuing her. She’s a menace,” You said as you leant against the side table by the front door. You put the treats back on the side and he shrugged.

“S’all good.” The tension that had been in your shoulders since you woke up seemed to release as you took in the sight of Frank. He was so calm, stroking Sugarpuff like she hadn’t just nearly given you a heart attack at half 5 in the morning.

“Can I offer you breakfast?” You asked curiously. Sugarpuff seemed to recognise that word and she rolled away from Frank and got up on her paws again, “She definitely wants it. So, you wanna join us?” Frank looked at Sugarpuff and then at you, his face stoic. From that look alone, you had a guess what his answer would be.

“I would love to but I gotta finish my run and get back to Amy,” Frank explained as he clambered back up to his feet. You nodded your head, trying to brush off the sting of rejection. You knew that it wasn’t serious, it didn’t mean anything.

“Of course, thank you again. If she ever runs away again, I know who to call,” You said, forcing a smile onto your face, “I’m gonna go and give her some food so you can escape. Thank you, really. It means a lot.” Frank didn’t know what to say so he simply nodded and sent you a warm smile. That smile soothed the rejection a little as you headed into the kitchen. 

Sugarpuff followed you in and when you put the wet food in a bowl, she happily began to munch down on it; while you washed your hands. It was a couple more moments of sorting out her supply of dry food and refilling her water fountain before you heard the front door close.

You found yourself frowning as you returned back to the fridge to pick up your breakfast supplies. You knew it was ridiculous to be upset at something so simple but Frank was endearing and Sugarpuff was usually avoidant of men. If even Sugarpuff liked him then she knew that he was a good one which made you want to know him. 

It wasn’t until after breakfast that you wandered back into the hallway and on the side table there was a note. You had abandoned some scraps of paper that you used to make a quick shopping list. But among the blank scraps, one of the pieces of paper had a note scribbled across it. The handwriting was scraggly but you were pretty sure it said ‘Can’t call me if you don’t have my number’ followed by a string of numbers. Your jaw dropped slightly before you glanced at Sugarpuff.

“Thanks, buddy,” You mumbled before picking up the note and heading back into your room to put it into your phone.

<3

[sailtomarina]

Written for Day 1 - Obliviate - of @dhrmonth, Chapter 1 of Hermione Memoria is available to read on AO3! 

Hermione Memoria Masterlist

.・゜゜・  ・゜゜・．  ｡･ﾟﾟ･  ･ﾟﾟ･｡

The first time it happened, she was at a football field.

She’d been invited by some friends to their daughter’s first home game. Hermione wasn’t usually one for sports, never had been growing up, but she’d been swept up into the excitement the longer she stayed. The book she’d brought sat forgotten in her bag.

The parents had rushed down to the field to congratulate their kid on her win, Hermione lingering behind to give the family their space. Standing on the pitch, clumps of dirt kicked up from the action, she was struck with an intense, verdant perfume. Instead of rectangular goals and painted lines, she envisioned towering hoops and blurry figures dashing across the sky at impossible speeds.

As suddenly as the images appeared, they vanished. She shook her head, blinking rapidly.

How odd.

The second time it happened, Hermione was walking through a trendy neighbourhood with a bag full of books slung over one shoulder. She’d stumbled across the area by chance, as she did from time to time, and explored the odd little shops full of even odder baubles. The people here dressed differently, too, with cloaks of all cuts and colours. She even considered picking one up for herself in a lovely shade of light purple, but changed her mind at the last second. Where would she even wear it?

She’d caught a melody in the air, a familiar warble she couldn’t place. It pulled her forward and down the street until she stood in front of a small music store.

“Who is that?” she asked the man behind the counter.

He looked at her with a bored expression. “I must be getting old if you don’t recognise Celestina Warbeck.”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t say that,” she hurried to assure him. “I’m terrible with artist names, song titles. I just thought it sounded familiar.”

When she went home later that evening, she couldn’t find any music by one Celestina Warbeck, but maybe she’d misspelt the name, or misheard him.

The third instance occurred when she was feeling particularly vulnerable. It wasn’t often that none of her usual passions caught her interest. She was generally a happy person. But, there were those rare moments, like now, that staring at her bookshelf elicited none of the usual joyful anticipation, drinking coffee failed to satisfy the odd ache in her chest, and waking up from a nap only resulted in a greater headache than she had before lying down.

Her footsteps led her out the front door. If solitude didn’t work, then maybe the company of strangers would snap her out of whatever funk this was.

She paused in front of her favourite pottery shop. It had been some time since she’d last perused their wares, and it was her firm belief that one could never own enough mugs.

“Hermione?”

The voice lilted pleasantly on the ear, not-quite British, but close. Scottish, perhaps? The woman to whom it belonged stared at her wide-eyed, like she’d seen a ghost. A pang of unease pulsed through Hermoine at the familiarity of that look and use of her name. This woman obviously recognised her, but she couldn’t say the same.

“Yes? Do I know you?”

She carefully took in straight, black hair that shone like silk and almond-shaped eyes in a lovely chocolate brown. Those eyes fluttered across Hermione’s figure.

“It’s Cho, from school. Don’t you recognise me?”

Hermione strained to remember her classmates. Her English boarding school days had been idyllic, but she hadn’t thought back to that part of her life in some time. Images and snippets of conversation flitted rapidly by, but not once did she pick out Cho. “I’m sorry, I really don’t. I didn’t really maintain any connections from Wycombe. I’m flattered you remember me, though!”

Cho jerked her head back, like she’d heard something upsetting. Her back, too, stiffened. “Wycombe,” she repeated.

Hermione thought she must have missed something. “Yes…you said you knew me from school, didn’t you? Or were you referring to Oxford?”

The woman looked Hermione over once more, eyes narrowing, lips twisting.

What is her problem?

She finally seemed to make up her mind as she sighed, her dark eyes now softened into an expression Hermione wasn’t sure how to read. “No, you were right. I’m just surprised you don’t remember, is all.”

Hermione felt terrible. She knew her memory was spotty from time to time, but to forget someone who obviously knew her seemed particularly egregious. At the same time, a small part of her resented the woman for her own growing guilt. Maybe there was a good reason why Hermione had forgotten all about her.

As if reading the change in the air, Cho stepped back with a tight smile.

“It was nice seeing you again, Hermione. I’ll let you get on your way.” She left before Hermione could think of how to respond.

.・゜゜・  ・゜゜・．  ｡･ﾟﾟ･  ･ﾟﾟ･｡

When he got the message, Draco could only sit and stare blankly at the words.

Hermione was alive.

Harry’s letter didn’t say much, but he did extend an invite to join him on his trip as long as Draco could control himself.

His jaw clenched at the reproach. Control, as if Draco were incapable of subtlety. As if he hadn’t torn the country apart trying to find her, to search for any clue as to where she might have gone and why. There’d been no warning beforehand. One day, she kissed him like she always did before heading to work, and then the next, she was gone.

At first he’d been convinced someone had abducted her. Hermione had no shortage of enemies from both before and after the war. There were still inmates in Azkaban who cursed her name and promised to make her pay the moment they escaped. Then there were the remaining blood purists who publicly decried her rising popularity as an activist and politician.

Someone else had done this. He was sure of it.

But the longer he looked for answers and the more people he talked to, the greater the voice that demanded she’d up and left of her own volition fought to be heard. And who could blame her? The Ministry continued to fight progress, and her relationship with Draco inspired countless articles that described her as a hypocrite.

“Try not to be obvious. We’ll see how she reacts before saying anything,” Harry said, fixing Draco with a stern look.

He scoffed, annoyed the man thought him so incapable. “Tell yourself that.”

Harry hummed, though his eyes betrayed his scepticism.

Their portkey landed them just around the corner from the pottery shop where she’d been sighted. According to Cho, Hermione was completely ignorant of her magic. There’d been no wand in sight, none of the telltale markers of a witch, nor the wariness someone who’d gone through a war as she had would have at meeting a seeming stranger.

Chances were low that she’d make a reappearance at the same location, but they stationed themselves in a cafe along the same route. It was the sort of spot Hermione of the past would have adored–all brick exterior, hand-carved tables, overstuffed chairs, and earthen mugs big enough to require two hands.

They sat by the window, but at the far end so they could watch both the street and entrance without being immediately noticed.

They didn’t have to wait long.

Draco noticed her first. That in itself was expected–he used to be tuned in to every move she made. The slightest change of expression, the emotion in a single sigh.

He nudged his partner, and they watched as the curly-haired woman they both loved pulled the door open and walked up to chat with the employee like she’d been here a million times before. She probably had.

The moment she made her order, she turned to find a seat. Draco tensed as her eyes scanned the room. She used to pick him out of a crowd like an invisible string connected their souls, though she’d always joked there was no way he could hide his head of hair when he pointed out the skill.

Unseeing eyes passed over them before she chose a seat only two away from theirs, and Draco felt despair all over again.

She hadn’t recognised them.

She didn’t know him.

Chapters: 1/9 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Cho Chang Additional Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Not Beta Read, Obliviate | Memory Charm (Harry Potter), Mystery, Suspense, Eventual Romance, POV Hermione Granger, POV Draco Malfoy, Confused Hermione Granger, Pining Draco Malfoy, Protective Draco Malfoy Summary:

Hermione leads a happy life, one full of friends, books, and all the unique coffee mugs she can find. There are moments, however, where she's struck by a sharp sensation of remembering...something.

Or, perhaps, someone.

[jrooc]

✨Weekly Tag Wednesday ✨

Hi hi! Welcome to your local Tag Game. I’m your friendly neighbourhood host, Jess, and today we’re talking fandom. Come play!

Name and A03 handle: Jess, JR_ooc

Current Location: In my kitchen, in my running gear despite having not yet gone for a run 'cause I just remembered I was doing the tag game

Favorite picrew (don't have one? you can skip this or do this one)?

I don't have a favourite but this one is new? Why do I choose questions I can't answer 😂

What's one thing you want in a picrew?

Two toned hair.

Favourite thing you’ve created (or seen created) for the fandom?

Unsurprising my sportsAU: In My Veins Like Lightning

Why is it your favourite? I just love the story and the boys I wrote and so many of their angsty and sweet moments.

Did it come easily or was it hard to create? Both? Some parts came quickly, a lot of the scenes just came to me. But there were some sticky parts I struggled hard with.

