#i think the secret selfish fear that is never spoken is never being loved the same way as he loves other people. to never be ‘worth’ that

[lifesver]

leland also got ‘love as a threshold’ on that one quiz and im like yeah. just know that love to him is unconditional, devoted, easy as breathing, and it’s not hard for him to say i love you. that’s how his mother raised him and his sisters. though sometimes he feels a bit embarrassed for caring so much, so obviously, being such an open book. he knows that also leaves him open to heartbreak, to looking stupid, to getting hurt. but it’s not something he can change. it’s not something he expects back from people, he just needs You to know that you’re loved. and again i do think his friends teach him different ways to show love, different languages for it. that some people need different things, and some people were never given the space to be open about it like he was.

[sunnie-angel]

Part 10: The Choice

part 9 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: jason settles into your new fwb relationship with ease, but stirring unrest in gotham prompts him to a course of action he'd never consider otherwise

tags: implied sexual content, off screen violence, discussion of murder victims

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 1.6k

a/n: this is a bit shorter than my usual updates for this fic but i'm trying to be nice to myself about it (got kinktober running and been working on two new series but i still wanted to update this fic)

Jason Todd has always known that he’s a selfish man. Now he knows that he’s a coward too. It was selfish of him to crumble in your arms, to take what you were offering with greedy, clutching hands. Falling into your bed again is easy, so easy. You’d offered him the most thinly veiled opportunity and the promise not to talk about it and all of his grand resolve had folded. The careful distance he had kept between you for those long, torturous weeks melting away at the offer for more, more than just the cold friendship he’d been willing to settle for. You, with your sweet cheeks and winter bright eyes, were a weakness he’d never learned to guard against.

He wakes up in your bed beside you and thinks that this is the closest to something holy he’s ever seen. Your soft huffing breaths as you sleep, brows soft and lashes fluttering. The weight of your body pressed along his, your heat searing through his skin. Your lips part just slightly as you exhale. There’s something innocent about you as you sleep, no worries to have your body humming with energy, no performance for an audience. Just you. Soft and sleep soaked, trusting him with your soft belly and unguarded throat, allowing him into your bed again after the colossal fuck up of the first time. Propping his head on his hand, he looks down at your relaxed features and promises to do better.

Jason will respect your rules, even if he can’t follow his own. Touching you? He crossed that line so long ago it’s laughable to think about when he’s just had you split open around him. Staying at the threshold of your home? Hell he’d practically invited himself inside. He doesn’t know how but you’ve started to see the truth of him, filled in the gaps of silence with the words he couldn’t say but felt, brushed against all his raw edges and still not flinched. Jason doesn’t know how you’ve managed it, but he lives in the fear of when the person you see stops being the friend you rely on. So his last rule, his last rule he will keep. Can keep the love he feels trapped in his throat burning like acid so long as you will keep looking at him like you did last night. Won’t break your rules and do anything so terrible as to utter the words out loud. Jason has kept so many secrets, what’s one more?

You mumble something in your sleep, turn and reach for him with a blind hand. This time, Jason is there. He is there for you to snuggle closer to, soft murmurs melting into peaceful relief at the solidness of him. Jason is there. He is there and he cannot understand how he ever had the cruelty to leave before. To give this up. Jason Todd knows that he is a coward. He knew he was a coward since the first time he left, and every moment after where he did not afford you the honesty of his yearning gaze. When he swallowed down your promises that nothing had to change, nothing had to be spoken aloud, too eager for the sweetness that you offered, he knew he was a coward. Down to his bones he knows that he has always been a coward when it comes to you. That he will continue to be a coward as long as it ends with him here, your vulnerable form seeking protection from the scarred shell of his body.

It is shockingly easy to go back to existing in your orbit now that he is allowed to have this much more of you. Gazes no longer fraught with tension, a loose limbed ease to invading your space. There is a comfort for him in knowing how to handle your body, to know what is allowed under the terms of your agreement. He can throw an arm around your shoulder and no longer do you freeze, instead sinking into him. Can linger as he hands over your lunch, your coffee, your little treat and not have to pretend he doesn’t feel the burn of your skin. Figures out how to trace the nape of your neck with his eyes alone until you are shivering under the weight of his attention. Satisfaction thrums through his veins at being able to pull such reactions from you, a gift he has been granted by the benevolent god that lets him haunt her bed.

He walks you home most days, even when he isn’t meant to be on campus. Offers no excuses, not that he thinks he needs any, simply shows up outside your lecture hall of internship office at the right time and slings your bag over his shoulder. You smile wryly up at him, smack him on the shoulder and let him know how perfectly capable you are of carrying your own things. He just smiles back until you run out of steam, rummaging through your pockets until you’ve found his reward for the day. Apples pressed into the palm of his hand, trail mix dotted with dark chocolate, dried fruit strips you mumble embarrassedly about making at home. Feeding you, watching your eyes light up over a new dish, it’s a feeling Jason doesn’t think will ever get old. Letting you feed him, in your own way, nearly rivals that gooey self-satisfied feeling. Understands intimately the desire to trade equally, to repay a kindness with kindness in turn. Can accepts these gifts from you without guilt now that the air between you is no longer bitter with self-flagellation.

It’s not every day that he follows you into your apartment and into your arms but enough that the two of you have made a routine of it. Has a hook behind the front door just for his jacket and a box of condoms in his size on your bedstand. But you don’t mention it and he doesn’t bring it up. No, Jason fills the silence with the little noises he can draw from your slack-jawed mouth. Learns to love the sound of his name dripping from your mouth. Still writhes with guilt at how badly he’d hurt you with it, the way you’d cried when it had slipped out. He gives it to you as a gift, the nickname, only to be whispered between the sheets with your eyes drawn wide. Every chant of Jay, Jay, please Jay lances the wound of it, drains the festering rot of memories as you replace them one by one.

Selfishly he hoards every smile, every expression twisted up with pleasure. It’s what you were made for, your whole body lighting up joy. For Jason it’s a contact high, like if he could hold you close enough, make you happy enough, maybe he could approach something like happiness too. That’s why when your face falls, when your lips tremble and your hands shake when another dead girl is found, he makes the decision that he does. There should never be such raw fear on someone as precious as you. It’s unacceptable.

Jason goes digging. Rips through the networks of informants he’s worked so hard to build, sent out henchmen with feelers, rampages through the city himself. Scours every corner, calls in every favour owed by whichever Rogues he’s got his hooks into. No one knows anything. No one’s saying anything. Two girls, both the spitting image of you murdered, and no one knows a fucking thing about it. None of the Rogues will claim it as their own doing and the ones with the taste for fear and flesh are all still locked up in Arkham. It’s not until one of the street kids he’s tried so damn hard to protect tells a story about a working girl killed four weeks ago in exchange for a place to stay that Jason finds out anything nearing useful.

It’s not hard to hack into the GCPD database. What’s hard is to find one Jane Doe in a stack of unsolved Jane Doe cases. Makes his heart hurt and his conscience prick at so many young women whose absences have gone unremarked by the world. Jason refuses to let you become one of them. When he finds the case he’s looking for, the coffee mug shatters in his hand. A working girl, dead four weeks just like he’d been told. She looks more like you than any of the others. Even dead on a slab, the resemblance has his teeth grinding. This thing, whatever it is, isn’t the result of increased muggings in the area. No, this is some sicko with a fetish and judging at the way his brutality has increased with each murdered girl, he’s building up to something.

There’s nothing on any of the bodies that tells him what it is though. No faint clue left for him to decipher, just the remnants of cruelty that make him feel sick to think on. He tells you not to worry, that he’s handling it, but he can tell you don’t quite believe him. You lean into him more often for comfort, lines carving themselves into the delicate hollows of your under eyes. Your lips are always chapped these days from biting at them, nailbeds raw from picking at them. And Jason, Jason hates to see you like this. Fearful. Afraid. A ghost of your vibrant self, so twisted up with the not knowing, the nebulous fear of being next. It’s unacceptable.

So he does something that he swore he’d never do, not after the last disastrous outcome. Jason picks up the phone and calls his family.

link to part 11

[punchdrunkdoc]

Part 2, Chapter 1

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

Here we go! 

Part 2 - picking up right where we left off...

————–

PART 2

Chapter 1

Calina woke up when the floor disappeared.

The last thing she remembered was sitting on the kitchen tiles, back propped up against the cabinets as she finished her beer. The living room was littered with the fallout from their fight - smashed glass on the floor, furniture in pieces - and neither of them had had the energy to clean it up. So in silent agreement, they’d stayed in the kitchen after ‘introducing’ themselves. Calina had taken the weight off her throbbing knee and Matthew had joined her on the floor, his long legs bracketing hers as they sat opposite each other.

“Are you able to talk about what happened?” he’d asked. “I don’t want to push you, but I need to know more details. I need to know what the danger is.”

His voice had been gentle and hesitant - and she didn’t blame him for his caution. He must have been worried that she’d break down again if she relived the experience. But there wasn’t any risk of that tonight - she still felt strangely numb, the raw fragility of earlier replaced by a detached calm, like a veneer of paint over a crumbling facade.

A temporary fix.

Eventually the emotions would break through again, and she’d have to deal with what had happened tonight, but she wasn’t ready yet.

And she’d never be ready to share all the details with Matt.

So she lied. 

And she used his concern and his compassion against him. "I...I don't feel up to talking about it," she told him. "Not yet. But you're not in any danger from me. Not anymore. They can't activate the serum remotely, so I'm not going to suddenly turn on you again."

Matt gave her a small smile. "I wasn't worried about me being in danger. I wanted to know how much danger you're in."

"Oh." There was that compassion again. And the selfless valour that made up so much of Matt's character. She hated herself for taking advantage of those traits. For manipulating him and lying to him mere moments after their ‘fresh start’. But the alternative - sharing the unedited, unsanitised truth about what she'd done in her apartment - would destroy this tentative, fledgling…thing…between them.

He would never look at her the same way, knowing she was a killer by choice. Regardless of the fact that she’d had just seconds to make her choice; regardless of the fact that her mind had been slipping away and her freedom -  and the lives of others - had been on the line, she had made the conscious decision to end a life.

And she feared Matt would hate her for it.

It made her a coward. A selfish coward.

But she’d just have to live with that.

"Yelena is much more concerned about the threat than I am,” she explained. “I don't believe they're coming for me. I don't think they even know where I am."

"That's good. But you should lay low for a while anyway. Just as a precaution."

She nodded, then changed the subject. She wanted to steer the conversation to safer territory - and away from her quagmire of lies. “Tell me about today.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Distract me. Tell me about the trial. How did the closing arguments go?”

“Foggy did a great job. This case always felt like a long shot, but I’m actually feeling optimistic. The prosecution could never prove a motive, and their cross-examination of our toxicology expert was weak. They…” As Matt recounted his triumph in court, the words - spoken in that lovely, rich tone of his - turned indistinct; they became a background hum, a soothing track that lulled her into oblivion…

…until she drifted off to sleep.

It turned out an adrenaline come-down, mixed with alcohol and painkillers was a potent combination.

And then the floor disappeared. The cold tile was replaced by air as she went weightless, secured in Matt’s strong arms as he carried her into the bedroom. “I’ll take the couch,” she slurred, her head heavy against his chest.

“The couch that is currently canted at a 35 degree angle?” Matt replied as he gently deposited her on the mattress. “It’d be like sleeping on a playground slide.” He helped her extract herself from her sling, pulling the fabric over her head and smoothing back her mussed hair. She tried to lean into the caressing hand but it was gone in an instant, the casual stroke meaning nothing to him, but everything to her.