Last ao3 fic you commented on? Darkness comes before the Dawn by @ian-galagher @creepkinginc and @transmurderbug and @crossmydna's Locking Down the Locksmith -- both amazing.

Biggest WIP heartache you’ve ever experienced? Things Beyond Mistake -- I am still heartbroken over a year after reading it. What an amazing story I would give my left arm to have finished. We miss you Grayola.

Favorite trope or head cannon you like included in a fanfic? Cocky!Mickey and Tough!Ian. Love when they fall into bed right away and catch feelings after.

Least favourite? I'll read it all but don't love when Mickey after one interaction is all in. Where's the tension! Where's his tough/untrusting side? Also the slow slow slow burns make me insane... not that that stops me.

Secret or surprising kink or trope? A/B/O and really unique AU's like Maintenance or The Circus

Describe how you feel after you’ve created something new? Like I drank some warm tea. Like things have clicked into place for a moment in time.

Top hype man you have that always helps you get across the finish line: I'm lucky to have a few but @bawlbrayker always helps with a beta and a kind word or helps me choose when I'm stuck between options. Special mention to @runawaybrainsc @gallapiech and @blue-disco-lights who have been clutch and hugely supportive.

It's been a bad day, you turn to the fandom and you _____? Pour a glass of wine, play snails in the discord chat and read some angst with a happy ending or the latest fic club discussion pick.

If you were mentioned, you're tagged! Rest of the tags below the cut:

@deedala @energievie @spookygingerr @michellemisfit @celestialmickey

@mybrainismelted @tanktopgallavich @mickeysgaymom @such-a-barbarian @crestfallercanyon

@rereadanon @too-schoolforcool @roryonic @lee-ow @stocious

@transsexual-dandelions @transmickey @sgtmickeyslaughter @rayrayor @solitarycreaturesthey

@ms-moonlight-inn @whatthebodygraspsnot @suzy-queued @callivich @francesrose3

@doshiart @guinguin1984 @look-i-love-u @spoonfulstar @the-rat-wins

@thepupperino @gallavichgeek @andthatisnotfake @burninface @batty4steddie

@mmmichyyy @pookiebearmick @palepinkgoat @heymrspatel @deathclassic

@wehangout @gallawitchxx @gallavichsuperfan

Lmao I hit my tagging limit so if you see this pls know you’re tagged 😆

[crosshairlovebot]

a tender homecoming / crosshair x gn!reader

pairing: crosshair x gn!reader (no y/n). reader has a nickname.

description: in which a tired crosshair returns home to you.

word count: 3,334

warnings: non-explicit nudity (i guess), mild sexual references. otherwise, this is just soft domestic fluff with crosshair.

seeing crosshair on mount tantiss broke my heart, and i couldn’t get the idea of crosshair loving having his hair washed out of my head either. so i wrote this <3 there are also not enough soft crosshair fics out there, so i’m on a mission to remedy that. 

also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated <3

The sun had just set on Coruscant, and a holo was playing in the background as you did the dishes, humming quietly. It had been a long day, your boss had been breathing down your neck all day, and it was nice to finally be home in your little apartment, relaxing. You’d gotten home a couple of hours ago, had a shower, made yourself dinner, poured a drink, and caught up on some of your favourite holodramas.

Spending time alone was something you’d grown used to. You enjoyed it, but it was hard to ignore the moments when you missed him.

He was gone a lot. More than he was here. For the nature of his job meant that he was off with his brothers, fighting for the Republic. It was hard not to worry about him; not to worry if he was okay, whether he was hurt. He would send short messages when he could, but if he was on a sensitive mission, you might not hear from him for days, even a week. Those were the days your heart truly ached, the loneliness harder to bear.

Those days, you would lie in bed, unable to sleep, the soft hum of speeders unable to soothe you into a slumber. Staring up at the ceiling, wondering where he was. You would toss and turn, unable to get comfortable and longing for the one thing that would fix it.

Him.

You'd get up and grab one of his blacks he’d left here from the drawer and bring it to bed. Balling it up and holding it in your arms, imagining you were holding him instead. Your nose against the soft fabric and breathing in the smoky scent that lingered there. Only then were you able to drift off and dream of him.

It was a constant feeling; the aching, the longing, the wanting. A dull throbbing in your chest that remained there, unmoving. You carried it with you always, a reminder that he wasn’t here right now.

A constant reminder that you missed him.

Laughter rang out from the holo, filling the apartment as you washed your cup. There was a knock at the door, and you frowned. You weren’t expecting anybody.

You turned the water off and placed the cup on the rack, drying your hands, skeptically.

You didn’t live in the best neighbourhood. It was relatively safe, but there was the odd mugging every so often. So you were always weary of unexpected visitors or suspicious-looking people – especially since you lived alone.

Walking quietly to the door, you pressed the blue button on the panel next to it, and the screen lit up, revealing your unexpected guest. Your heart skipped several beats as you pressed the green button, opening the door.

“Crosshair?” you were unable to hide the shock and happiness from your voice, a grin exploding on your face at the sight of him.

“Hey, ca’tra,” he greeted with a small smile before you launched yourself into his arms. He grunted as he caught you, wrapping his arms tightly around your body. To hear that endearment from his lips, night sky, after so many weeks, you felt your heart expand and ache. You buried your face into his neck, breathing him in, and the vibrations of his words thrummed against your skin. “Good to see you.”

You gently drew back, your arms still holding him. “You didn’t tell me you were coming home today.”

A ghost of a smile graced his face at the mention of this tiny apartment being his home. “I didn’t know. We were rerouted at the last minute.”

You smiled at him. It was like the galaxy knew; like the galaxy how much you were missing him and delivered him right to you. “Come inside,” you pulled away and moved to let him in. “I can’t tell you how much I missed you.”

Crosshair turned to you and smirked as you closed the door. “You don’t wanna try?”

You rolled your eyes, his familiar snark so comforting it was almost like he had never been gone. “I can show you how much later.”

Crosshair raised an eyebrow and drew your hips to his, he hummed. “Well then, I’m looking forward to that,” he squeezed your hips in his hands, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Mmhmm, I’m sure you are,” you bit back a smile as he inched his face closer to yours, his lips brushing gently against your jaw before they slowly moved to capture yours in a long-awaited kiss.

The kiss was like taking a breath after being without air, where the pain in your lungs disappears and your chest expands and fills with relief. The kiss was like warmth from a fire thawing cold skin, the heat moving through veins and bringing life back into them. The kiss was like waking up in the morning and letting your body stretch out across the sheets, waking up your limbs after sleeping for hours and they have that tingly feeling that tells you they’re awake now too.

The kiss was like returning home.

Melting into each other; there was nothing close enough, as he pulled your chest against his, his signature black and red plastoid armour pressing against you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and clutched at the grey hair at the nape of it, scratching there with your nails.

Crosshair moaned into your mouth, and you smiled before gently pulling away. You looked into those amber eyes that you’d memorised, their familiar patterns lit up with a soft kind of joy that told you without words how much he was happy to see you. Just in case you missed it in the kiss he’d just given you.

You rubbed an invisible spot on his jaw, the beginnings of stubble scratching against the pad of your thumb. “Have you eaten?”

Crosshair shook his head and moved his lips to your ear, nipping at the skin there gently. “Not yet.”

You brought your shoulder to your ear to move his attention away, his touch tickling you. “I’ll put some leftovers in the oven.” You extricated yourself from his arms. “If I had known you were coming, I would’ve cooked something nice.”

Crosshair bent and leant his forearms on the island, watching you move around the kitchen, assembling the leftovers on a tray. “I don’t need something nice, ca’tra. Just you.”

You looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “You really missed me, huh?”

Crosshair only smiled in response, the one corner of his lips quirking up as he gazed at you.

You placed the tray in the oven and walked over to him. His whole body sagged against the counter, and you could see the tiredness he’d tried to hide in his eyes. When you reached him, he stands upright and places his hands on your hips almost immediately. “You’re tired, aren’t you?” you questioned.

He shook his head. “I’m fine,” he lied. You were good at reading him now.

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” you looked up at him, tilting your head. Crosshair didn’t say anything, he only bent down and rested his forehead on your shoulder and drew you closer into his arms. You chuckled. “Why don’t I draw you a bath? The warm water will be nice,” you moved your hands to his hair again. “I’ll wash your hair for you.”

Crosshair groaned into your shoulder. “Kriff, that would be amazing,” he lifted his head up and meets your gaze. “Will you really?”

You smiled. “I will,” you gently push him away as the oven timer goes off, letting you both know the food is reheated. “Have your dinner and I’ll get the bath ready.”

Crosshair nodded and quickly dips down to give you one more chaste kiss before he moved over to the oven. You watched him as he grabbed his food, and swore under his breath as he pulled it out without oven mitts. You shook your head and made your way down the corridor to the bathroom attached to your bedroom.

The bath isn’t massive and is technically just a large shower bath that would barely fit Crosshair’s long legs, but it would do.

You pushed the curtain away and wipe the bath down with a wet cloth before turning on the water. Placing your fingertips in the stream, you adjust the temperature so it’s nice and warm before putting in the plug and letting it fill.

You rifle under your sink for some bath salts you splurged on and place a handful in the water, not too many, but enough to soothe his no doubt aching muscles. You then, in lieu of an actual bubble mixture, grabbed a bar of soap and held it under the stream of water so there would be some bubbles.

Just as the bath had filled and you turned off the water, Crosshair made his way in, now no longer attempting to hide his tiredness. A surprised look etched on his angular features once he saw what you had done.

“Did you eat?” you asked.

Crosshair nodded and looked at the bath longingly. You nodded at his armour. “Take that off.”

He smirked and started removing this armour. “Sir, yes, sir."

You rolled your eyes and retested the temperature of the water with your hand. Perfect.

Once Crosshair had removed his armour, he approached the bath. He removed the upper half of his blacks and placed the shirt in a pile with his armour. “Smells nice,” he remarked, his body brushing against yours in the small space.

You nodded, gaze lingering on his bare chest. It had been so long since you saw him shirtless. You studied the scars that were drawn on the skin, the small amount of grey hair nestled into his sternum; you wanted to run your hands over it, rake them over the skin. You swallowed. It wasn’t the time for that yet. “Take off your pants, the water’s getting cold.”

Crosshair arched a brow. “Somebody’s bossy tonight,” he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and then paused.

“What?”

“I don’t have the energy to remove them myself. You have to do it for me,” his lips curled into a smirk.

“Oh my god, Cross,” you laughed and shook your head and reached out to pull them down, his bare fingertips running over your collarbones.

You loved this side of Crosshair; the one that joked in this way. You so rarely saw it. You always felt special knowing he felt comfortable enough to show this side of him to you, and that it was yours and yours alone.

“Hmm, looks like you definitely missed me,” you remarked as he stood bare before you. Crosshair barked out a laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the sides, making your stomach flip over.

Crosshair stepped inside the bath, one foot at a time. He groaned as he sat down in the water, the warmth enveloping his skin. He sat back against the tub and closed his eyes. His legs were too long for the bath, but it didn’t seem to faze him – he just sat his heels on the lip of the bath.

Leaning on the sink, you watched his body completely relax, his face softening. The perpetual crease between his brow disappeared and you smiled. “Nice?”

Crosshair hummed and reached a hand out to you, the water dripping over the tiles. You pushed off the sink with your hip and took his hand, moving to the side of the tub, and sitting on the tiles next to it.

With the other hand, you grabbed a cloth and dipped it in the water before running it down his arm, down to the hand you were still holding. His head had lulled to the side, leaning against the wall as he watched you. You gently scrubbed his skin, wiping away all the remnants of his perils and missions. You felt him relax in your grip, and when you looked up, his eyes were closed. You placed his arm back in the bath and then moved onto your knees to grab his other arm, gently repeating the process.

You did this silently, just letting him bask in the feeling of just being. You knew he so rarely had time to himself, almost always in the presence of his brothers. And although he was not alone now, it was quiet. The only sound was that of the water dripping from the tap, and of you placing the cloth in the water and drawing it back out.

You heard his breathing slow and deepen. He had needed this more than he had let on.

When you whispered that were done, he cracked open his eyes and pulled his hand out of yours, and lifted it to your chin, placing a finger there wordlessly. You let him study you, his steely eyes were soft as they roamed your face.

He was being extra touchy tonight. He always touched you, but these touches were different. These were savouring touches, and you wondered what he had seen on those missions with his squad, what had made him come back and be so openly tender? You dared not ask. This was not the moment. And you would not ruin his ease.

You grabbed his hand and kissed it. “Should I wash your hair now?”

Crosshair hummed again. He seemed to have lost all of his words in his relaxation. You chuckled and grabbed the shampoo bottle before taking off your socks. You were already wearing your pyjama shorts, so you stepped into the tub. Crosshair looked up at you, blinking as if taking a second to register what it was you were doing.

“I need to sit behind you, on the edge,” you explained. Crosshair frowned in confusion as he sat forward, and you stepped so you were sitting on the small lip of the bath where his head was, your back flat against the tiles with your feet inside the water on either side of his shoulders. You cupped your hands in the water and wet his hair. “Now lean back for me,” you said, and Crosshair did as he was told.

He looked back at you, and a smile graced his face. “You could just get in with me.”

You chuckled. “Next time,” you promised before you squirted some shampoo in your palms and lathered it up. “Ready?”

When Crosshair nodded and moved his head forward, you placed your fingers on his head and started slowly moving them in circular motions, massaging his scalp as well as washing his hair. You smiled when he moaned softly, his eyes closing and his arms wrapping around your calves.

“Kriff, ca’tra, that feels so good,” he strained out.

You smiled, insides going warm. “Good, I’m glad. You deserve it.”

Crosshair shook his head, silently disagreeing with you. He’s too relaxed to argue with you. You go from circular motions to long-drawn ones, moving from the front of his hairline, down to the nape of his neck. You circle your thumbs there before you slowly circle them up. Crosshair hums as he enjoys your touches, he opens his eyes and looks up at you, a look on his face you couldn’t decipher.

“What?” you smiled.

“Nothing,” he said after a moment, then closed his eyes again and a soft smile etched on his face. Warmth bloomed in your chest for him.

After a few minutes, you pulled your hands away. Crosshair’s eyes opened and he looked back at you, so you leaned down and placed a kiss on his lips. “Okay, move forward, so I can grab some water to rinse this out.”

Crosshair sat up, no longer leaning, and you cupped your hands to grab some water, and let it fall over the back of his head, the shampoo running down his back. You repeated the action several times until all the shampoo was out.

And because you knew it would be funny, you smirked and took one last scoop of water and released it over the front of Crosshair’s head, so it ran down over his face.

He sputtered and gasped before he turned around, gripping the edge of the bath with a glare on his face. You laughed, but when he starts to smirk too, you knew you were in trouble. “Cross, no—!”

But it was too late. He grabbed your ankle and pulled you into the bath, pyjama shorts and all. You squealed as water sloshes over the sides and onto the bathroom floor. He then cupped his hands and splashed a handful of water onto your head. “Crosshair!” you gasped as you wiped your face.

Crosshair laughed, such a lovely sound it made your heart ache. He pulled you closer, moving the hair from your face. “That’s what you get,” a grin etched into his voice.

“My pyjamas are all wet now,” you pouted, pulling the wet material between your thumb and forefinger.

“Such a shame, guess you’ll have to take them off.”

You scoffed teasingly. “Oh, so that’s why you did it.”

He just shook his head. “Like I was going to have a bath without you in it with me.”

Crosshair helped you out of your pyjamas, plopping the wet garments on the floor.  You both manoeuvred so he’s resumed his previous position, but this time you were sat between his legs, your back against his chest. Crosshair grabbed the cloth you'd used on him, and he swiped it up and down your arms and your chest. You sunk into him, the comfort of his skin against yours was everything.

It was your turn to close your eyes as he drew patterns with soapy water over your arms. And then when he’d finished his painting, you traced circles on his palms as you talked about anything and everything.

You caught up on everything; telling each other things that you both already spoke about via messages but pretending it was the first time you’d heard it. He tells you about his brothers and their antics. You tell him about work and your boss who you think has a vendetta against you.

“Do you want me to take care of him? Because I can,” Crosshair said in such a serious voice as you played with his fingers that you collapsed into giggles – knowing that he was only half joking; knowing that if you asked, he would.

You both sat in content silence for a while. The water was growing cold, and you lifted your fingertips from the water, so they dripped in front of you. The sound echoed in the room. It was so peaceful, just lying here with him. To feel his solid chest behind you, to feel it move as he breathed in and out. To be caged in his limbs, his legs intertwined with yours, his fingertips dancing up and down your wet skin.

The water may be going cold, but your heart was not. Your heart was warm and full. You'd been hollow all these weeks without him, and now with him back, it was like he'd slotted back into you, completing everything and filling every crevice of you again. The emptiness was gone, consumed with Crosshair's return. You weren't sure how long he would be staying, but you were going to savour every moment of it. Every word, every touch. You'd memorise it all so you could file it away in your brain, and pull it out when he was gone again. These homecomings were precious, and you'd live in them for as long as you could.

“Crosshair?” You thought he may have fallen asleep when his hands had stilled, but he hummed in response, and you felt it vibrate against your back. You smiled. “I’m glad you’re home.”

Crosshair shifted underneath you, and his arms wrapped around your body, holding you close to him. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “Me too, ca’tra. Me too.”

incase it wasn’t clear, ca’tra means night sky :’) it feels like a nickname crosshair would use, and i feel like he loves nighttime so the fact that he uses it...well, you know :’)

thank you for reading <3

taglist (please let me know if you would like to be removed/added): @32rotations @crosshairs-wife @seriowan @fives-girlfriend @starrylothcat​ @crosshairsnose​ @solitaryclone

[fieldofdaisiies]

So incredibly excited that @azrisweek is taking place again this year and that once again I can take part in it. I am super excited to read all the stories, and equally excited to share all my stories with you. You can find them on here, but also on my ao3.

Thank you so much @iftheshoef1tz and @ofduskanddreams for hosting this amazing event, you two are wonderful!💛

Day 1: Contrasts - Let's Get Out of Here (read on tumblr)

Modern AU - Azriel and Eris have been dating for a a few years now, and while they love each other more than anything else, Azriel often finds it hard to fit into the high society world that Eris, a renowned doctor, is part of. He doesn't like the big glamorus parties with all the sparkling wine that Eris takes him with. Azriel worries contrasts to much to his lover, but he would never address it, not wanting to hurt Eris. Obviously Eris notices and they...

Day 2: Familiars - Shadow Shenanigans (read on tumblr)

In canon. Azriel finds himself utterly bored as he is lounging on the couch in Eris' office, waiting for his mate to finally be done with High Lord's business. He keeps on whining, and Eris keeps on shushing him so Azriel comes up with an idea that includes both his shadows and Eris' hounds.

Day 3: Contact - Letters

In canon, but based on Letters to Milena from Franz Kafka. Eris and Azriel can't always be together, Azriel is still the spymaster of the Night Court and has to go on spymaster business while Eris has to keep their relationship hidden due to Beron.

Day 4: Free Day - Blue Neighbourhood (explicit) (read on tumblr)

Modern AU based on Blue Neighbour by Troye Sivan. Eris and Azriel used to be childhood best friends and in their teens they discovered they have feelings for each other, and shared their first kiss. Beron found out about them and punished Eris and forced him to break the contact with Azriel. Later, Azriel and his mother (after she separated from his father) moved away. But when Beron dies years after, Azriel…

Day 5: Slice of Life - Home to You (read on tumblr)

In canon. Azriel returns home from a mission, a little injured and very exhausted. Eris knows exactly how to take care of him.

Day 6: Changes - Claws & Paws (read on tumblr)

Modern AU. Azriel owns a cat. Eris owns a dog. They first meet at the vet and don't really get along so well, but what happens when they find out that...

Day 7: Solstice & Equinox - Only If For a Night (read on tumblr)

In canon. Can be seen as part two of Trapped. Azriel finally takes Eris up on his offer to talk. He goes to the Autumn Court on a very specific day, wanting to escape his loneliness and has no idea how much his visit means to the High Lord of Autumn.

general Azris tag list (please let me know if you want to be added/removed): @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams @acourtofladydeath @secret-third-thing @born-to-riot @chunkypossum @talibunny30 (also if you are wondering why you haven’t been on my tag list although you asked me, because I haven’t been able to find the document for such a long time but now I did!!)

[hobbitwrangler]

When the sun rises

Summary: Théoden drives his neighbour to the airport early in the morning. And doesn't have any feelings about it whatsoever.