She’d never been fussed over like this before.

“What about you?” she asked as he guided her back onto the pillow and pulled the covers over her.

“I’ve got some work to do, so I’ll stay up a little longer. Besides, I need to keep watch just in case there’s any activity next door. And I’ll need to wake you every couple of hours.”

“What? Why?” She heard the whine in her voice but couldn’t help it. She felt leaden with fatigue and wanted to sleep for days - not just a couple of hours.

“You were knocked out cold earlier. Standard concussion protocol.”

“Ugh.”

———

Matt smiled. The last time Calina had fallen asleep in his apartment, she had woken up confused and disorientated. Now she was acting almost petulant. He wasn’t sure which one was more endearing.

He carried one of the living room chairs into the bedroom and settled in for the night, his concentration split between the hallway outside, the woman in his bed, and the deposition papers in his lap. He needed to study the documents for an arbitration session next week, but his fingers soon went lax around the pages as his attention strayed more and more to Calina’s sleeping form.

The events of tonight still seemed to unreal to him. After months of speculation and doubt and curiosity, he finally knew the answer to her mystery.

And it was more horrifying that he could ever have imagined. She’d been stolen as a child and brainwashed, then turned into a mindless assassin. He could barely reconcile that kind of past with his sweet, kind neighbour.

It explained everything of course - the inconsistencies in her story, her nightmares and trouble sleeping, her fight skills and all the injuries he’d detected several weeks ago. Although he hadn’t gotten an explanation on that last count.

Nor had she been very open about what had transpired tonight.

He still couldn’t pick up any physical clues that she was lying, but his gut told him she was holding back. Her story didn’t add up. But he had to hope that she would trust him enough to tell him some day.

For now he would keep watch over her until she was strong enough to do it herself. And if that meant living with her for a few weeks, so be it.

Foggy thought he was crazy, of course.

For multiple reasons. 

He’d listed them over the phone when Matt had called earlier to update him. “Number 1,” Foggy had started. “You’ve just found out this woman is a TRAINED ASSASSIN.”

“And as far as I know there are no bounties out on my head,” Matt had responded lightly.

“This isn’t funny, Matt. You’re going to be living with a killer.”

“An ex-killer. She never had a choice about becoming a Widow, Fog. But the first choice she made on being freed was to walk away. She doesn’t want to be a killer.”

“But that brings me to point B.”

“I thought you were numbering these.”

“Shut up. Point B, or 2, or whatever. What happens if she loses her mind and goes all robot-killer again?”

“Apparently the mind control can’t be activated remotely. If someone wants to steal her mind again, they’ll have to do it in person, and they’ll have to go through me first. I’m not gonna let that happen.”

Foggy sighed. And Matt could hear his friend’s frustration over the phone. He knew Foggy didn’t understand his decision to take in Calina. To be honest, Matt hadn’t exactly thought it through - the offer had been an impulse.

But he didn’t regret it.

He was still haunted by Calina’s broken, desperate sobs after she’d been freed from the serum controlling her. He hated the thought of anyone being in that much pain, let alone a woman he cared about. This - opening his home to her, allowing her to stay in New York - was a tangible thing he could do to help her. Rather than letting her default to the life she so obviously didn’t want out of a feeling of defeat and hopelessness, he was offering her a respite. A chance to heal and get back on her feet.

It reminded him of the aftermath of the building collapse, when Father Lantom and his mother had taken him in for a similar reason.

He was just paying it forward.

“You didn’t see her tonight, Foggy. She was so…defeated. I couldn’t stand it.”

“But, Matt-"

“No, let me finish,” Matt interrupted, trying to explain his rationale to his friend. “Imagine having the courage to walk away from everything you’ve ever known and start a new life, in a new country. Having never had a proper job before, or an apartment. You don’t even know how to pay a gas bill. Calina did that. And she’s been trying so hard to live in this alien new world and was just starting to adjust…and it was all ripped away from her in an instant. It left her feeling that she had no choice but to give it all up. And I couldn’t bear for that to happen.”

“For her sake? Or for yours, Matt.”

It was a fair question. And one he’d been quietly grappling with.

Was he really being altruistic in convincing Calina to stay? Or did he just not want to lose her?

“Either way,” he responded. “I’m not going to start anything with her. This will be a strictly platonic arrangement.”

Foggy sighed again. “Let me get this straight. You’re attracted to her. And you like her - enough to share your home with her - but you won’t act on it? Are you sure this isn’t just some new masochistic way of torturing yourself?”

Matt rolled his eyes. “I’m just trying to be a good friend, Foggy. And I can control myself. Its not going to be torture.”

———

This was torture.

“Calina?” The Devil whispered again.

“Leave m’lone,” she slurred in response.

She heard a soft chuckle in the depths of her drowsiness. “I’m sorry. I just need to make sure you’re okay.”

“M’okay.”

It was the second time tonight that he’d woken her up to check on her. And while she appreciated his diligence and care, she was so tired. And his bed was so, so comfortable.

Which made her feel extra guilty about stealing it from him. The first time he’d woken her, she’d repeated her offered to go out to the couch in the living room. This time, she offered to share. She wriggled over to the far side of the bed and patted the mattress. “Lie down. You can’t be comfortable sitting in that chair all night after our fight.” 

She’s not sure she would have had the courage to make that suggestion under normal circumstances. But it was late, and dark, and exhaustion had eroded some of her shyness.

“I’m fine,” Matt replied. “I’m still working.”

“Liar.”

He chuckled again.

She persevered. “At least sit on the bed if you’re gonna pretend to work.”

She could sense his hesitation, so she decided to make it easier for him. She rolled on to her side so her back was to him, wincing internally as the movement jarred her sore elbow. Moments later she felt the mattress dip as he climbed onto the bed. She smiled in victory, and closed her eyes.

The next time she woke, it wasn’t with Matt’s whisper in her ear - it was with the morning sunlight blazing against her eyelids. She cracked open her eyes, and slowly adjusted to the strong light piercing into the room. She glared at the bare windows, irrationally angry at them for waking her.

Then her gaze shifted, and she forgot all about her annoyance.

She didn’t remember rolling back over during the night, but she must have done at some point…because now she was facing Matt. He was on his side, stretched out on top of the covers, with one hand tucked under his pillow. And he was fast asleep, undisturbed by the sunshine.

A rush of emotions hit her all at once. Sadness, that his eyes couldn’t perceive the morning light that had woken her; guilt, at the deep purple bruises marring his skin; tenderness, at the soft, boyish look on his handsome face.

And intense gratitude, that after everything he’d learned about her last night, he still trusted her enough to fall asleep next to her. To leave himself so vulnerable in her presence.

It humbled her.

He shifted in his sleep and she held her breath, not wanting to wake him. She felt a tug at her wrist and looked down. The loose sleeve of her dressing gown was held between two of his fingers. Those fingers twitched ever so slightly, as if he was stroking the material in his sleep.

She smiled. She didn’t blame him. She’d bought this dressing gown because the cashmere fabric was so sumptuously soft and delicate. She’d shoved it on over her camisole and shorts last night, wanting to surround herself in comfort and warmth.

She was glad he was benefitting from that as well. Judging from his silk sheets, Matt shared her love of luxurious fabrics.

He moved again, and she glanced up to find his eyes open. “Morning,” he rumbled. His deep voice was thick with sleep, even lower and sexier than normal. He licked his lips, and her eyes were drawn to his mouth.

To that full, curved upper lip…

“Calina? You okay?”

She jerked out of her daze. Then shifted back on the bed, putting a bit of distance between herself and the temptation lying next to her. All her sore muscles and abused joints protested the move at once, and she groaned softly. “Why does it always hurt so much worse the next morning?” she complained.

He huffed out a laugh. “Tell me about it.”

She studied his face again. His nose was swollen and there was bruising beneath his eyes and over his cheek and jaw. The cut on his ear looked angry and red, and she could see the bandage covering the knife wound peeking out the neck of his t-shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey.” He released his hold on her sleeve and grasped her arm instead. “Stop apologising. In case you forgot, the reason you’re in pain is because of me.”

“I don’t blame you for that. You were just doing what I asked you to do.”

“Well, I don’t blame you either. You weren’t in control of your actions.”

She nodded, accepting his absolution for now. She didn’t have the energy to debate her culpability this early in the morning.

“How do you feel?” he asked. “Apart from general aches and pains. Do you need to see a doctor about your elbow?”

She extended and flexed the joint a few times. It hurt, but not any worse than usual. “It’ll be fine. It’s happened before.”

“Yelena mentioned that.”

Calina laughed.

“Why is that funny?” he asked softly

“Because she was the first person to dislocate it.”

He frowned. “What? How?”

“We were eleven and it was during jiu jitsu training. I’d broken some rule - I can’t even remember which one - and the trainers wanted to make an example of me. So they paired me with Yelena for a practice bout. We were the same height back then, but she was a lot stronger.”

“You didn’t tap out?”

“There was no tapping out in the Red Room. Fights were over when one of us was unconscious…or dead.”

“Jesus. Dead? You were just children.”

“We were assets. And if we weren’t good enough, we were disposed of. Only 1 in 20 of us made it all the way through the training.”

She wasn’t sure why she’d told him that. Maybe it was the intimacy of the space - the shared bed, with their faces inches apart, and their soft voices filling the sun-bathed room - that made her feel safe enough to spill all her secrets. Maybe it was his sightless eyes, the ones that couldn’t lock on to hers and stare down into her soul as she bared it.

Or maybe she just wanted to prove that she was tough. Capable. That despite him besting her last night, and despite breaking down in tears afterwards…she was strong. She had endured so much, and could endure anything else that was thrown at her.

“I don’t even know what to say to that.” Matt shook his head. “I can’t imagine that kind of childhood.”

“From what you’ve told me, it’s not like yours was all sunshine and roses,” she countered. He’d been blinded in a horrible accident, then orphaned. That was still a pretty good hand to play in the game of ‘Who’s Life Sucked More’.

“I guess we make some pair.”

She smiled. “Yeah.”

They were silent for a few beats, and she basked in the comfort of it. She liked this moment they were sharing. This interlude of honesty and intimacy. It felt like they were removed from time - that this room was the only thing that existed, and they were the only people in the world that mattered. She never wanted it to end.

Of course, the universe had other ideas.

A car travelling the street below back-fired, the sound like a gunshot. Matt flinched, as if the noise pained his sensitive ears. Calina jerked upright, an instinctual reaction to possible gunfire. The move wrenched her knee and a cry of pain escaped her lips.

Matt sat up in response. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just my knee. I should probably ice it.”

He twisted to face her and crossed his legs between them. His hands hovered over her sheet-covered legs. “Do you mind if I check it out?”

She wasn’t sure what he’d be able to ‘check’, but then again, she didn’t know the full extent of his abilities. She pulled the duvet out of the way and exposed her bare legs. Her left knee was noticeably red and swollen, but it looked a little better than last night.

She couldn’t say the same for the bruises on her thighs where she’d been repeatedly hit - by both Matt, and the man she’d killed. Vivid purple blotches covered most of the skin, and she was glad Matt couldn’t see them.

He slowly lowered his hands until they covered her injured knee. Gently - so gently - he palpated the joint. Then he slipped one hand under her thigh, taking the weight of her leg so he could check her range of motion. Her breath caught at the feel of his warm, calloused fingers against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She only managed to exhale again when he finally placed her leg back on the mattress.

“There’s some deep bruising. But nothing’s ruptured or broken,” he said, his voice maddeningly calm and unaffected.