Pairing(s): Théoden/Finduilas of Dol Amroth

Rating: G

Word count: 3.7k

Inspired by this game made by @lucifers-legions (this isn't The Fic, it's more the result of The Fic taking over my brain like a fungus)

Stepping outside into the dark of early morning, he discovered that it must have snowed again during the night. The entire street was cloaked in a fresh covering of white and, for a moment, he stood still on his doorstep, taking in the cold depths of the sky, sprinkled with glittering stars, the quiet peace of his neighbourhood, many of the dark houses illuminated by glittering red and green and golden lights that glinted off wreaths hung on doors. It was like stepping into a Christmas card and, for a moment, Théoden felt neither cold nor fatigue nor dread. “Happy first of December.” Finduilas’ voice was soft as snowfall and, if the neighbourhood were not so utterly silent, he would not have heard her. She was standing at the end of his drive, her hand luggage beside her. A thick red scarf was wrapped around her neck, her long black hair done up in a loose updo so that he could see her earrings glittering like falling snow. She had good taste in jewellery, he had often thought so since meeting her. He had seen a necklace while out in town last week that would go well with those earrings. A useless thought if ever there was one. “And to you,” said Théoden, finally leaving his front step and heading to his garage. As he opened the doors, he glanced over next door and saw that golden light was now beaming from the Steward living room, multicoloured lights glittering on the boughs of the rowan tree that stood in their front yard while the silhouette of a reindeer beamed softly from the lawn. “I see you put up your decorations,” he remarked.

AO3 link - lovely dividers - also tagging @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras because you expressed interest ;)

[exhaustedpirate]

call disconnected

my first entry for CS Autumn/Spooky Bingo created by the lovely @hollyethecurious - the prompt was "ghost stories", i got a little carried away and made it into a bit of a crime solving thing! all my love and devotion goes to @belovedcreation for betaing!

rated T | 7849 words

also on AO3

summary: Sheriff Emma Swan gets a call about an accident in the woods, a man begging her for help. An hour later, Killian Jones is on his way to the hospital. Funny thing is, the call for help doesn't match the voice of the victim.

The call arrives just after 2 o’clock, which is lucky because there would be a whole other emergency if someone stopped Emma Swan from getting her grilled cheese. 

Ruby is supposed to be on phone duty but there is an anniversary dinner to plan and she doesn’t want to be responsible for Mulan having an underwhelming night due to her wife’s rushed planning. So Emma is covering the phones when it rings.

“Sheriff Swan speaking.”

Static greets her on the other side of the line, tensing her body unconsciously before a voice rings out. “Help, I-I fell-” It’s a strange panicked voice she’s never heard before, an accent not common to their small town of Storybrooke, Maine. She feels a tingle in her spine all the way to her hands. “The cliff gave out. Can you hear me?”

“Uh, yes, yes, I can hear you, sir,” Emma takes a deep steadying breath. “Can you tell me where you fell?”

“I w-was on the Misthaven Trail, I-I think I broke my leg,” His guttural grunt of pain weighs on her chest and she feels like she’s having difficulty breathing. “I can see the bone, I-”

Static plays up again and she feels his panic in her veins. “I can barely hear you, sir,” Her knuckles are white as she tightens her hold on the phone, pressing it harder against her ear as if it will make it easier to hear. “Can you tell me precisely where on the trail?”

“The river, Shepherd River,” His breathing becomes panicked and she knows she should keep him calm, urging him to take shorter breaths but she’d feel like a hypocrite. “I’m bleeding, please, help me, plea-”

The call cuts off and she is left with the sounds of her fast breathing. “Sir? Sir?” 

Emma tries to redial, grateful for the old technology to allow her to do so. An automated voice informs her the number is not in service and she frowns in confusion.

Maybe it was a prank.

Maybe some of the local teenagers were trying to send her on a wild goose chase so they can vandalise another section of their lovely neighbourhood. 

But the panic was real. The fear in that voice was real. The hairs on her arms are still raised as she remembers the voice, as she remembers all the alarms her body gave her.

Graham pokes his head into her office a second after. “Emma?” Her hand hurts from where she’s still holding onto the phone as if her life depends on it. “Are you alright?”

Maybe it is a prank.

The tight feeling on her chest tells her to go check it out nonetheless.

She drops the phone, with maybe too much strength, before she faces her deputy. “Are you up for a hike?”

---

It really is lucky that Graham practically lives in the woods. Emma was made for concrete roads and windows to keep the insects away. She wouldn’t last an hour alone in these woods.

The Toll Bridge crosses through the edge of the forest. The Misthaven Trail parallels the Shepherd River that flows under the bridge. It’s common to see vehicles on the side of the road - hikers leaving the last piece of civilization before venturing into the forest.

Emma parks the cruiser alongside a Chevrolet Chevelle and she’s almost sad to see it left to the whims of nature. But it probably belongs to their injured hiker. She places her hand on the hood of the car. She can still feel some warmth.

“This must be his.” She points the car out to Graham. “It’s probably been like an hour since he left. Call the hospital, ask them to get an ambulance here.”

Graham nods and grabs his phone. She lets his voice become background noise as she inspects the car. The door is unlocked, the hiker probably wasn’t expecting to be long. There’s a satchel in the back seat. She opens the door and looks inside. There’s an ID in the wallet and a buzzing in her ears when she looks at the picture on it. Killian Jones.

“They’re on their way,” Graham breaks through her inspection and everything becomes clearer. “I told them to keep their radio on.”

She nods. “We’re looking for Killian Jones,” Emma turns the ID towards him before tossing it inside the car. “Assuming he’s our hiker.”

Graham has his tracking face on as she closes the door. There’s something on the driver side floor that causes that tugging in her gut that guides her to flare up.

“It’s a good thing it hasn’t rained,” Graham points out from the other side of the car. “There are some recent footprints leading west. They’re probably his.”

“The Misthaven Trail,” Emma nods, any investigating paused in lieu of finding the injured hiker. “Let’s go.”

“Stay behind me.”

“Go get him, Fido.” Emma presses her lips together attempting to hide the smile at her terrible joke, but fails at the sight of his unimpressed look.

They follow the trail in familiar silence. Graham’s experience allows them to travel at a fast speed through the trees. They pay close attention to any sounds out of the ordinary - which is to say, anything that isn’t birds, animals or the rushing river below them.

“Emma.” 

Graham stops and she manages to stop before she runs into him. He gestures to the ground where a blanket is crumpled underneath a tree, still warm. 

“Still warm,” Emma confirms before dropping the blanket. “He must be close. Maybe he fell.”

“After all the warnings the Mayor released, there’s still people who forget to respect the forest.”

“I thought those had only been around for the past year,” Emma frowns, looking around. “I mean, you both gave me an hour-long lecture about it when I started.”

“Everyone in town knows to be cautious of these woods but there was a, uhm,” And it is the first time she’s ever seen Graham sound uncertain, his voice trembling with emotion. He clears his throat before he continues. “There was a death in these woods.”

She sees the way he looks guarded now, in pain. “Oh.”

A flash catches the corner of her eye. With a hand to cover her eyes from the sun, she turns towards it. The sunlight has caught on a metal flask within throwing distance from the blanket, she assumes. Close to it is a pile of rocks. A strange pile, each rock deliberately placed on top of the other. It must have been a while since it’s been built there according to the moss growing on them.

Emma turns towards her deputy to point that to him but sees him a few steps away looking at the ground. “Drag marks,” he points out as if he could feel her eyes on him. “He must have fallen down-”

“Help!” A weak yell cuts him off and they whip their heads to the right. 

“And ended up down by the river,” Emma finishes for him in a quiet voice, her heart beating faster at the sound of pain, as she stands next to the deputy.

Using caution, Emma follows Graham’s lead as he gets them to the river bank following the sounds of pain. Halfway down, they locate the hiker and for the first time, Graham’s confidence falters and so do his steps. A man is slumped on the side of the river, covered in dirt and blood. She can see tendrils of red flowing down the river.

“Don’t move,” Graham orders, recovering quickly, as he stands next to the victim who seems to slump at their arrival, the fight leaving his body in his relief. “We’re here to help.”

Emma kneels on one side of him and is instantly on alert at the sight of the gash in his head and the bone protruding from his leg. She looks up at Graham and he seems to read her thoughts.

“I’ll guide the paramedics here,” Graham says, grabbing the radio from his belt. “Keep him still and awake.”

She nods before he returns to the trail to guide the others to where they are. Emma places her hand on the man’s shoulder, careful to avoid hurting him further. His big blue eyes turn to her, pain and fear side by side with hope and creating a tug in her gut.

She clears her throat. “Are you Killian Jones?”

“Aye, I fell, broke my leg,” he explains in a hoarse voice. She frowns at the sound, a whole other type of tingle running up her spine. “The ground caved under me.”

There’s static in her radio before Graham’s voice rings out. “ETA is three minutes, is he conscious?”

“Yeah, conscious and lucid,” Emma answers through the radio. “Broken leg and head injury.”

“I thought I was going to die here,” Killian groans as she puts away the device. “How did you find me?”

“The Misthaven Trail is long and you weren’t exactly specific.” Emma breathes out a chuckle, her nerves slightly calmed at knowing help is coming. “But we found where you fell down. We would have been here faster but service in this area is crap. I don’t know how you called us in the first place.” She’s babbling. She does that when she’s nervous.

Killian’s eyebrows furrow together, confusion taking over the pain. “I called you?”

“Hmm, yeah, that’s how we knew to come find you.” She answers as if it’s obvious, even as a pull in her gut tries to tell her otherwise.

“I left my phone in the car,” he explains and she feels that tingle up her spine once more. “I didn’t call anyone.”

Careful footsteps and cautious voices approach them and she lets the paramedics do their job as they put Killian Jones in the stretcher and cover his wounds. Their eyes remain locked until the last possible moment before Emma follows behind the stretcher being led by Graham. 

A light flashes in her eyes once more and she looks up at it, the pile of rocks still standing proudly in the forest, a bird perched on the top stone, its deep blue wings fluttering. The hairs at the back of her neck stand in attention and she tries to make sense of what happened. 

They found the hiker exactly where he told her he’d be. His leg was broken, just like the call said - she wouldn’t soon forget the sight of the bone piercing his flesh. The voice was different, Emma noticed it right away, but there were no signs of other hikers in the area.

But if the call wasn’t made by Killian Jones, then who called them for help?