She couldn’t say the same for her own. “Th-that’s good,” she breathed.

“I’ll get you that ice. And some painkillers.”

He started to move off the bed but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. She quickly pulled it back at the feel of his hard muscle beneath his t-shirt. “No. I’ll do it. I, um, need to walk off some of the stiffness.”

She scooted off the bed and practically jogged out of the room, ignoring the lancing pain in her legs. She shut herself in the bathroom, braced her hands on the sink and glared at the woman in the mirror.

Get a grip, she silently admonished. He’s being a wonderful, kind friend. Pull your mind out of the gutter and show a little discipline. You don’t want him feeling uncomfortable around you and your pathetic crush.

She splashed some water onto her face to cool herself down, and took a few deep breaths. Once her hormones were back under control, she laughed bitterly at the unfairness of the situation. It reminded her of a famous proverb from back home: Love is cruel; you could fall in love with a goat.

Forget goats. You could fall for an amazing, brave, handsome man…who didn’t feel the same way about you.

Now that was cruel.

———

Matt hated to admit it, but Foggy was right: this was torture.

He groaned and rubbed his face with his hands, letting out a sharp gasp as he bumped against the swelling over his nose. He probed the bridge carefully, but couldn’t feel the crunch of a broken bone.

Just a lot of bruising.

Bruising which - unfortunately - wasn’t bad enough to block his sense of smell. He would have gladly gone without it today.

Because he’d woken up saturated in Calina’s scent.

It filled the room like an atmosphere, so thick he could swim through it. He could feel it on his skin and taste it on his lips.

Complete and utter torture.

He never should have gotten into bed with her. He should have just kept vigil in the chair all night. Better yet, he should have been out in the living room, as far away from her as possible. But he’d been tired. And sore. And the temptation of the soft mattress had been too much to resist. The moment his head hit the pillow, he’d been out like a light.

It was the best night sleep he’d had…since the last time he’d slept with Calina.

He was just grateful that he hadn’t woken up wrapped around her. It was a distinct threat - he’d always been a cuddler in bed. And it had been so long since he’d been with a woman. He missed the sensation of bare limbs entwined together, silken hair against his cheek, shared warmth…He only had so much restraint, especially in the morning hours when his guard was down. It took all his willpower to fight the lure of her scent, add in the feel of her skin against his and he’d be in big trouble.

Just touching her knee had been bad enough. It had sparked a cascade of reactions in Calina that had nearly made him groan. The moment his hand had wrapped around her thigh, he’d sensed a rush of liquid heat to her core, just inches from his fingers. Her heart had started pounding and her breathing had stopped. Worst of all, her scent changed, her arousal magnifying the already intoxicating fragrance.

Fucking. Torture.

He needed to be careful. She was obviously as touch-starved as he was. Which made sense, given the life she’d lived up until now. A life of control and duty. A life devoid of fun and happiness and the simple pleasures that most took for granted.

A life devoid of…life.

The small fragments of her past she’d shared this morning gave him even more insight into that.

Only 1 in 20 girls completed the training.

What must that have been like? Never knowing if you would survive to the next day. Never knowing if the person next to you would make it either.

You would close yourself off and avoid getting close to anyone. And by all rights, Calina should have still been like that. She should have been cold. Or, at least tentative in her interactions with other people. And, yes, maybe in the beginning she’d been a bit aloof, but now she was so warm and open and caring.

That she could hold on to that side of her after everything she’d been through was…miraculous.

He needed to be careful with her. So, so careful.

She was out in the world for the first time, having never experienced proper human connection. Her reaction to him - her apparent attraction - was likely just a product of that inexperience. He was the only man in her life - maybe even the first one that she’d ever been close with - so he shouldn’t read too much into it.

And he absolutely should not take advantage.

It was yet one more reason why they needed to stay platonic.

Friends. And nothing more.

————–

Chapter 2

Taglist: @hollandorks, @yanna-banana, @stilldreaming666, @tearosearts-blog @chezagnes, @freckledbabyyy​

If you’d like to be added, let me know!

[anakinskywalkerog]

The Jedi and the Loth Rat (Episode 6)

Kanan Jarrus x Padawan!Reader

Link to Episode 5

Warnings: Fluffiest fluff you've ever seen. This episode is a squishmallow. Also, some necessary Chosen One bullshit. Teeny bit o Kanan angst. But mostly, very very romancey vibes. I won't spoil it.

Summary: You, distraught about your relationship with Kanan, meditate seeking answers. Kanan and the rest of the ghost crew make a startling discovery about you and your connection to the Sith. (I hope the end of this reads as cinematic as it felt when I wrote it).

Word Count: 5k

Rest, you thought to yourself dryly, yeah, right. You paced around your quarters at the Atollon base, anxiety ruminating around the room, bouncing off the walls and growing in your tense presence. It had been almost 24 hours since Sabine and Kanan had left to join Hera, Zeb, and Chopper on their mission to contact Fulcrum, and though you were sure everything was fine, and that they would eventually return, you hadn't been able to sleep at all since they'd been gone.

         The way Kanan had looked at you; the fear you had felt in his presence, the reluctance to regard you; the coldness in his voice as he had turned away from you. You replayed all of it in your head, even though you knew you shouldn't. You knew that you should distance yourself from Kanan as much as possible, in the Force and also in real life, but you couldn't help thinking through every small detail of your only interaction with him since you and him had connected fully via the Force. You couldn't help but want him, even now; even though he knew the truth, even though there were no more secrets; even though you had intuited the rejection in his presence with every fiber of your being, a tiny part of you still had hope. You still wanted to be close to him, to be near him, even if it meant this kind of torture, even if it meant cold, feeling-less words spoken to you from his mouth. You hated this aspect of yourself—you had never before been in love, let alone so in love that you were willing to waste away, just to be close to someone, just to hear their voice. You didn't want to feel this way. You wanted to be strong, as a Jedi and as a person. You didn't want to give everything up just because you loved him.

         I won't, then, you told yourself, and your feelings gave you a burst of strength, of inspiration. I am a Jedi, you told yourself. The Force is with me.

         You stopped pacing and kneeled in front of your bed, preparing to meditate, drawing in a deep breath. You commanded every part of self to leave your mind, every thought, every base desire and selfish fear. You were one with the Force.

         What must I do?  you asked, and the Force answered.

"We're coming up on Fulcrum's ship," Zeb said, leaning through Kanan's open door on the Ghost. "Hera says we'll be emerging from hyperspace in about fifteen minutes."

         Kanan nodded in recognition, but said nothing. He was laying on his bunk, a position unusual for him during the waking hours. He was usually overactive during missions, checking on the ship, checking on their coordinates, going over the plan with each crew member, again and again. Now, instead of action, all he felt was inaction, his body fully in stasis, his mind feeling numb. He used his hand to float loose screws from the floor up toward the ceiling. He didn't have many possessions in this sparse room, other than his lightsaber and his holocron. He had followed the old ways of the Jedi, because they were all he had known. He had thought they were correct. He had thought he had been doing right by you. He floated the debris with ease as his mind turned sour, his thoughts trying hard not to dwell on you. He didn't meditate, for fear he would accidentally connect with you again, and have to experience your feelings of fear. Fear of him.

         The way you had flinched when he touched you...he couldn't stand it. He didn't understand all the ways of the Force, but he knew enough of trauma to understand that you now associated him with the pain you had felt at the hands of the Grand Inquisitor. And you should—you both knew it was because of him that you'd been tortured. Floating the screws and focusing in on his own guilt, Kanan's consciousness dove deeper into this hopeless feeling, the despair at knowing you would never feel safe with him again, that you would always connect him with that electric shock—that you now feared him as much as you did your shared enemies.

         "Okay, enough," Sabine said from the doorway.

         "How long have you been standing there?" Kanan said in a flat voice, letting the floating screws fall to the floor with a clatter. It wasn't often that people could sneak up on him, but his mind had been so numb, so fuzzy, that it surprised him to learn he had an audience.

         "Long enough," Sabine replied, entering Kanan's chambers and pressing the button to shut the door. Kanan sat up, turning to face her.

         "I'm done with the moping, Kanan. We all are." She leaned against the shut door, looking down at Kanan, who sat on his bed with his hands on his knees. "You've been a wreck—a ball of anxiety one moment, and practically comatose the next. This isn't you."

         "I'll be ready for the mission, same as always," Kanan replied, feeling annoyed at her scolding, this role reversal unfamiliar to him.

         "This isn't about the mission, Kanan," Sabine said, exasperated. "This is about Y/N."

         "What about Y/N?" Kanan asked quietly, as if Sabine didn't already know way more than he wanted her to. Kanan had meant this question to come out defiant, but when he made eye contact with Sabine, it broke the tension—Kanan's feelings for you were so obvious to the whole crew that his feigned ignorance made the corners of Sabine's mouth twitch. She looked away, trying not to laugh.

         "Look," Sabine said with more affection, calming her tone and looking back at Kanan. "I don’t understand the Force, all right? I don't understand at all why you're so...upset. I don't know what's going on between you and Y/N. But I do know that by some miracle, we saved her—she's safe! Whatever is going on in your head, you need to snap out of it. Become the Kanan we know and love." Sabine dipped her head forward a bit, raising her eyebrows. "You have to tell her how you feel."

         Kanan sighed. "It isn't that simple. What happened to her—"

         "What happened to her is just more proof that I'm right. Life is short. And this life?" Sabine gestured around them, at the Ghost, indicating the ship, its walls, its inhabitants. "This life is not guaranteed. None of us know how much time we have left. There's no time to waste. You need to tell her. You need to get over whatever is holding you back."

         Kanan stood up to face her, looking Sabine in the eyes, pleading.

         "I know life is fragile, Sabine. I've seen it—just as much as you have, remember? But there are some things..." he paused, letting his shoulders go slack in defeat. "There are some things even I can't fix, even if I try."

         "What happened to, 'there is no try'?" Sabine asked mockingly.

         "Hey, I—"

         "We're on approach," Hera said over the ship's comm. Kanan took this as a reason to exit this conversation, reaching behind Sabine to hit the button on the door panel.

         "We're not done with this," Sabine warned, following Kanan out the door and into the ship's main hull.

         "We are for now," Kanan said simply, assembling with the others as the ship docked onto the larger, rebel freighter.

         "Chopper, stay with the Ghost," Hera commanded once they'd all reached the hull. "What are you two barking about?" Hera moved toward the Ghost's backdoor as the crew exited onto the larger ship.

         "You already know," Zeb said, laughing. Hera gave Kanan a knowing look.

         "Well, one problem at a time, yes?" Hera asked rhetorically, leading the crew forward to the headquarters of the Phoenix squadron.

         "Let's focus on our objective," Kanan said in a tired voice, rubbing the back of his neck. The doors to the large freighter's command center opened to them, where the group faced the striking figure of Ahsoka Tano.

         "Welcome," Ahsoka said in her sage voice, in it a concealed wisdom and power that rose beyond her years.

         "Glad to be here," Hera responded, signaling everyone to move into the command center and stand around the drafting holo, where the rebels made their plans of attack. "I hear you have important intel for us?"

         "Yes," Ahsoka replied, surveying the group, "but where is Y/N?"

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence, and Ahsoka focused her Force intuition on Kanan, finally taking in the compromised state of the usually stable and powerful Jedi.

         "She's alright," Sabine answered, "but she was recently...in the custody of the Grand Inquisitor." Ahsoka felt the truth beyond Sabine's words, and everyone heard her sharp intake of breath.

         "We managed to extract her," Hera told Ahsoka. "She's currently receiving medical attention, at the base on—" Ahsoka put up a hand, cutting Hera off.

         "Don’t tell me where she is," Ahsoka said urgently. "Don't tell anyone who doesn't already know." The group looked at each other, confused.

         "Why?" Kanan asked, fear and anxiety gripping his voice.

         "Because of the intel I have to share with you." Ahsoka turned to face the expansive viewport at the front of the command center, looking out at the stars as if lost in thought. "Leave us," Ahsoka commanded the pilots, who rose and left the command center without another word, leaving Ahsoka alone with the ghost crew. Kanan felt forward with his Force presence, listening, slowly learning the truth.

         "That...that can't be," Kanan said quickly, looking at Ahsoka's lekku hanging from her turned head.

         You know it to be true, Caleb Dume, Ahsoka thought, still facing away from the group, this thought only for Kanan to hear. No one in this group yet knew of his true name, his true identity. But Ahsoka, as connected as she was to the Force, must have always known.

         "What can't be?" Hera asked anxiously. Ahsoka turned back to face the crew.

         "The imperial presence on Lothal isn't a coincidence," Ahsoka began. "Nor is it a consequence of Lothal's natural resources." The group hovered on her words as she explained what Kanan had always known, but refused to see. "The emperor himself ordered the imperials to Lothal."

         "Why?" Zeb asked, looking back and forth between Kanan and Ahsoka.

         "To look for someone." Ahsoka's words rang through the command station, as Hera, Sabine, and Zeb turned to look at Kanan. They all knew without speaking who that someone must be. The orphan they had found on Lothal, possessing a natural ability beyond that of the powerful Jedi they knew. Their friend—their family. The moment grew in intensity in the silence, the tension of Kanan's thoughts surrounding them all, filling them all with fear.

         "What must we do?" Kanan asked, looking to Ahsoka for guidance, his voice finally strong, as if this dangerous news had steeled him, readied him for a fight.

         "Hide her. Keep her existence, and her power with the Force, a secret." Ahsoka instructed him, calming him with the strength of her words. "The emperor and those close to him must not find out it is your Padawan they have been searching for."          "But the Grand Inquisitor—" Hera said, her fearful eyes showing her train of thought.

         "The Grand Inquisitor knows not of her true power," Ahsoka said. "He thinks Kanan is the Jedi he has been instructed to find." The group processed through the news.

         "Thank you for telling us," Kanan told Ahsoka, reaching out his hand to take hers in a friendly grip. "This is vital. We needed to know."

         "Yes, you did," Ahsoka dropped her hand and looked him in the eye. "I know who you are, Kanan Jarrus. I know you will do what you must to protect her."

You knew when they would return before they came, your Force connection rekindled, stronger than ever. You felt calmer than you had in weeks, calmer than you felt before you had been taken by the Inquisitor. You felt a sense of rightness, a comfort in yourself and in your conclusions. You knew this to be the lingering taste of the light side of the Force—of everything that Jedi stood for, all of the compassion, peace, the denial of the self for the good of others. In meditation, you had come to the conclusion that it was time for there to be no more secrets between you and Kanan. You knew that fearing change was futile. You also knew that you needed to be brave, to face Kanan head on, to own up to your failure. This was the will of the Force, and you would be strong enough to enact it. That was the only path forward: to own up to your mistakes and to lay your feelings and failures bare in front of you, without shame. In doing this, you knew you would set yourself free. What you would do next, where you would go, or how you would go on—you didn't know. All you knew was that you needed to be selfless, and that if you were brave enough to set your own feelings aside, you might be able to prove to Kanan that he had not failed in choosing to teach you. You smiled as you walked out onto the landing platform of the base, looking up to the sky, seeing the Ghost descending toward you, as you knew it would.

Kanan sat in the hull of the ship, sitting quietly in meditation. He felt, finally, at peace. He knew what he needed to do, knew now without fear the path being asked of him. He once again felt his purpose, his moments of weakness now a fading memory, losing their hold in favor of the Jedi way: the selflessness, the love for all living beings, the understanding of the necessity of balance. Love and attachment weren't the same thing, he knew, and he also knew that attachment free of fear meant that one must be willing to let go of that which they loved the most. The feeling of love coursing through him now felt more powerful, more wonderful than anything he had ever felt before. Ahsoka's revelation had unlocked in him the wisdom he had needed—in learning that the emperor himself was hunting for you, Kanan had finally recognized amidst the fragility and chaos the true meaning of being connected to another. In letting go of his fears he was finally allowing himself to love freely, finally allowing himself to feel the strength and intensity of his love, without the ego, or the fear of loss. It was a sensation unlike any other. It invigorated him.

         "Landing gear engaged," Hera's voice said, somewhere near to him. Kanan smiled as he felt the ship touch down, reaching out for your presence, finding it immediately. To his surprise, you welcomed him into your presence, connecting with him via the Force for the first time since you'd been held on Mustafar. He had thought he might have to be gentle with you, ease you back into communicating with him, but what he felt from you now, standing only feet from you, hidden from you by the closed ramp of the ship, made him reconsider. He felt all your old fire and strength, coupled with a new wisdom.

         The group of rebels had decided on their return that it would be up to Kanan to decide when the time would come to tell you what they had all learned from Fulcrum. Kanan knew that time was not now—that you were not yet ready. The Force told him there would be an important time to reveal this information to you, and that when that time would come to pass, it would require on his part a sacrifice. What kind of sacrifice, he didn't know—all he knew was that dwelling in fear was not the path to the light, and thus, it was not the path to your safety, to your protection. He must be the Jedi he knew he could be. He must become stronger, for your sake, and for his, and for the rebellion's.

         The Ghost's ramp opened and Kanan shielded his eyes, taking in a bright light. But it was not the bright light of the suns that made him squint, not the light of the day entering the ship. It was not real light at all, or at least, not light real in the sense that Sabine and Zeb and Hera could see it. It was coming from the Force. It was coming from you. As the ramp hit the ground, and Kanan stepped forward, he saw you standing meters in front of him, smiling up at him, calm in your Force presence, pure sunlight. You wore your hair braided, similar in style to the traditional hair of a true padawan, and in seeing this, Kanan melted. He had never seen you looking so healthy, so strong, and so beautiful. He walked down to greet you.

As Kanan descended the Ghost's walkway, you felt a flicker of fear, only a flicker, and one that you swatted away like a mere insect. You could not let your own feelings cloud you, now. You needed to be the Jedi you knew you could be. For Kanan's sake, and for your own.

         "You're back," you said, smiling at him.

         "You're recovered," Kanan responded as he stopped in front of you, returning your smile, returning your warmth through the Force.

         "We'll...be inside," Zeb said from behind Kanan, Sabine snorting, Hera shushing them both. Chopper beeped, and though you didn't understand what the droid had said, the resulting giggle from the other crew members made your cheeks burn, and caused you to look away in embarrassment.

         "Will you walk with me?" Kanan asked kindly. You nodded, and he turned his body, giving you space and inviting you to walk by his side away from the ship and off of the landing platform.

         Atollon truly was a spectacular planet. As you walked with Kanan away from the base, you couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the landscape in front of you. The giant, cactus-like plants grew in clusters and combined in their color with the fading haze of the sky, the sun setting and creating a gradient from yellow to orange to pink and purple. Kanan led you up a small hill and stopped, looking out over the beautiful view for a moment before turning to face you.

         You knew he was waiting for you to speak. You knew he had felt through the Force that you had something to tell him, that you'd prepared what to say. Again quieting your own fear, breathing in the living Force, you began.

         "Kanan, I want to thank you, sincerely, for all that you've taught me," you said, glancing up into his eyes, their sea green intensity focused fully on you, on your face and on your words. "I haven't been as appreciative of your training as I should have been. I am truly grateful for you. You risked your life to save mine, and I will forever be indebted to you." Kanan shifted a bit at this last admission, his eyebrow flickering, but he knew you had more to say, and he let you continue. You swallowed, hard, looking up into his eyes, continuing to hold onto your strength and resolve. "I need to tell you how sorry I am."

         At this, Kanan exhaled, taking your hand reflexively. You both looked down at your fingers, your hand cupped in his, but to your relief, and to Kanan's, you felt no sense of shock in your body, no fear or electricity. You felt only the softness of his hand, the warmth of his skin on your own.

         "You're sorry," Kanan said, finally interrupting you. He looked from your hand he held in front of him back up to your face. "This is what I don't understand." You stared back at him, holding your breath. "During our moment of...connection," Kanan continued, "you—you told me you were sorry. What could you possibly have to be sorry for, sola?"

         His use of this term of endearment melted your resolve. No one had called you sola since you were very small. On Lothal, sola meant, 'my sun and my sky'. You knew he had used a term from your home world intentionally, and it took all of the strength you had left to continue looking him in the face, to say what you had prepared to say, your fear rocking you, your hands starting to shake.

         "I know that during our...moment of connection, as you called it," you started, him gripping your shaking hand in his, his eyes not leaving yours. "I know that I shared with you more than I had...planned to let on." You took a deep breath, closing your eyes to give yourself the strength to continue. "I know that I've failed you, Kanan. I ignored your training. I have allowed myself to feel selfishly, to want and desire from a place of attachment, from a place of need instead of selfless compassion." You hung your head, opening your eyes, but unable to look back up at him, feeling the beginnings of salty tears clouding your vision. You needed to get this out. You were almost there. "I know my love for you is a betrayal of the Jedi way...the way you have tried to teach me. I'm sorry, Kanan. I wanted to be the Jedi you thought I could be. I really did. But I can't. I won't ask you to understand, but—" you took a moment to breathe, your lungs not seeming to take in enough oxygen. "But this is how I feel. I want to take ownership of my failures. I take responsibility. And I understand what has to happen now. I understand that you can't train me anymore. You don't have to worry about—"

         "Y/N," Kanan interrupted again, taking a step and closing the gap between you, taking your other hand in his. This proximity was overwhelming to you. He stood so close, his hands around yours. You couldn't look up at him. You couldn't breathe.

         "I shouldn't have tried to teach you the values of attachment and compassion as opposing binaries, as black and white..." Kanan said softly, trying to find the right words, his heart fuller of feeling than it ever had been before. If only you would look at him. If only you could see the truth. "Only a Sith deals in absolutes. I am the one who should be sorry."

         "You don't have to be sorry!" You said, looking back up at him, your face earnest, your eyes wet, your eyebrows raised. "That's what I'm trying to tell you, Kanan. It's okay." You needed to make him understand, needed him to see that you had let go of your fear, that he didn't need to worry about not feeling the same way as you felt. "You don't have to worry about hurting me, or hurting my feelings. I only want what's best, and—"

         "Y/N, you're not understanding me," Kanan interjected, dropping one of your hands to place his fingers under your chin, gently, but in an effort to keep your face up, to keep your eyes on his as he told you what he'd needed to tell you for so long. "All of this has been my mistake. I thought that in keeping myself distanced from you, I could give you what you wanted. The moment I met you, when I saw how powerful you already were, how strong the Force was with you without any training...I wanted to help you." You crinkled your eyebrows, not understanding. Kanan continued. "I thought that you needed me to be your mentor, someone who asked nothing of you, who tried to teach you as objectively as possible. I thought that in keeping my own feelings from you—from myself—I could protect you. I thought that was what would make you strong." He looked deeply into your eyes, but still saw your confusion.

         Kanan laughed. "Y/N, are you still not understanding me?" He dropped your chin in exasperation, smiling at your incredulity, your inability to comprehend what you meant to him.