---

Loud laughter rings out from the open kitchen window. An unconscious smile stretches Emma’s lips as she looks out at the dark heads illuminated by the fire pit she borrowed from Graham. Despite being disappointed at the cancelled camping trip, Henry seemed to have forgotten all about it when she reminded him of the comforts of home camping and the awesome backyard that came with their house. 

After the day they had, Emma just couldn’t think of Henry in the woods.

“Emma?” 

Speaking of, her deputy’s voice from the phone in her ear brings her back to the present.

“Yeah, sorry.” She turns her back to the window, leaning on the counter. “I got distracted.”

“I was saying that Mr. Jones should be going into his MRI scan right now and after that, they are preparing him for surgery on his leg. The doctors said that despite the trauma his body has been through, he’s doing really well.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” Emma breathes out in relief. Against her best interests, she hadn’t been able to put this strange rescue away from her mind. There was just something about the call, his voice, his eyes, that just didn’t seem right.

She feels Graham’s patient silence on the other side and she nods to herself to gather up courage. “Doesn’t all of this seem strange to you? The whole situation.”

“Emma-”

“He didn’t call the station, Graham, it was someone else, I swear,” she interrupts, her hackles raised. “He didn’t have a phone on him either, this is all just-”

“Weird,” Graham interrupts this time and he sighs. “I should have told you earlier, but I know Killian Jones, we a- were friends.”

“What?”

“He used to live here until last year. His brother, he-” Emma waits in suspense as Graham takes a deep steadying breath. “He died while on a hike in that trail a year ago, I assume Killian went there to pay his respects. I didn’t even know he was in town until we found him.”

“Y-You didn’t say anything.”

“Well, I didn’t want to believe it was him and then, when we found him, I knew I had to stay focused. I needed to do my job.”

“Right,” Emma scratches her forehead, her brain full of conflicting thoughts. This was a lot to consider. “So who called the station? A ghost?” She asks her question sarcastically to disguise how the possibility doesn’t sound too ridiculous to her.

“All I know is that we had a long day, Emma,” Graham evades, his tone placating and calm. “We should get our rest and look at this whole thing again tomorrow, with fresh eyes.”

“You’re right,” she exhales. “Goodnight, Graham. Keep me updated.”

“Goodnight, Emma.”

Emma ends the call and throws the phone at the dinner table. She’s going to push those doubts away even if she needs to force them away. She’s got some happy campers to focus on. Emma pulls the popcorn from the microwave and picks up the platter she made with the components for s’mores before pushing the back door open carefully.

“Does anyone know any ghost stories?” Ava Zimmer is almost vibrating in her seat as she grabs a handful of chips Emma brought earlier. Camping is not synonymous with healthy food.

“Ghosts? Aren’t we too old for that?” Nicholas Zimmer, on the other hand, is trying to hide his fear with bravado.

“Come on, Nick, it’s almost Halloween.” Henry knocks shoulders with his friend’s and she can hear the grin in his voice. “And that means ghost stories. Besides, they’re not real.”

“Yeah,” Ava agrees. “It’s just spooky and Halloween is the time for spooky.”

“Just not too spooky,” Emma interrupts, ignoring the way Nicholas startles at the sound of her voice - no need to embarrass the boy. “Otherwise you won’t sleep tonight.”

“Have you heard the story of the Misthaven Ghost?” Henry leans close to his friends on the bench with a grin.

Emma is glad for her steady grip on the platter or there would be no s’mores tonight. “Misthaven Ghost? Where did you hear that sort of story?” She tries to keep her voice cool but even she can hear the edge in it - was she the last one to hear about this? -, focusing instead on placing the food down on the small camping table she opened.

“Mr. Booth is having us write a ghost story for class and he gave us that one as an example,” Henry answers and he must misinterpret her questioning as innocent curiosity but she’s not going to correct him. “Do you wanna hear it?”

“Would you mind if I joined you?” 

“No, please join us!” Nicholas grabs her thankfully empty hands to pull her to sit between him and his twin after Henry stands up to stand on the other side of the fire.

“You’re such a scaredy cat.” Ava teases, looking at him around Emma.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Kids.” Emma warns, holding their arms to keep them from hitting each other.

“Listen up! For I am about to tell you the story of the Misthaven Ghost,” Henry calls from the other side of the fire before popping another popcorn in his mouth. Emma finds herself smiling at her kid’s dramatics. “It was a cold night in October, the 30th of October to be exact. An innocent man is walking the Misthaven Trail, determined to beat all odds and finish the hike. He is alone, nothing but his thoughts and the animals around him,” Nicholas plasters himself to Emma’s side. “He carries only a phone that won’t work this far into the woods and his bravery. He hears a presence to his right, to his left, all around, feels the hairs at the back of his neck stand in attention and a voice whispers in the wind,” Ava holds her right arm now as Henry lowers his voice. “‘Get out of the woods’, it says, ‘get out’, but the hiker is too fearless to heed their warning. Suddenly, a boom lights the sky and the ground gives out from under him, and then he’s falling. He’s falling and he can’t ask for help,” Emma feels the shiver running up her spine and, distantly, she thinks maybe Henry should focus on this storytelling ability he has. “He is floating on the river then, his body weak and leaving him, his last thought on the family he leaves behind, a last goodbye sent to the stars he loved so much.”

Henry finishes with a fluttering gesture towards the night sky. Ava and Nicholas on either side of her are gripping her arm, not willing to break the silence. 

“He had a family?” Emma asks and even her quiet tone manages to startle the twins. 

“Were you scared, Ava?” Nicholas asks as he looks at his sister, a victorious grin winning over his fear.

Ava huffs and crosses her arms. “No, you’re the scared one.”

“It’s a good story, isn’t it?” Henry asks, a bright smile on his face and a proud stance to his shoulders.

“Mr. Booth told you this story?” Emma tries again.

“Yeah,” Henry grabs another handful of popcorn, now that his story is done, eating one at a time. “He wanted us to have an example of what to write but he was probably also showing off.” 

The kids laugh, everyone in town knowing of August’s designs of being a published author and his constant promises of finishing his novel soon. But there was still something niggling at Emma’s brain.

“Did he make up the story himself? Or did he hear it from someone?”

“He says he made it up inspired by a real event,” Henry shrugs. “I told Mrs. Nolan about it and she said that, about a year ago, someone did die in those woods and that’s when the Mayor put out the announcement.” He grabs the marshmallow sticks and passes them along to his friends who are still visibly spooked. “Apparently there had been lots of reports of injuries and lost hikers on that trail before that.”

“So it took someone dying for them to actually do something about it? Figures.” Emma scoffs and Henry shrugs, unaware of the turmoil in his mother’s brain.

“Okay, can we tell less spooky stories now?” Nicholas asks, begs almost, bringing Emma back to the present. The fact that Ava doesn’t tease her brother is telling.

“Why don’t I grab my laptop and put on a movie for you?” Emma suggests, standing up from the bench.

“Nightmare before Christmas?” Nicholas turns pleading eyes towards his friends.

Ava nods and then seems to remember herself. “Only if we watch ‘Monster House’ after.” 

Her twin seems to think about it before nodding resolutely. “Deal! Is that okay, Henry?”

Henry smiles, seemingly just happy to have a fun night with his friends. “As long as it’s Halloween themed, I’m in.”

Emma grins, despite everything. “Double feature it is,” she chuckles. “I’ll set it up.”

‘This is Halloween’ drifts through the open kitchen window as the kids settle down making s’mores in the yard while Emma sits at the kitchen table. She finds Killian Jones’ social media easily enough - she wouldn’t have become one of the best bail bondsperson in the business without being able to find someone’s internet footprint with only a name and a date of birth. It might be slightly illegal to have taken a picture of the man’s ID but what is she gonna do? Arrest herself?

Maybe Emma needed to take a long look within herself if she was negotiating committing illegal acts to herself… After she got to the bottom of this mystery.

Killian Jones is even more handsome than she had previously thought. Considering the only times she’d been able to actually look at him were either a small grainy ID photo or him caked in dirt and blood, it wasn’t a high bar. 

Seeing him on the deck of a small boat, a colourful shirt open to show his chest underneath, his eyes crinkled in laughter as he holds out a beer bottle in cheers to the person behind the camera is a welcome alternative. She has to force herself to scroll past the picture. 

She notices belatedly that the last post - the Hawaiian shirt distraction - is from a year ago, September to be exact. In the middle of all the thirsty comments, she finds something interesting. ‘Don’t shut me out, Killian, I’m here for you’, was posted by one bookworm33 and it would have looked weird if it didn’t speak of desperation and worry.

Emma continues to scroll down and doesn’t have to swipe too long before she pauses at a picture of Killian Jones and a man that shares the same eyes and facial features. Her gut tugs at her and she taps on the picture once, a tag covering the man’s eyes. Bejewelled40 - whose real name is Liam Jones - aside from being a Taylor Swift fan, is also Killian Jones’ brother.

There are pictures of them in boats, hiking, and visiting foreign countries, even some that include Graham. His posts also end a year ago and the ‘remembering’ on the top of his profile is an easy explanation. Clicking on the first photo - different angles to the September boat trip, focusing more on Liam Jones than his brother - she finds another comment hidden between thirsty comments and boat enthusiasts. ‘I miss you’, written simply and it’s the lack of emojis that catch Emma’s attention. Bookworm33 was clearly important to the siblings. 

It doesn’t take her long to get a better picture of the situation. Belle French, the brother’s friend, has been a librarian at Storybrooke High for the past 4 years after a troublesome divorce made her move cities. Pictures and references to the Jones brothers start a few months after that, before there’s a significant lack of Killian Jones in her pictures a year later. 

An article in the local newsletter, an announcement in the paper and a remembrance post on Facebook spells out the rest of the story. The Jones Brothers move to Storybrooke 5 years ago and join the community, Liam as the Sheriff and Killian as the Harbormaster; Belle and Liam start their romance and become engaged two years ago. A year ago, Belle’s father passes away and she travels back home and Liam is found dead on the Misthaven Trail three days later. Killian Jones isn’t seen in Storybrooke for a whole year after the funeral until Emma finds him almost dead by the river bank.

A message notification puts an end to her research. ‘Jones is out of surgery and we should be able to visit him tomorrow’, Graham texts and she looks at the clock. Emma sighs. Two hours researching and she still has so many questions.

‘Take the day off tomorrow, Humbert, I’ll follow up with Jones’, she messages back. ‘Don’t argue with me, I’m your boss, you deserve some rest’, she sends right after, expecting the argument.

‘Alright, Sheriff, I leave it to your capable hands.’ The reminder causes her to massage her temples. She has Liam Jones’ job; could this whole situation feel more like a horror movie?

Going back to Liam Jones’ instagram, Emma finds a picture of him with Graham in a nature setting. With a squint and a zoom, she recognises the setting. She swipes to find a video with Graham’s voice from behind the camera and Liam Jones struggling but determined to take his next step.

“We’re currently on mile 5 of the Misthaven Trail,” Graham explains, a very faint hint of tiredness in his tone as he sweeps the camera over their surroundings and Emma can’t help the eerie feeling at the setting sun behind the trees. “As you can see, this area is beautiful and peaceful, a great place to be at one with yourself and your thoughts.” There’s a scoff from the right and Graham laughs, turning the camera to his friend. “Liam here is having some trouble.” He earns himself a glare from his companion. “There've been a lot of accidents in this area so this is your friendly reminder to be careful where you step and to respect the forest.”

“You’ve lectured every single lost or injured hiker we pulled out of these woods. Friendly, my arse.” Emma sucks in a breath at the sound of Liam Jones’ voice. Graham’s responding laughter and voice seems to sound from underwater as he defends himself. 

Please, help me, plea-

It’s the same voice. She feels the tingle in her spine and the raised hairs on her arms she had before. How could it be possible?

Sounds of yelps outside have her jumping from her seat, her heart beating rapidly against her chest. Subsequent cheering reminds her of her whereabouts. It’s the kids reacting to the anthropomorphic house finally meeting its demise on the small screen. Emma grips onto the kitchen counter, taking deep steadying breaths. 

She needs to have a chat with Killian Jones.

---

It’s rainy and gloomy the next day when Emma arrives at the hospital. 

Maybe the weather’s a sign. It’s not like she was ever a superstitious person but it’s hard to remain sceptical after the day she’s had. The nurse tells her he’s in room 13. Of course.

In the corridor, she sees a familiar figure. 

“I thought I told you to take the day off, Humbert.” 

Emma almost grins when he startles. Almost. She simply crosses her arms as she stares him down. Graham looks away, as if he just got caught in the proverbial cookie jar, it’s a cute look.

“I am taking my day off, Emma,” Graham defends and she raises her eyebrow. “I didn’t ask him anything that could be related to the case. I just-”

“Wanted to see how your friend was,” she finishes for him.

Graham stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets and nods. “I just needed to make sure he was okay.”

“Because Liam would have wanted you to do the same.”

He looks up at her with wide eyes and parted lips. This might have been the first time she’s shocked her deputy in the year they’ve worked together.

“H-how…?”

“I did some research last night.” She uncrosses her arms to stuff her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I found Killian Jones’ social media, which led me to Liam’s, to Belle’s and then to yours. You were his deputy.”

“The four of us bonded over being away from home.” He shrugs, trying to hide the heartache over the loss. “After Liam passed, it all fell apart.”

“I’d never seen Killian Jones in Storybrooke before today, or Belle French.”

“Killian left after the funeral, said something about a family member in Boston even though I’m sure they didn’t have any family in the States. He rejected all my calls, I had no way to find him.” Graham sighs, scratching his forehead. “Belle isolated herself the first few months. After that she would go from home to work and back. She’s been trying to go out more, determined to live her life the way Liam would have wanted her to. It’s still a slow process but at least she’s trying.”

“And here you are in the middle of everything trying to be there for everyone.”

“I didn’t lose a brother or a fiance, Emma, I’m fine.” He crosses his arms and she recognises the look on his face.

“Right, if you want me to be ‘bad cop’, I will,” she threatens.

“Seriously, Emma, I’m fine, it’s been a year and-”

“Graham,” she interrupts, holding up her hand. “Go see Dr. Hopper or I’m suspending you.”

He groans and yet, it feels like a victory. “Yes, boss.” He mockingly salutes and yet it still shows his respect.

“Go home and enjoy the rest of the day off while I go and talk to Mr. Jones.” Emma pats his arm and he nods. 

“I told him to tell you everything he could remember,” Graham informs her. “I know you can do your job but he can be very stubborn so I just wanted to make it a little easier for you.”

“Thanks,” Emma smiles amusedly and watches as he walks past her. “Hey, Graham?” He stops in the corridor and she can’t hold back her curiosity. “Liam was the sheriff before me,” Graham shifts in his feet, uncomfortable. “Did you apply for the job? I’d think you’d be a shoe-in to be the next Sheriff as opposed to an outsider.”

“Nah,” He shrugs and she can actually see the weight on his shoulders. “It wouldn’t have felt right.” His lips curl up in a small smile, a grieving smile. “Besides, you are a great boss.” 

Emma rolls her eyes but her smile is wide. “Get some rest and go see Dr. Hopper.” 

“Yes, boss,” he repeats before he leaves the hospital wing all together.

With a deep steadying breath, Emma knocks at the door of room 13.

“Come in.”

She nods to herself before opening the door. “Mr. Jones, I’m-”

“Sheriff Emma Swan,” Killian Jones nods at her. “Graham told me you were coming. Didn’t expect you here so fast though.”

“As it happens, you’re my only open case.”

She stands a few feet from his bed, arms crossed as she finally takes a look at the man they saved the day before, now no-longer covered in blood and dirt. There is a bandage on his forehead all the way down to the temple, his face, neck and hands - the only things visible - filled with small scratches, and his leg is in a thick cast. He looks tired but okay.

He looks handsome too and she’s trying not to remember his boat pictures. It helps that the hospital gown and robe cover his chest and what she knows is underneath. She’s really trying. 

“Why don’t you take a seat?” He gestures to the chair next to his bed, where she assumes Graham had been seated minutes prior. “We’re probably in for a long chat.”

She should refuse, keep him at a distance. She sits down but not before pulling the chair back a few inches. Emma catches an amused smile on his lips and she wonders what else Graham told him about her. She clears her throat focusing on being professional.

“Alright, Mr. Jones-”

“Please, call me Killian.” 

Emma nods, trying to look away from the soft smile he directed at her. “Killian.” His smile grows. Professional, Emma. “Do you remember what happened before we found you?”

“Aye,” It’s his turn to clear his throat at the wavering tone of his voice. “The ground slid out from under me and I fell, hit my head and broke my leg.”

His tone was distant, factual, and it sounded wrong in his voice. “What were you doing in that part of the woods?”

“I-uh, I went there to drink.”

“We didn’t find any evidence of alcoholic beverages and your blood alcohol levels were very low.” She raises her eyebrow at his half-truth. “Let me tell you a little secret.” She leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “I-”

“Have a thing with lies.” There is a small smile on his lips at Emma’s surprised expression. “Graham told me about that.”

“Right.” It takes her a second to recover from the surprise. “If you know, why don’t we avoid lying or, in this case, omitting part of the story and you tell me the truth.”

“Commanding, I like it.” He smirks weakly and at the roll of her eyes, he nods in preparation, his expression turning serious. “I was there to mourn my brother, Liam.” 

“Why not go to the cemetery? I’m sure you’ve heard how dangerous that part of the woods is.”

“That’s where he died,” His voice is low and she can only just hear it over the beeping of the machines. “Graham and the others found his body wrapped around on a rock in the river the next morning. He’d bled out during the night.” 

“So he got injured the day before? How did no one notice he was gone for so long?” She doesn’t mean for her voice to sound accusing but from the guilty self-punishing look in Killian’s face, that’s how he would describe it.

“A few weeks before he passed, I went through a break-up,” he sighs, settling carefully on the pillows at his back and Emma does the same on the cushioned chair. “I had fallen in love with a married woman.” She tries to contain her surprise and apprehension but it’s like he can see everything she tries to hide. “I know, I got an earful from my brother when we started dating. But she promised that she was going to divorce her husband as soon as she could find a good lawyer so she could guarantee a joint custody deal.”

“She has a child?”

He nods and his frown is enough for her to understand his conflict. “We kept it a secret. We didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardise her relationship with her son. Liam kept telling me how reckless I was being, how naive, but I kept shutting him down. I was in love.” He shrugs. “After a while he stopped trying and I was happy.”

“Her husband found out.” It wasn’t a question.

“I got greedy, selfish,” Killian’s tone turns hard, self-loathing. “We went to a cafe in town and she was nervous but I was happy, I was out in public with the love of my life.” He shakes his head with a scoff. “Her husband walked in with her son right behind him and I considered it luck that the cafe was almost empty. The boy came up to us first, asking his mom why she was there and who I was. I didn’t know what to say and her husband was looking at me like he wanted to kill me.” Killian sighs. “She asked me to leave and that she would talk to me later.”

“I’m assuming it didn’t go well.”

He actually laughs, a sharp, terrible sound. “I had gotten myself into a state when she finally met me. We yelled at each other, she accused me of pushing, I accused her of playing with my feelings. When she finally told me that she almost lost her son because of me, I shut up. She told me she was going to go back to her husband, that he was willing to take her back after the stupid mistake she made and then she left.” He finishes with a sigh and Emma leans back on her chair, overwhelmed. “I didn’t take it well.”

“Who would?” 

His chuckle brings her eyes back to his and despite the pain behind them, there’s an amused glint in the blue eyes that definitely do not get captured well in pictures. “For the next few weeks, I started drinking. A lot. I didn’t want to see Liam’s disappointment or self-righteousness so I distanced myself. That day, he barged into my house, took one look at the half-empty bottle in my hand and went off on me.” He shifts in his bed, hissing when his leg moves wrong. “I can see now that he was scared but at that moment I was angry. We argued and I told him that I never wanted to see him again and he left my house.”

“Is that why no one filed a missing persons report?”

He nods and his eyes water. “I drank the whole night after he left and the next day, I woke up to someone banging on my door. It was Belle.” His breath shudders. “She had been trying to call him all morning. Liam had told her that he would be coming to my place so she thought he’d stayed the night, when he didn’t text her or call her the next morning, she started to get worried. That fear, the feeling that someone had gone wrong to someone you love, was the sharpest cure for a hangover I ever had.” They both shared a mirthless chuckle. “We called Graham right away and when he didn’t know where Liam was, it became a town wide search.” He takes a deep breath. “Graham found his car parked at Toll Bridge and searched through Misthaven Trail.”

“He fell.” Emma wrings her fingers as she watches the emotions in Killian’s face.