         "Not at all. Kanan, I—"

         "Y/N, listen to me!" Kanan said, with feeling, but still through the smile on his face. "You are what matters most to me! From the moment I met you, on Lothal, every moment I've trained you, everything I've taught you, it has all been...infected, tainted by how I've felt about you!" Kanan swung his arms around, expressing with his body the feeling inside of him. "And I thought I could help you by hiding it—I thought I was denying myself feeling for the greater good—but I was wrong! The old way of the Jedi, the tenet of denying oneself attachments, it isn't about denying oneself love! Denial of the self for the good of others—that's the saying, is it not? But we mustn't deny ourselves simply because it's easier than facing the truth, especially if it does harm to those we care about. By hiding our feelings, by squashing down our natural inclinations, our care for each other, we have brought forth the will of the dark side—we have allowed ourselves to be given over to fear. I was wrong, Y/N. Please forgive me."

         Kanan stepped back from you, giving you space, watching your face as you tried to process what he'd said. The word he'd used—love—it didn't make sense to you. It didn't add up. Our feelings—you thought you'd heard Kanan say it, but it still seemed unreal, still seemed like something wasn't clicking into place.

         Kanan felt as if he were exploding with emotion: he felt as if he wanted to sweep you up into his arms, to never let you go, to keep you there, forever, and he also felt as if he wanted you to take off as a bird into the sky, for you to disappear into the fading light forever, and finally, those two feelings of love did not contradict each other. The one added to the other, both sides of the spectrum necessarily intensifying the whole. He felt lovingly infuriated with you, how slow you were to understand this, how hard it was now to convince you of the truth.

         You were shaking worse than before, now. You tried to comprehend, but you simply couldn't process everything he had said—it felt so different to the rejection you thought you had known. Kanan reached his arms out once again, his palms upturned, inviting your hands. "Let me show you," Kanan said, and you obliged, not being in any condition to argue.

         Your hands in his, Kanan lowered to a kneel, and you followed suit. He sat back against his feet, and you did the same, both of you closing your eyes into meditation. As your Force presence lifted out into the external world, this time it did so attached fully to Kanan's, a connection bolstered by your hands in his. You gave in to the Force, as you knew you must. You pushed your presence onto his, showed him all of the feelings you were ashamed of, your regret, your remorse, your past fears of his rejection, your sadness over his rebuff. In turn, he pushed his presence out toward you, and you welcomed it, seeing his guilt at your capture, his fear for your safety, his agony after your moment of connection had shown him how you truly felt. But the agony wasn't because he feared your feelings, or rejected them, you now saw—the agony came from a deep ache within him, a longing, a desire that you felt was familiar, as it mirrored your own. In your meditative state, your mouth opened in a quiet gasp as it all fell into place. Only when this deep in the Force—only when connected to the deepest parts of Kanan, of Caleb, you now saw—only now could you fully understand.

         He loved you. He loved you with every cell of his being, every muscle, every hair. He had loved you even before you'd fallen in love with him, you saw now. In your meditation, the two of you looked back over your time together, and finally saw it for what it was—a love story.

         As if drawn up by the Force, you, eyes still closed, rose from your low kneel to stand on your knees in front of Kanan, whose body mirrored yours. You breathed out, finally. You knew the truth, finally. The anticipation you felt as you opened your eyes was not like the fear you had felt before—it felt as if the whole universe was contained in these two bodies, yours and the one across from you. It felt like being alive. As you looked, you saw that Kanan's eyes were already open, already looking you over, his presence cracking finally into a deep, immense joy.

         "I do love you, Y/N," he told you now, as you kneeled together, your faces close. He knew you knew this now, knew you had seen his feelings with him, but he wanted to say it aloud, wanted it to be real in the external as well as the internal. You reached up a trembling hand to brush your fingers under his eye, and down his cheek, your fright turning to joy turning to cosmic release.

         "I love you, Kanan," you told him, and, still trembling, you leaned forward toward him, putting your hands on either side of his face, your forehead against his.

         You could say that it felt like two stars, meeting again after the separation of the big bang, their primordial energies remembering each other as matter crashed against matter. You could say it felt like coming home and being fed a hot meal, being tucked in at night in a warm, comfortable bed, having the light turned out. You could say it felt like flying a spaceship fast through an asteroid field, exhilaration and fear flowing through you as you narrowly avoided each orbital object. You could say a lot of things. The truth was, the feeling you had as you pressed your lips against Kanan's, at the same time as he leaned in to gently press his lips against yours in a simultaneous gesture, was all of those things, and more. The feeling defied description. As your lips connected, as you opened your mouths to each other, as his hands encircled you, one on your waist, gently drawing you to him, one arm crooked behind your back, his hand at the base of the back of your neck, you felt complete in a way you had never before known. In a way that felt one in a million, one in a trillion galaxies in the sky.

         You broke apart. As you tucked your head into Kanan's neck, and he hugged you closer to him, you felt your Force presences converge in an irreparable way. You were forever connected, from this point forward. No matter what the future brought, Kanan was a part of you now, and you were a part of him. Until forever.

************************************************************************

Edited: Link to Episode 7 is live!

The Jedi and the Loth Rat Episode 1 Episode 2 Episode 3 Episode 4 Episode 5 Episode 6 Episode 7 Episode 8

screencap credit: @laughingphoenixleader

divider credit: @djarrex

tags: @orangehightops @jedi-archives @taina-eny

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song x (m).

Your first encounter with Kim Seokjin doesn’t go so well, nor your second, or your third… and maybe that’s because it shouldn’t work on paper. You’re an elementary school teacher, never left the country despite hitting the third decade of your life not so long ago, and you’re unable to remember the last time you dated. He’s the dad of one of your students, nearly a decade older than you and divorced. Oh yes, and just another minor detail – he’s a multimillionaire. 

Your lives are lightyears apart, yet somehow, your paths having now crossed, things just seem to fall into place…

pairing; kim seokjin x reader   au/genre/warnings; strangers to lovers, romance, single dad! seokjin, ceo! seokjin, elementary school teacher! oc, age gap (oc is 30, seokjin is 37), seokjin is a dilf, romance, happy ending, jin has stubble lmao, smut; morning sex, oral sex (f receiving), soft sex, spooning, jin has a thing for boobs this saturday morn, everything gets so fluffy  words; 6,243

↪︎ chapter index

chapters; i • ii • iii  • iv • v • vi • vii • viii • ix • x • epilogue (+ drabbles)

When you heard the doorbell ring twenty-five minutes later you were up off the sofa in seconds, heart thrumming against your ribcage as you rushed towards the entryway, a nervous kind of excitement flurrying inside your stomach. Yanking the door open, you were unable to keep the smile from your face as you saw Seokjin stood in front of you. He was dressed in sweatpants and a baggy white t-shirt which was slightly creased. His hair must have been freshly washed, soft and fluffy on top of his head, but it looked like he hadn’t shaved in a while, hints of stubble growing along his upper lip and along his jawline. 

“Hi.” You were grinning by now. 

“Hi,” he murmured softly, stepping forward. Immediately you found yourself in his embrace, the familiar scent of his laundry detergent welcoming. You wrapped your arms around his middle, pressing the side of your face to his chest. You felt still, relaxed for the first time in days. 

Kissing the top of your head as he pulled away, he took your hands and let out a small chuckle. “I was halfway here when I realised I still had my slippers on.” 

You looked down at his feet, giggling as you spotted the blue slip ons. Linking your fingers with his, you gently tugged him forward. “Do you want head to the living room?”

He nodded, letting you lead the way, and you paused by the kitchen, turning back. “Want something to drink?”

“Water, if it isn’t any trouble.” He asked. Classic Seokjin, you thought to yourself, leaving him to sit, too polite for no reason. When you came back, handing him the drinking glass he smiled and said his thanks. You sat next to him watching him take a sip and lean over to place the glass on the coffee table. You didn’t know where to start, you had so much to say, but it seemed like he had been thinking his piece over in the car ride here. 

Exhaling, he turned to you with a serious expression. “Just before you say what you need to, I want to apologise.” He paused, seeing if you would let him continue, when you didn’t object he reached for your hand. “I’m really sorry for the way I acted Sunday. It was unacceptable and I’m really embarrassed you had to see me like that.” He sighed then, “I was just so... I was so mad that Nana turned up and spoke to you like she did. I let all my frustrations regarding Arin take over too.” He was staring you straight in the eyes, eager to make you see how sincere he was. “I never meant to compare you both and I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.” 

“Everyone gets angry, Seokjin. Don’t feel embarrassed because of that,” you told him. “It was just jarring to see. Plus it was all so overwhelming.” He nodded in understanding and you smiled and squeezed his hand. “I appreciate your apology regarding the comparisons though.” What was done was done, but he sounded regretful. “Have you spoken to Nana since?” 

“Yeah,” he murmured, averting his gaze for a split second. He sounded remorseful. “I saw her yesterday afternoon. She wanted to be with Arin this weekend so I finished work early and drove her there. Nana…” He stopped himself and started again. “I know why she was so hurt over everything. We talked it out a little. Barely touched the surface but things are headed in the right direction. I apologised to her.” 

“That’s good to hear,” you said. There was no good only apologising to you. Nana deserved an apology just as much, maybe even more. You were glad they’d managed to be civil and you hoped it was a step in the right direction. 

“I know Arin missed school but I called Principal Jung.” Seokjin was eager to explain himself. “I didn’t go into details of course, but he said it was okay.” 

“That’s fine,” you chuckled quietly. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. It was only one day.” How cute. You didn’t take your job that seriously. At least the mystery was solved though. You had stressed over nothing. He wanted nothing more than for Arin to see her mother, regardless of what his relationship with Nana was like. This extra weekend together meant a lot to not only Arin and Nana, but him too. Harsh words had been shared in frustration and anger, but he hadn’t lost sight of what mattered the most – his daughter. 

“I’m glad you talked to Nana,” you smiled, unsure how to voice all your thoughts. What mattered was he’d seen the error of his ways, and hopefully Nana had too. 

He nodded sternly. “I was out of order that day.” 

You grew serious too, hesitating before you said his name. You knew you had to ask him, knew you had to have this conversation, but it didn’t stop you from feeling slightly afraid. “Seokjin, why didn’t you tell her about us?” 

He closed his eyes briefly, shame written all over his face, and he let go of your hand to run a hand through his hair. It draped across his forehead instantly. “I made a mistake.” He was looking straight into your eyes again, chocolate irises pooling with genuine regret. “At first I didn’t know what would happen between us. It was all brand new for me – for you. Letting Nana know was the last thing on my mind, but as things got more serious, I just…” He faltered, gaze falling to his lap. “I didn’t want to burst the bubble. I was so happy. I didn’t want anything to potentially ruin it. 

“It was stupid, considering Arin could tell her at any moment. I just wasn’t thinking, I was being selfish. I understand why Nana was so hurt. I would feel the same if I found out Arin had been spending time with a man I didn’t know.” He exhaled deeply. “I took it all to heart because deep down I knew I’d done wrong.” 

You appreciated his honesty. “We were definitely in a bubble. I never even thought to ask if you’d let her know. I –”

“It’s not your fault.” He was quick to tell you. “It was my responsibility and I didn’t want to do it. I regret it now and I’ve told her that. I’m sorry to you too, it wasn’t my intention to keep you a secret.” 

You were quiet then, unsure what to say. You still had questions, still had things you needed to understand and as if he read your mind, he placed a gentle hand on your knee, tilting his head to watch you. “Y/N, is there anything else you want to know?” 

Your fingers picked at your pyjama pants, heart beating rapidly. There was one important thing you needed the answer to, it was a dumb question, you were nearly positive, but yet you knew you needed to ask it. 

“Anything you want to ask, I’ll be 100% honest with you.” He gently nudged, sensing your reluctance. 

“T-this may seem stupid,” you began, finding courage. He was Seokjin, your Seokjin, he wouldn’t judge you. However, you hoped what you had to say wouldn’t hurt him. He waited patiently for you to continue. You held his gaze. “You’re not just looking for a mother figure for Arin, are you?”

His forehead crinkled in confusion, his hand leaving your knee as he processed your words. “What do you mean?”

You felt a wave of panic. “I know it sounds stupid, but I just need to know if you like me for me.”

He watched you carefully, brow line now creasing in concern. “Of course I like you for you.” And then he took your hand, lacing his warm fingers between yours. You could see the concentration on his face as he tried to find a way to word his thoughts. “I’m not looking for a mother figure, I never was. Yes, I’d love it if Arin saw her mother every day, but I’m not trying to recreate it elsewhere. I was wrong to compare you both. Nana loves Arin, I know that, she’s trying her best, and you’re…,” he took a breath, “I would never expect you to take on all that responsibility. You’re my girlfriend, I would never intentionally put all that pressure on to you.

“Y/N, I’m Arin’s father,” he continued when you didn’t reply. “She means the world to me, so knowing that she adores you makes me happy, as does knowing you adore her. I always thought dating in my position would be really hard – that’s why I never did it. Having to trust someone that much to potentially let them into my daughter’s life, that was such a frightening thought. But it wasn’t with you.” His eyes were wide, pleading as he tried to make you see. As he spoke he used his other hand to cup the side of your face, you softened into his touch. 

“There were other worries too,” he continued to confess. “I thought nobody would want a divorced dad as a boyfriend. It’s fine, I understand it’s not everyone’s ideal, but with you it was never a problem. You accepted me and what my life involved and I’m not going to lie, that made me fall for you even harder but I wasn’t using you because I wanted some sort of permanent mother figure in Arin’s life. That’s absurd and it makes me really sad to know I potentially made you feel that way.” 

Your chest felt lighter hearing those words. Nothing like the tight, anxious mess you had felt all week. It was good to know your worst fears weren’t true. Your doubts, even though valid, hadn’t been needed. You believed every word he said. 

He lowered his hand from your face, sensing you were about to speak, and instead clutched the hands laced together in your lap. “Hearing those things you said to Nana, it made me… It overwhelmed me. Made me think that you’d been expecting too much of me this whole time, or like maybe you’d been searching for something I had no clue about.” You admitted.

You hadn’t liked being used as a weapon. It had made you feel horrifically guilty. You told him just as much, being as frank as you possibly could because he needed to hear it. 

“I understand,” he nodded. “I promise I’ll never do it again. All I can give you is my word.” 

“And I’ll believe it.” You told him, needing him to know something else as well. “Seokjin, I really do care about Arin. I’m beyond touched that she’s accepted me into her life but my place will always be different.” 

Seokjin frowned at that. “You are still an amazing person in her life though. She’s become so much happier these past few months and I can’t deny it and say that’s not partially down to you, even if it’s just a fraction of the reason.” 

You opened your mouth to disagree with him, he was being too nice, giving you too much credit, but he wasn’t having any of it. “No, Y/N. You need to hear these things. You make Arin happy too, and I think that’s a beautiful thing.” He felt you relax, smiling when he noticed you do the same. “I fell for you because of many reasons, and yes, one of them was because of how you treat Arin, but it’s not the only one.” His voice was soft as he began to make a list. You couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re sweet, caring, funny, beautiful – inside and out.” 

“You’re a real charmer, hm,” you teased.

He chuckled, but grew serious once again, giving your hand a squeeze. “You could have anybody but you chose me, the man whose life is overtaken by work and is struggling to be an OK dad.” 

“Seokjin, you’re an amazing father,” you scoffed. If he expected you to listen then he needed to as well. “You work so hard and you’re constantly exhausted but that doesn’t stop you from being one of the best fathers I know. You need to give yourself more credit.” 

“Thanks,” he said, plump lips tugging up into a half-smile. You really wanted to kiss him, it had been long enough, so you leaned forward, pressing your mouth to his. Gentle and chaste. When you pulled back he was smiling harder. You couldn’t help but join him. 

One of his hands lifted, weaving into your hair as he brought your face to his chest, the hand holding yours letting go so he could wrap his arm around your middle, holding you to him. You were both silent, content for a moment as you listened to his heart beat steadily. It comforted you, let you know that everything was okay. 

“I’m sorry if I put pressure on you,” he murmured, chin resting against your hair. “It’s just when the three of us are together it feels so right. It feels natural and I love that.” 

“I love it too,” you agreed, your face still pressed into his chest, your palm too. “But Nana is her mother and I don’t ever want to take her place.” You paused, slowly pulling away to look at him. “I want to make my own place. And I don’t know if that means being a stepmom so soon, but it’s definitely moving in that direction.” You’d had enough time to think about everything. You were more than serious about him. “I want a future with you, Seokjin. A future with you and Arin. You both mean a lot to me.” 

His mouth slowly spread into a grin, he looked and sounded unbelievably happy. “Do you mean that?” 

“Of course. I spent these past few days thinking really hard about us and what we were – what we are. I’m serious about us, and I hope you are too.” 

He pulled you into another hug, kissing your forehead. “I most definitely am, but we’ll take it at your pace,” he assured, “and Arin’s pace.” 

“And your pace,” you added, moving your head back to look at him, hands resting on his shoulders. “Nana’s too. She needs to be involved because no matter what, she’s still a part of your life.” 

It wasn’t about just you and Seokjin, you understood that now, and so did he. “I agree. I really think yesterday was a turning point for me and her. I want our relationship to be better for not just Arin, but you too. I hate that you had to witness all that.” 

“It’s okay, Seokjin. Please don’t beat yourself up about it.” He needed to let it go and move forward. You had already. 

“Listen, I, er, I’m…” He hesitated, serious once again. “I’m sorry for not telling you why we divorced.” 

Oh. In your happiness you’d actually forgotten about that. You waited for him to continue, wanting to hear what he had to say because it had been the source of some of your hurt. You rubbed his shoulders, wanting to encourage him as he struggled to find the words. 

“It’s complicated,” he started. “…Finding out Nana had been cheating on me was what triggered the divorce, but it had been over long before then. It’s… difficult to admit this out loud but for the longest time I was embarrassed. I couldn’t believe that she’d cheated on me – it was an ego thing. I didn’t care because I no longer loved her but at the same time it was mortifying and it made me very bitter.

“I didn’t tell you because you’d trusted me with your own story. I learned how cheating had affected you and my situation was completely different. I don’t know,” he sighed, unsure if he was making any sense. “I regret it now because I should have told you.” 

“I understand why you didn’t,” you said simply, attempting to process the huge chunk of information you’d just been given. “But I think, regardless of our different circumstances it still affected you in some way. There’s no right or wrong way to deal with being cheated on.” It had obviously left its mark if he was still bringing it up nearly three years later. 

He still wasn’t convinced. “But Nana was right, that’s why I got so angry. I couldn’t admit it to myself, not until this week. By sleeping with someone else she gave me a way out. I didn’t want to be the one who ended it because that would mean I was the reason for Arin’s broken home. To ease my conscience I could blame the breakdown of our marriage on her.” 

“Seokjin, that doesn’t make you a terrible human being. You need to let all that go,” you told him gently. “At the time you did what you thought was best for Arin. You thought by staying together it would give her a better life but it doesn’t work like that and you’ve realised that now.” 

You didn’t want to stick your nose in business that wasn’t yours, but you understood what had happened. By staying together they had become increasingly bitter towards one another and the result was still ongoing. There had been a lot of hurt and that would take some time getting over. 

You noticed the slight nod he gave you, a silent agreement. The sooner he accepted his mistakes the easier it would be to forgive himself. “I still should have you,” he whispered.

“That’s not important anymore,” you insisted. 

“It is.” He clutched your waist, his eyes glassy. “You shared so much with me about how you got hurt, and I kept something big from you.” 

You gave him a reassuring smile. “Well, I know now.” You weren’t going to hold it against him, it had obviously been playing on his mind the entirety of your relationship. “That’s all that matters.”  

He relented, kissing you softly, just once, unable to help himself. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking too these past few days. I talked to my therapist. It’s been a while. I’ve just been so happy I didn’t need to until…” Trailing off he gave an embarrassed shrug. 

“That’s good you got back in contact with her.” He hadn’t actually spoken about his therapist since your first date and you’d never thought much about it, but it was great that he knew to seek help when he needed it. 

“We talked a couple of times about everything. It was helpful.” He rubbed your back with a soothing hand. “I really am sorry my relationship with Nana is like this. There’s a lot of bitterness and hurt left over from all the years we stayed together. Maybe the truth is we should have never gotten married in the first place. We brought out the worst in one another until in the end it turned to hate, but I can’t regret it because she gave me my world.” 

“Maybe realising all this is the next step for some type of closure,” you offered. He and Nana couldn’t keep this up. They needed to get along for Arin’s sake. They had to try and salvage some type of relationship if they wanted to continue co-parenting their daughter – their world. 

“I think you’re right,” he agreed. “Now that everything is out in the open I feel so much better.” 

“I’m glad.” You leaned in to kiss his cheek.  

“So,” he hummed, sounding a lot more like himself, “where do we go from here?” 

“I think we just carry on from where we left off.” As far as you were concerned everything had been resolved. All your questions and worries had been answered. You were both on the same page now and you could move on together. “When I was waiting for you to come back with that salad.”

“Sounds perfect.” He laughed, wasting no time with kissing you, properly this time, cupping your face to bring you closer. You settled in his lap soon after, his lips soft and warm, each glide of your tongues making you realise that all you wanted to do was be with him. Always. 

“There is one change I’d like to make though,” he murmured, pulling away gradually, kisses becoming gentle pecks until he had the will power to stop completely. “I was going to wait until I took you to Paris, but maybe grand gestures don’t mean shit after I thought I’d lost you.” 

Your heart flipped inside your chest just from the look he was giving you, the sheer determination in his eyes, and the way he cupped your face firmly. You thought you knew what was coming. 

“I love you.” 

You were still speechless for a moment though, but it was okay because he was still busy confessing. 

“I know it may seem too fast and I don’t want to scare you away but I’ve fallen head over heels in love with you these past few months. I can’t remember what my life was like before you appeared in it.” 

“I love you, too,” you gushed, coming to. “Of course you wouldn’t scare me away. Everything you just said, I feel exactly the same way.” 

“Really?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed. 

“It’s not too fast?” 

“Not at all,” you shook your head. You’d been worried it was at first, but you’d been upset and scared. Now everything was clear. “Actually, there’s no such thing because I’m in this 110%.” 

He chuckled then, brow line crinkling in the middle. “That sure?” 

“Mhmm,” you nodded enthusiastically, hands holding the back of your neck. “Thank you for reversing into my car.” 

That made him snort. “It’s no problem at all, but,” he leaned forward, tone serious, “I hate to break it to you, I’m in 1010%.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully, ignoring his goofiness to kiss him again. Although this time there was something you couldn’t ignore any longer. “Oh my god,” you complained, itching your lips. 

“What?” He was very obviously concerned. 