“He left his phone in the car so when he fell into the river, he couldn’t call for help.” He sniffs, staring at the wall in front of him. “So imagine my surprise when you and Graham showed up to my rescue despite the fact that I also left my phone in my car and no one knew I was even in town.” Killian turns to her, his eyes still full of pain but a curious small smile gracing his lips.

Emma tucks her hair behind her ear in a nervous move and leans back on the chair. “It’s like I told you yesterday, we received a call that helped us find you.”

“Right,” he frowns. “And as I just said, I left my phone in the car, so it’s impossible.” 

She sighs. “I’m aware of that and, trust me, I’ve spent the whole night trying to figure it out and the only explanation I have is impossible.”

“Try me.”

Emma opens and closes her mouth a few times while Killian looks on patiently. “All our calls are recorded,” she says instead, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Before I came here, I went by the station to download the recording, so I’m just gonna play it for you.” Killian raises an eyebrow while Emma brings up the file.

“Sheriff Swan speaking.”

Static rings out from the speaker and she tenses up all over again. “Help, I-I fell-” Killian gasps and she gives in to his silent request and hands him the phone. “The cliff gave out. Can you hear me?”

“Uh, yes, yes, I can hear you, sir. Can you tell me where you fell?”

“I w-was on the Misthaven Trail, I-I think I broke my leg,” Killian’s eyes shine with tears at his brother’s voice, at his sounds of pain and Emma feels her chest tighten. “I can see the bone, I-”

Static plays up again and she is dreading the end of the call. “I can barely hear you, sir.” His knuckles turn white from where he is gripping the phone and a tear falls down his cheek. “Can you tell me precisely where on the trail?”

“The river, Shepherd River. I’m bleeding, please, help me, plea-”

Killian takes a shuddering breath when the recording ends and the phone drops on the bed. She should grab the phone and give him space. She should ask him questions about it. And yet, Emma finds herself grabbing his trembling hand with hers, her whole skin tingling at the touch. He grips her hand back tighter, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

“H-How-,” he whispers in a broken tone. “That’s my brother’s voice but-but how is it possible?”

Killian looks at her, pleading for an answer, for an explanation. But she can’t give him one. Emma shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.” Her thumb moves unconsciously over his knuckles. “But if it wasn’t for this call, we wouldn’t have found you.”

To her surprise, Killian starts to laugh even as tears fall down his face, a disbelieving sound. “I can’t believe this.” He covers his face with his free hand and Emma squeezes his hand, silently asking for clarification. He sighs and looks at her, his eyes bluer than they’d been before. “I ran away after the funeral, they had barely finished covering the casket and I was crossing the town line. I knew Belle needed me to stay, Graham too, we should have mourned together, helped each other during this but I-I-”

“You blamed yourself.”

He exhales a laugh. “Aye, stupidly tried to find answers at the bottom of a bottle once again. I just kept replaying our last argument, kept seeing him bleeding out in the river and I knew I couldn’t grieve when I knew it was my fault.”

Emma opens her mouth to protest but Killian raises his hand, stilling the words she still wasn’t sure she would say. “After a night where I was almost inducted into this woman’s witchy cult,” and she really wishes she had the chance to ask about that, “I looked for help. Found a therapist, grieved. A week ago, I told him about the anniversary of Liam’s death coming up and he suggested I visit his grave, talk to him, ask for forgiveness.” He sighs. “I was on my way to the cemetery when I found myself on the Toll Bridge. I thought it was a sign when I found the marker Graham made to honour Liam. I sat there and talked to him, I didn’t realise how much anger I still felt towards him dying, abandoning me.” He laughed sarcastically. “Ridiculous, I know. I threw my flask and I felt the ground slide from under me and I thought ‘there it is, your revenge, Liam, you’re finally punishing your killer’.”

“And then we showed up.”

“And I thought that maybe you had appeared for a reason and now hearing that?” He looks at her embarrassed, shaking his head. “I sound like a crazy person but-”

“I thought I was crazy,” Emma interrupts him with a reassuring smile. “Common sense would have you think the call was a prank. But from the moment I got the call, my instincts told me something wasn’t right, that there was more to the story.”

“I’m really glad you decided to go with your instinct, then,” he smiles softly. “If you hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have made it.”

“But you did.” She squeezes his hand and they both seem to remember that their hands are still clasped together. She doesn’t let go and neither does he. “And if we are to believe in ghost stories, your brother is adamant that you get a second chance.” 

They lock eyes, share a soft smile and she figures professionalism has been thrown out the window from the moment she took his hand. He nods and his smile widens. She kinda wishes they could hold hands forever.  

Wait, what?

“You may be right.” His voice is soft and it feels like he’s trying to look inside her, searching. “He’d probably beat up the side of the head that it took me this long to get my head out of my own arse.”

Emma chuckles and his smile widens. “I don’t think he expected you to break your leg and your head to get the message across.”

“Well,” his lips curve into a side smirk and she’s not ready for it, “I’m guessing that the service in the afterlife is a little spotty.” She laughs, surprised at his joke, and he laughs with her. Nope, she was not ready. “My brother always gave me good advice, maybe I should follow this last one too and take that second chance he gave me.”

“Oh?”

Her heart hammers against her chest at the way he looks at her. He opens his mouth to answer when the room door bursts open.

“Killian Jones!”

Emma jumps from her seat, refusing to acknowledge how empty her hand feels now that it’s no longer holding his, to make space for the shorter brunette storming up to Killian’s bed. 

Belle French.

“I haven’t heard from you in a whole year and then I have Graham calling me to tell me you’re in the hospital?!”

But Killian only smiles, clearly happy to see his would-be sister-in-law despite the guilt beginning to take root in his eyes. “I’m so happy to see you, Belle.” And it’s clear that the simple sentence breaks something in the librarian’s being. With two quick strides, she embraces him tightly. “Careful, love, I’m an invalid now,” he complains, even as his arms hold her closer, willing to ignore any pain it might be causing him. 

“You’re in a world of trouble, Killian.”

His smile only widens and he turns to look at Emma, likely amused at the overwhelmed look on her face. Belle seems to realise that there’s someone else in the room - not that Emma blames her - and turns to her.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you, I-”

“No need to apologise,” Emma raises her hand to stop the apology. “I just needed to take Mr. Jones’ testimony.” He raises an eyebrow at her use of his last name, clearly unimpressed by her choice to be professional. “Sheriff Emma Swan,” she introduces herself before holding out her hand.

“Belle French.” Belle takes her hand, still somewhat surprised as she looks between Killian and her. “Is he in some kind of trouble then?” Her expression seems ready for a fight and Killian’s smile seems to grow.

“No, no,” Emma is quick to appease. “I just needed the full story, that’s all.” She stuffs her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I actually should go write up the report.” She takes a few steps back towards the door. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss French. Get better soon, Mr. Jones.”

She starts to walk out the door. “Emma,” Killian calls and she really should not have turned around so fast. “Maybe we can grab a coffee when I get discharged? You can tell me all about safety measures when hiking.”

Emma tries to ignore Belle’s curious expression. “I think Graham might be the better man for the job.”

“He’s been trying for years, it never stuck,” He grins and there’s only so much a girl can be expected to take. “Maybe you’ll have more luck.”

She bites her lip and focuses on the hopeful look in his eyes. The last time she trusted someone, that she gave someone a chance, she ended up in prison. She should say no. 

Maybe she can justify this leap on supernatural activity too?

“It’s a date.”

The way his grin lights up a whole room does feel otherworldly. 

Just as the door closes behind her, she hears Belle’s stupefied voice.

“Killian Jones, you have a lot of explaining to do.”

Emma laughs. Maybe not all ghost stories have to have bad endings.

[themalevolentkitchen]

This time... right?!

✨Content 18+ - MDNI - Minors Don't Interact✨

Genre: Smut with Choso Kamo x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Power play, Dom / Sub dynamic, Use of Pet names, Edging, Overstimulation, Whining, acousticophilia, cum eating (slight), swearing, accidentally cums on your face, no gender reader.

Summary: You’ve been edging Choso for so long, that you’ve lost count.

Song: Cry baby by The Neighbourhood

Word count: 1063 words

All rights reserved ©TheMaleoventKitchen

Published on AO3

✨Content 18+ - MDNI - Minors Don't Interact✨

Splayed across the pillow and twisted between his fingers, his dark locks are tormented by his grip. He’s holding on for dear life - Choso’s close. Too close.

His body arches into your mouth, desperate for you to let him. Covered in sweat and heavily breathing, his moans turn to whines. Pining.

This time.

This time for sure right?!

”Please. Please, baby. I’mma.. nngh,” he begs, breathless and shaking.

You stop. Mouth releasing him with a pop. Fingers wrapped tightly around the base of his cock, helping him to hold back. Shuddering, he whines in protest and frustration.

His voice is hoarse. Breaths heavy, his chest rising and falling as he looks down towards you. His eyes are soft, tender and needy - full of admiration. Just for you.

Soothing him to settle, you maintain eye contact as you kiss his thighs. The skin is soft and sensitive, twitching to your touch as you snake your way up to his hip. He’s watching your every move, his breathing finally relaxes.

Choso’s delicate skin bruises delightfully when you mark him, right at the end of his V-line. He sucks in air before shakily exhaling, reacting to your tongue pressing into the mark. His cock leaking onto your fingers, still tightly wrapped at its base.

You hum in delight. Proud of the mess you’re making of him.

How long has it been?

How many times now?

You’ve lost count.

Poor Baby.

Lowering yourself down the bed, Choso’s gulping as he sees you readying for another round. Your hand wrapping around him in the way that he loves, moving just right, thumb casually brushing his sensitive, little slit. You notice how his cock is almost purple, and rock solid under your touch. So pretty.

His thirsty moans return quickly. Hands clutching hold of anything.

His tangled hair.

The cotton sheets.

Your hair.

His body writhing, pushing himself up on his heels.

He’s close again.

”Baby?” he mewls, holding his breath. Unable to finish his sentence, you take the hint.

Your fingers clasp tightly around his base again, but it's just a little too late. One, singular rope of cum forces itself passed the barrier. Landing in his v-line, and settling on his mound in a pool.

You look at him in amazement. He’s blushing. A glow so pink across his cheeks that it complements his scar deliciously. The blush flows all the way down his chest, where it rises and falls so quickly. His eyes look apologetic. He’s trying not to make eye contact with you. He didn’t get permission. He acts like he betrayed you.