“Your stubble keeps pricking me!” You whined. “What is going on?” You cupped his face, getting a better look at the situation. He did look rather handsome with stubble, you admit, but you’d keep that to yourself. “A few days without me and you forget to shave.” 

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Isn’t that a thing? When you think you’ve lost the woman of your dreams you have to start growing out a beard, right?” 

You snorted lightly. “You’d be there for years trying to grow out that thing.” 

He tutted. “Rude.” 

“But what, say that again? I’m the woman of your dreams?” You teased, pressing for more. 

“I take it back now,” he scoffed. 

“You can’t! You’ve said it now.” 

“Shush,” he laughed. “Come here.” He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. “Stop talking and let me love you.” 

It took a single press of his lips for you to listen. 

.

.

You were slow and still sleepy when you awoke the next morning, gradually coming to, your eyes still closed. It was raining, you could hear the soft patter of it against the window as you became more aware, but you found it didn’t hinder the good mood you’d woken up in. Why would it? 

Finally opening your eyes, although with effort, a soft focus Seokjin came into view, already awake and leaning over you slightly. He smiled when you saw him, a hand caressing your hip. “Good morning, beautiful.” 

You smiled back, rolling into the side of his body, making the most of your sleepy state – and your boyfriend’s warmth. “How long have you been awake?” You asked with a small yawn. 

You didn’t actually remember falling asleep last night. After you’d made up (and you were done with all that kissing), you’d asked him to stay over. You’d laid in bed, wrapped up in one another as you talked about anything and everything before your eyes had started to get heavy, Seokjin’s voice and your own sounding distant in no time. And now you were here. 

“A few minutes,” he murmured, morning voice always an octave lower. It never stopped being sexy. You tangled your legs in his as he laid back down and realised his were now bare – he must have gotten too warm in the middle of the night. 

He cupped your face, wanting you to look at him. “I was using the time to admire you.” 

“Cheesy as always,” you chuckled. 

“Of course,” he agreed easily, leaning in to rub his nose against yours. “I woke up and thought last night might have been a dream.”  

“It wasn’t,” you whispered, getting lost in his eyes for a moment. 

“I love you.” 

With a soft groan you rolled onto your back. “Not fair, I was about to say that.” 

“Too bad,” he laughed, that deep morning chuckle you loved, wrapping his arm around your middle as he kissed your cheek. “You snooze you lose.” 

“I wasn’t snoozing.” 

“You were – and snoring. I heard you.” He was trailing kisses along your jaw now. 

“You didn’t!” You exclaimed. That was something you definitely did not do. “I don’t snore, take that back!” 

You attempted to wriggle out of his hold but he wasn’t having any of it, both of his hands beginning to tickle your sides. “Seokjin!” You shrieked, starting to thrust your legs but he rolled on top of you, caging your body easily. 

He stilled all movement and looked down, having way too much fun teasing you. “What?” 

Before you could even think to reply he was kissing you. Somewhere along the way last night you’d gotten used to the stubble, quite liking the tingle across your lips now, so you didn’t gripe this morning. Holding your face he trailed wet kisses down your throat, teeth gently sinking into your collarbone. You let out a gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pushed against his body, eager for more of his mouth. 

His hands soon began roaming your body, slipping under your pyjama shirt to caress your skin. His fingers delicately traced the underside of your breasts, lifting his head up to kiss your mouth once before he spoke his request. “Can I see you?”

You smiled and nodded, watching as he started to undo the buttons with expertise. When you were fully revealed he looked at you with a grin. “Woah,” he stated simply. 

“You’re acting like you’ve never seen them before,” you giggled. 

“I don’t know, I’m pretty sure they’ve gotten bigger.” He mused, weighing your breasts in his hands. 

You snorted, mouth dropping open when he captured one of your nipples between his lips. His used his hand to palm the other breast, pinching the nipple with his fingers and you moaned, arching into his touch. Against your crotch you could feel him growing hard – rapidly. 

“Take this off,” you urged, tugging at his t-shirt. Your need for him was rising too, breathing becoming unsteady as Seokjin kneeled upright and ripped the piece of clothing off. You sat up, running your hands across the muscular swell of his chest. “Yup,” you nodded to yourself, “definitely gotten bigger.” 

He chuckled quietly – shyly almost, and helped you take your shirt off, kissing across your shoulder as he eased you back against the pillows. Next, he got you out of your pyjama bottoms, kissing his way back up your stomach and between the valley of your breasts as his hand slid between your legs, rubbing you above your underwear. Squirming, warmth flooding you as his mouth found yours, your tongues mashing together in haste, your arms wrapped around him, holding him tight. 

He slipped his hand inside your panties and loved what he found. “You’re so wet, honey,” he murmured, playfulness in his tone as he circled your clit with the pad of finger. His touch was so light it was unbearable and you whined, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. 

He circled your entrance next but didn’t enter, collecting your arousal to rub your clit again. You dug your foot into the mattress, raising your hips to get more. His dick was fully erect now, pressing into your thigh, but he was in no rush, fully devoted when it came to pleasuring you. Dragging your underwear down your thighs, you helped push them off entirely, reaching for him and pulling him into a kiss, although he didn’t stay at your mouth long, kissing across your chest and down your stomach until he met his destination. 

He didn’t get very far though, his hot breath making you wriggle about, thighs clamping around his head. “It tickles.” 

“Tickles?” He repeated in amusement, nosing your inner thigh. He kissed your bikini line, ignoring your feeble giggles. “I’m not trying to tickle you.” 

You held your breath as he placed a testing kiss against your centre, willing yourself not to squirm, but Seokjin took it slow, easing you into it, because your body had suddenly decided to turn hypersensitive in his absence. He continued to kiss your core, his tongue coming out to wash against you too, and soon enough you got used to the sensation. 

“Good?” He asked against your clit, the vibrations making you flutter. 

You nodded in reply, fingers of both hands reaching to tangle in his hair. He gave you a quick smile and then started to flick his tongue against the bundle of nerves rapidly, making your hips rise in shock as a moan drew from your throat. He gave you no time to recover, sucking on your clit now as he hummed in satisfaction. Body with a mind of its own, you spread your thighs, wanting to feel him even better. 

He got the hint, using his hands to plant your feet on his shoulders, legs bent at the knee to open you up even wider for him. He continued to suck you softly, the tip of his tongue flicking back and forth at the same time, the stimulation so glorious you were sure you had tears in your eyes. 

“Oh God, Seokjin,” you moaned as he pulled away abruptly, your head falling back against the pillow. You had been moments away from coming, you were almost positive. 

He moaned himself as he licked a strip up your centre, pushing your knees higher up your body, exposing your clit even more so this time when he rolled it between his lips your hips jerked around uncontrollably, the pleasure too much. You felt him ease off but begged him not to stop, sounding possessed. “No, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”  

He continued, his eyes on you as he made your legs tremble and you dug your toes into his shoulders, clutching at his hair. “You gonna cum, baby?” He husked. You whined in reply, hips rolling into his face with desperateness. “Give it to me then.” He told you, once again suctioning his lips to your clit. 

Your eyes clenched shut as you concentrated on his tongue, panting loudly as the muscles in your gut tightened. Your release hit you seconds later, lifting your hips up with one last burst of energy as he continued to work his tongue against your thrumming clit, your orgasm crashing through you in waves as you cried out. It was amazing, almost euphoric if you wanted to be dramatic (you did), your whole body satisfied and warm. 

Seokjin tried to ride it out as long as possible, but soon you grew sensitive, your hands detaching themselves from his hair to fall limply to your side, chest rising and falling deeply as you tried to catch your breath. He wrapped his fingers around your ankles delicately and placed your legs down on the bed before hovering over your body. He was just as out of breath, your arousal smeared across his mouth and chin, and you kissed him greedily, wanting nothing more. You could feel him rutting against you, attempting to gain just a little bit of relief, and taking pity on him you  cupped his erection over his underwear, giving him a squeeze. He groaned at the sensation, breaking away from your mouth. 

You started to rub him as best you could as he kneeled between your legs, watching your hand at work. He chuckled in disbelief. “You have me so hard, shit.” 

“That is my area of expertise,” you gloated, pulling his dick out of his boxer shorts. You ran your fist up and down it a few times, revelling in the smooth skin, thumb circling the head that was beading with precum. 

His patience was crazy this morning, enjoying the way you touched him so much he leaned in to kiss you again, panting quietly against your lips as you sped up your movements, dragging your thumb across his slit in a bid to spread his arousal. He hissed, jerking into your hand, and you just about lost it. You wanted him, no, needed him inside you. Right this instant. 

You looked him deep in the eyes, your noses practically touching as you gave him a squeeze. “Make love to me, Seokjin.” 

He broke then, unable to deny you or himself any longer. His underwear was gone in a flash, thick cock bobbing as he guided you onto your side, fitting in beside you perfectly. He wrapped his hand around your calf, lifting your leg over his to spread you out a little and then he angled the head of his cock at your entrance, kissing your shoulder as he slowly began to push inside you. 

You closed your eyes as you felt the drag, both of you groaning as he continued to fill you, his hand pushing one of your butt cheeks up a little so he could successfully bottom out. You stayed like that for a while, kissing one another, one of his arms hooked underneath your neck, hand cupping your chin, the other caressing your body, tracing across your stomach before softly cupping your breasts. The sensation had you sighing sweetly, pushing back into him and he couldn’t hold off any longer. 

He thrusted slowly, practically all the way out just to push back in, filling you up over and over. It was glorious, his rhythm eliciting moan after moan, especially as he played with your chest, rolling your hardened nipples between his fingers. You could hear yourself, how wet you were, and you rolled yourself onto your side more, pushing your ass into him in a bid to get more.

He got the message, speeding up as you reached behind and ran your fingers through his hair. He loved that, grunting as he spoke against your ear, “A little faster, baby?” 

All you could do was nod and respond with a garbled noise from somewhere deep within your throat, Seokjin’s thrusts gaining momentum as he started to pound against your ass, his laboured breathing blowing hot air against your cheek. One of his hands dug into the round of your ass, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he growled softly, thrusts purposeful, unrelenting. 

“Let me see your pretty face,” he panted after a few moments, pulling you into him and cupping your jaw. You twisted yourself, half flat to his sweaty chest as you spread your legs too, letting him thrust up into you. Your breasts jiggled with the force of his movements, his tongue pushing into your mouth, kiss sloppy and everything good. 

His breathing got heavier, his movements turning slightly sloppy as he adjusted your body once again so he could kiss and caress your breasts instead. A hand played with the left one as his mouth licked and sucked the right, grunts falling from his lips now as he quickly lost himself. His thrusts got harder and his teeth grazed against your nipple. When you cried out, he loved that, squeezing your boob roughly, tearing another sound from your throat as your walls clamped around him, gripping him for all he was worth. 

You knew he was done for when he sought your mouth again, chuckling huskily as you pecked kisses against his plump lips. You felt his dick pulse, thrusts messy as he chased his end, and then he stilled, groaning as his orgasm hit and he started spilling warmth inside of you. 

He wrapped his arms around you tightly once it was over, hugging you to his body with even more kisses, both of you panting softly, enjoying the come down. In fact, you didn’t want it to end. Gradually falling soft, he stayed buried inside you and made no attempts to slip out. If anything, he was damn determined to stay there for as long as possible it seemed. 

“I love you,” you told him sweetly, sweeping some of his hair out of his eyes, still engulfed by his heat. 

He smiled, practically goofy, still drunk off your lovemaking. “I love you too, of course.” 

And then it was back to kissing. 