Reaching out to his chin, you reassure him. Angling him so he can see your caring smile.

With fingers still wrapped around him, you lean down. Tongue dipping into the v-line pool, making sure to keep eye contact while you taste him. His cheeks become redder. His scar gets bigger. A needy moan breaks through his lips suddenly, his hand covering his mouth. Ashamed that such a sound escaped him involuntarily.

Under your touch, he’s somehow not softening. If anything, he feels harder. Glancing quickly, Choso’s cock still twitches in hues of pink, red and purple.

Gingerly testing, you start your motions again. He protests, but you know better. You can feel it. You can see it.

”Baby. It’s ok. Trust me? Please?” you coo.

”But, I-I… I d-dunno. I j-just…,” he whimpers. Stammering through his words - Overstimulated.

Cocking your head to the side, “You just what baby?”

You don’t stop your movements. Gently and slowly working him the way he likes, careful not to cause him discomfort.

Choso shakes his head, “I d-don’t think I c-can. I mean… I j-just d-did!”

Pausing, you look down at your hand, confirming what you believe. Your eyes seek his, so you state your request, “Hmmm. Will you allow me to find out?”

Nodding his consent instantly, you don’t hesitate, mouth falling around him. Choso’s moan is guttural.

Repositioned between his legs, your fingers dig into his hips. Nose brushing his mound while taking him deep into your mouth. Sweat covers his body, collecting and rolling down his contours as you look up at him. Choso watches you through heavy, lust-filled eyes.

Mouth dropped and panting, gulping air as you swallow around him. Tongue desperately covering his drying lips. His scar stands bold, off-set by the bright blush across his face. His eyes rolling to a close as his head lolls back, exposing his neck.

Each one of his appreciative sounds has you salivating around him. His taste is salty-sweet on your tongue - delicious and addictive. Your actions have him in a daze once again. Losing control of his body, Choso’s arching off the bed in search of release.

Curses appear between his groans. Begging. Pleading under his breath. Blending together harmoniously, sounding so pleasing to your heart.

You’ll let him this time.

Snapping back to you, his eyes are lost in pleasure. Lust-filled and watery, with tears staining his cheeks. Choso’s look warns you there’s no going back. Seeking permission, he cries out, “Baby.. P-Please? C-Can I..?”

He doesn’t want to let you down, not that he ever would. Wanting consent from his baby before he peaks.

Your mouth releases him, kitten licking the swollen, leaky tip.

“Yes, baby. You c…”

You don’t get to finish your sentence.

Choso yowls.

Shuddering without control, his body contorts. His veins stand proud from his skin as pleasure races around them. Muscles tight. Toes curled. A white knuckled grip on the pillow behind his head, as he releases into the air. A little catches your surprised face, while most of his cum lands onto his glistening stomach.

It takes a while for his body to relax. The pleasure subsides, and finally he opens his eyes to see the mess painted on your face. Instinctively, he grabs the wet tissue next to the bed. Sitting up and cupping your face to clean it gently.

Matching his aftercare, you wipe-up his stomach. Ticklish giggles mingle while you both playfully clean each other. Choso’s lips appreciatively lay kiss after kiss on your freshened cheeks. His hand on your jaw angles you to meet his lips. Tenderly and deeply, he kisses you, tasting himself on your tongue.

With a contented sigh, Choso rests his forehead on yours lovingly. His hands still cupping your jaw as he gratefully praises,

”Thank you baby.”

[bbyquokka]

3:42 pm (hjs)

genre: timestamp, mafia au, smut — MDNI!

warnings: gender-neutral reader, established relationship, pet names, unprotected sex, oral (m rec), deep throat/throat fucking, cum eating, mafia boss jisung, mentions of blood and injuries (cuts, bruises, scars from old wounds), possessive jisung, degrading, finger sucking, mention of a knife.

words: 1.3k ~ (1,371)

a/n: blame the anon that told me to write something for suit and glasses wearing jisung. not like i was delulu enough from watching the suit dance practise, lmaoo

♡ m.list — ♡ you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

his body trembling. cold sweat coating his skin as the white shirt sticks to his chest, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing a distinct snake tattoo–a tattoo that everyone knows.

his face and knuckles bloody and bruised. a swollen lip and cut to the eyebrow. a few knife cuts on his arms where the perpetrator has tried to defend themselves from jisung pinning them down.

“ji–” you beg only to be met with silence. he's terrifying when he's like this. silence is more deadlier to you because you don't know how he is feeling or what he is thinking.

short, sharp pushes to your shoulder blade from behind causes you to stumble through his home. his breathing is laboured, his hair unkempt with the ends coated in blood and sweat.

he pushes you to his office, slamming the door behind him as you stumble against his desk. he stares at you, jaw and fists clenching. 

“ji..” you whisper. he walks to you, slowly. his hands shaking with adrenaline as tears threaten to spill from his lower lash line.

“what have i told you, yn? hm?!” his voice bellowing throughout the office. you flinch a little as you shake, tears filling your eyes.

“i-i'm sorry, ji. i'm so so sorry!”

“i told you not to go outside without a body guard! do you know what could've happened to you?! do you even know how fucking dangerous it is, huh?!” you shake your head no slowly.

with shaky hands, jisung pushes his glasses up his nose, the glass lens cracked from the earlier impact. he grabs your shoulders, squeezing them harshly. his face close to yours and that's when you see it.

he's not mad at you. he's scared. the tough, mafia boss that you and everyone else knows, is scared. tears spilling down his cheek, his eyes holding nothing but fear. his brows furrowed together as his face holding nothing but angst.

his body is trembling, hands squeezing your shoulders as if he is terrified of losing you.

“sungie..” you shakily whisper, reaching up and placing your hand on his cheek gently. the tough, dominant demeaner that you and everyone else is so used to, crumbling in an instance. he whimpers, letting out a long and shaky breathe that he has been holding for god knows how long.

he leans into the palm of your hand, his grip on your shoulders loosening up.

“i can't yn.. i can't lose you. i love you and you being out alone, is so fucking dangerous. you could get kidnapped or worse! so many people want to watch me crash and burn. they want to destroy everything i have and everything i love; you included!”

“i know, i know.. i'm so so sorry. i just wanted to do something for you. cook you a meal and just have a night with you. i wasn't thinking.. i'm so sorry..” you sob, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“my darling. don't cry. i understand and i'm sorry if i scared you.” 

“i think you scared the whole neighbourhood to be honest, ji. you fucked that gang up real good.”

jisung laughs softly, his cheeks turning red. he holds your waist gently, pulling you flush to his body. 

“no one fucks with you, not while i'm around.”

“han jisung.” you giggle, playing with the button of his shirt. “you're so sexy when you're possessive.”

“oh yeah?” he smirks. you hum and giggle before moaning suddenly as he leans in, kissing you with such force and hunger. his hands sliding down your body, cupping your ass.

saliva mixes together. tongues caressing and tangling in a fight for dominance. pants being exchanged between the two of you as you both hastily rip and shred each others clothing off. 

you both pull away for a spilt second, your eyes scanning every detail of jisung's chest and torso. tattoos and old wound scars decorate his soft skin with a happy trail sitting below his belly button.

“fuck..” you groan, automatically falling to your knees. you fumble with his belt, saying fuck it and leaving it when you become too impatient. jisung watches you, watches you pull his zipper down and fish his erection out.

your lips are automatically wrapped around his cock in an instance, head bobbing as you suck. you close your eyes, hands on his firm thighs as jisung holds the side of your head. 

“h-holy fuck, yn.” he pants. his glass slowly slipping down the bridge of his nose as he stares at you. he watches his veiny cock disappearing into your mouth and down your throat, his tip nudging and rubbing the back.

your tongue is flat to stroke the underside, the corner of your lips stretching and burning as you struggle to breathe. without warning, jisung bucks his hips thrusting at a fast pace. your eyes widen as you look up at him through your lashes to be met with a hungry man. 

he pushes your head further onto his cock so the tip of your nose bumps against his pubic area. your gag reflex activates, saliva pooling and spilling down your chin as tears slide down your cheeks. 

you grip onto jisung's thighs, nails digging into the fabric of his suit pants and his skin. the sound of his breathy and whorish moans echoing in your ears. 

“i want to fucking ruin you, punish you for what you've done today.” he groans. you tremble with pleasure, mind filled with nothing but thoughts of wanting jisung to bend you over his desk and penetrate you, fill you up to the hilt and use you for his own satisfaction.

jisung's fingers tangle and tug at your roots, saliva and tears stain your pretty face. knees sore from the wood floor, throat burning from the abuse of jisung's cock–you wouldn't have it any other way though.

“you're going to be good for me and take it all. isn't that right yn?” jisung smirks. all you can do is hum around him. “good. i like it when you behave.”

a couple more thrusts later and his hips still. a string of strangled moans and throaty groans leave his lips as his cum shots down your throat. you have no option but to swallow it all, mainly because you want to please your lover.

he pulls out of your mouth with a pop, kneeling down and forcing his two fingers past your lips. he massages your tongue, stroking the inside of your cheeks as you suckle on him. his greedy eyes focusing on you as you grip onto his wrists and whimper.

“you're so good to me, yn. but i can't let what happened go, you know that better than anyone else.” he coos in a mocking tone. he pushes his hair back, revealing his sweat coated forehead before pushing his broke glasses up his nose again.

“up.” he commands. you oblige, stumbling up onto your feet as jisung follows suit. “strip and turn around. legs parted, hands on the desk.”

you nod once, not having to be told twice. you hastily remove the rest of your clothing, doing as jisung instructed. you part your legs as you hear the metal of a belt buckle being fumbled and pants being dragged down his legs.

he situates himself behind you, one hand on his cock, one hand on your hip. you hold your breath, anticipating his next move. you feel the tip of his cock tease and rub your entrance.

“i know you want his, yn. i know you're a cock hungry whore. why don't you be good for me and beg.”

“fuck.. please ji. please, i'm sorry about today and it won't ever happen again. i swear down!” you shakily beg.

“what are you again?” he leans down, chest onto your back. you look behind you from over your shoulder, his face dangerously close to yours.

“a cock hungry whore.” you whisper. jisung hums and grins in satisfaction, watching the way your eyes widen and an empty moan leave your parted lips as he penetrates you suddenly, pushing his cock inside until he is at the hilt.

“that's correct and don't you dare forget who you belong to, yn.” 

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