You had a week’s worth to catch up on, and an entirety more to look forward to. 

*BONUS*

You (10:25am) Seokjin came over last night, we talked it out and made up 😊

Soojung (10:29am) Finally! ILY and I’m so happy for you best friend! But thanks for the heads up, I’ll be giving the house a wide berth this weekend See you Monday 😘

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[guqin-and-flute]

there is a curse on the family of Lan

it’s a secret, and it affects the sons, mostly the first born

they are cursed two fold 

1) those they love in any way will suffer horribly

2) they will have loving hearts

the second sons sometimes fall victim to the first, but it isn’t a surety

brothers cannot be fatal victims of each others curses, for you must still have loved ones in order to curse them

(a terrible trick)

there is no story as to where this curse came from, who or what has done this because neither xichen nor wangji can find it anywhere in the library--but perhaps that’s because it is a secret of the main bloodline 

and xichen is certain of its truth. its potency

he knows his mother had suffered because of his father’s curse

qingheng-jun had locked himself away so that it wouldn’t be so, so it wouldn’t take his children, his wife

it didn’t work

their uncle knows the nature of this curse, has raised them apart from family, the clan

they have titles, formidable reputations as a barrier to familiarity

xichen cultivates detachment, a smile as a shield, propriety as a table to sit across, decorum and elegance a fence 

(it hurts too much to be cruel, though he knows this is crueler. how selfish he is being)

wangji cultivates a chilly glare, a coldness. it comes across as haughty. he does nothing to mitigate this

no one reaches out to him, and so there is not danger, if he indeed harbors this curse. it is what he wants

(so he says. xichen knows how lonely he is)

xichen is polite and filial but distant. his smile is a veil. there are no cracks in him for anything to seep in or out

the perfect son. the perfect brother. the perfect nephew. he never demands time or attention. he studies hard. he speaks only when spoken to

it works

until he meets mingjue

the boy is bright and sharp and dazzling and xichen feels his heart throb

(do not, do not, do not. he is kind but he is not yours, he cannot be)

xichen will be polite and careful

minjue is curious and friendly, inviting him for company again and again

(it is so tempting. he should not. he cannot)

again and again, xichen politely refuses. he knows the blight that he is.

(until...until...)

xichen begs him to forget it--a night lying under the stars, a swim in the back woods

he begs mingjue to leave him alone because he can feel his heart warming and blooming like an aching flower

(no no no no no)

‘i can't love you,’ he begs, ‘not as a friend or brother or companion or lover, it’s forbidden, i can’t i can’t’

mingjue sees his fear, his tears

holds him

kisses his hair

xichen cries harder for his curse will accept that love and care and reflect it back horribly distorted

mingjue assures him he doesn’t believe in such curses when the confession is gasped into his chest

(he does not love him, he does not love him, he does not love him)

mingjue’s mothers both die the next week. a night hunting accident

xichen cannot leave bed when he hears the news

two more mothers gone, killed by his treacherous heart

he still remembers his own with such aching fondness (he’s allowed, now, she is beyond the reach of his stain. he cannot hurt her anymore. he can love the dead)

(if only he had stayed away, if only he hadn’t snuck into the jingshi, just to see her, just to see...if only she hadn’t invited him in so warmly, loved him so fiercely. she knew, she knew why would she....)

voice rough with grief, mingjue insists that it is not his fault

mingjue has no idea 

xichen will not see him again. will not let him kiss him again

mingjue accepts and stays by his side after he returns to the cloud recesses for education after the funeral

xichen is weak. he can’t send him away. he warms him too much

(it can’t be love)

xichen visits his father for advice

his father is distant and polite--another adult. not a parent. a man in a room he has never visited.

xichen does not love him and he has never been so relieved

they speak, calmly, about being a first son

they do nothing to endear themselves to one another. it is safe and smooth and cool as a porcelain wall. frictionless. perfect nothingness

‘it will only hurt them,’ his father says, evenly. distantly. ‘it is your duty and your burden. i am sorry it has come to you. i wish you had been a daughter.’

‘that is very kind,’ xichen answers, patient and mild, because it is

his father’s mouth tugs the smallest smile

(how lonely he must be here. how cold.)

that frightful ember lights in the depths of xichen’s heart at the thought

horrified, he rises and leaves without a bow

fleeing

(you cannot run from what’s inside you)

he is in control

(he does not love him, he does not love him, he does not love him)

a month later has his father fading away, a withering illness

xichen has been so incredibly selfish

when he dies, uncle is so dispassionate and distant that xichen could hug him--he holds himself apart. let’s xichen save him

because xichen does not love him. uncle makes it easy for him

(he cannot think about this for too long, he cannot do this again)

(but suffering doesn’t just mean dying. uncle has lost his brother. did his father love his brother, xichen has to wonder? did his love hurt him first?)

(did his father love him?)

mingjue holds him as he shakes, and feels and misses the father that he never could have because he’s allowed, now

his father is beyond pain

mingjue strokes his hair and kisses his temple

and xichen wishes he was strong enough to send him away, wishes he could hate him for being so easy to love because he’s trying, he’s trying so hard

2 months later mingjue’s father dies

what must happen happens

mingjue must leave immediately to assume the mantle of clan leader 

xichen is so relieved that he cries and cries and wangji sits with him and xichen loves and loves and loves him because he is allowed to, because his care won’t hurt him

(this is the one relief of the curse, that he is allowed a little brother)

wangji doesn’t say anything, but lets him hold his hand as he sobs himself sick

‘thank you, wangji. thank you, thank you’

and they both know what he means

but neither have ever been able to bring themselves to say such dangerous words aloud, even to the other

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

IUI - The Way I Love You

bear with me here folks

I know the Idiots are usually soft af. but my lovely spouse/fiance/soon-to-be-fiance and beta @dani-dandelino hit me with an idea and I added a dash handful of angst bc i couldn’t help it

Warnings: feelings of inadequacy, fear of breakup (no actual breakup I promise), miscommunication, drunk af Geralt, past shitty relationships, happy ending tho I promise, there’s tears but they’re happy I swear.

______________________________________

Geralt only ever got sloppy drunk when Jaskier was the DD. It wasn’t necessarily that he didn’t trust anyone else, it was that he didn’t trust his drunk boyfriend not to goad him into something stupid. 

The last time they’d both gotten fucked up outside of their apartment they woke up with three traffic cones and a “Speed Hump” sign in their living room. When they asked Triss what happened she sent them a video of them giggling as they tried to fit the sign into her trunk.

After hanging the sign in their apartment, they decided it may be best to take turns. 

This particular instance, they’d dropped Triss and Yen off and were on their way home, Geralt’s head lolling against the window as he fought to stay awake. 

“I’m not carrying your perky ass upstairs,” Jaskier laughed, snapping his fingers near Geralt’s ear. 

Geralt grumbled but sat up straight and leaned into Jaskier’s outstretched hand, “Radio.”

Affectionately rolling his eyes, Jaskier pulled his hand away and flipped on the radio. Geralt immediately gasped and started singing along off key and slurred. The first time Jaskier heard Geralt scream along to Taylor Swift he’d been shocked, if extremely endeared. 

“BUT I MISS SCREAMIN’ AND FIGHTIN AND KISSIN IN THE RAIN! IT’S TWO AM AND I’M CURSIN’ YOUR NAME! SO IN LOVE THAT WE ACTED INSANE, AND THAT’S THE WAY I LOVED YOUUUUUUUUU!”

Jaskier turned the volume down to a reasonable level when Geralt cranked it so loud his ears might start ringing. He rolled his eyes when Geralt started singing it to him, taking the shortcut home and trying to ignore the little pit forming in his stomach. 

When the song ended Geralt turned the radio down and picked up his hand not gripping the steering wheel, “Jask?”

“Mhm?”

Even in the car, Geralt glanced around conspiratorially before whispering, “I have a secret.”

Fear flared in Jaskier’s chest but he took a deep, calming breath, reminding himself who he was talking to. His boyfriend thought secrets were fun. Mostly because Geralt’s version of a secret was keeping what he made for dinner a surprise until Jaskier got home. He’d even felt guilty not telling Jaskier he was seeing a therapist when they’d started dating. For all his gruff exterior and suspicion, Geralt really was an open book with those he loved and trusted. Jaskier had a very different idea of what secrets in a relationship meant. 

“What’s that, love?” 

Geralt giggled as he traced the edges of a magnolia on the back of Jaskier’s wrist, “That is the way I love you.”

Luckily for Jaskier’s car, they were rolling up to a stop sign. He had time to loose his breath for a moment and fight back the initial feeling of shame and anger with himself before he pulled his hand away and gripped the steering wheel as he punched the gas. 

Through gritted teeth, he said the gentlest thing he could think of, “We don’t kiss in the rain.”

Geralt frowned, almost pouted at him, “I still love you.”

A part of Jaskier wanted to scream at Geralt, another part wanted to pull over and make him walk home, thankfully the loudest part reminded him the idiot was just drunk. He didn’t know what he was saying and he thought he was being sweet. There was also a good possibility he would cry himself to sleep in the passenger seat if Jaskier yelled at him and last time he tried to carry Geralt to bed his back hurt for a week. 

“I love you too,” Jaskier sighed as he pulled into their parking spot. 

He didn’t sleep well that night. Not because his sweaty, smelly, and fidgety boyfriend clung to him in his sleep, but because he couldn’t stop thinking about the ride home. 

Jaskier had lived in relationships like that for most of his adult life. Hell, even in his teens. They were nothing but all consuming passion with no connection to support it and left both parties jaded and lost. When he left his mentor he’d sat in Yen’s chair for hours and hours, until his arm had gone numb, and the only thing he could think was ‘never again’. 

And now Geralt thought he was being cute. The ridiculously meticulous and serious man was only ever sappy when he got drunk and now instead of reveling in it like he’d like, Jaskier was staring at the clock on his nightstand calculating how exhausted he’d be in the morning as the minutes ticked by. 

Turns out, he was at least in the land of the living by the time Geralt shuffled into the kitchen with his hands in his hair and a pained expression. 

“Feel like shit.”

Jaskier hummed in agreement as he sipped his morning tea and shifted in his seat to see better out the window. 

After popping a few anti-inflammatories and nibbling on a cracker before giving up on food, Geralt lumbered up behind Jaskier and draped his arms over his shoulders, “What’s wrong?”

“S’nothing. I’m just being… touchy.”

Geralt pressed a light kiss over the hellebore tattoo on Jaskier’s neck, “I doubt it.”

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes as Jaskier laid his hand over Geralt’s arm across his chest, “I don’t want to lose this.”

“Why…? What makes you think you would?” Geralt was a little slower on the draw hungover, but he knelt next to Jaskier’s chair and rested a hand on his knee as he waited for a response. He only ever looked so worried when Roach had an abscess and it broke Jaskier’s heart. He didn’t want to say it and ruin everything. 

After a deep breath in, he mumbled out his answer, “Do you really love me like that song?”

“What song?” Geralt breathed, his thumb brushing back and forth over Jaskier’s knee.

“The uh, Way I Loved You one.”

Geralt searched his face for a beat, the crease between his eyebrows only deepening, “Of course I do.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathed, biting his lip to keep it from wobbling as he forced all the air from his lungs in the hopes it would do something to stop the tears from falling. When it was clear he would lose the battle he leaned forward with his elbows on the table, hiding his face in his hands.

“You… don’t want me to?” Geralt sounded close to tears himself, but he didn’t take his hand off Jaskier’s thigh. 

“No- yes! No?” Jaskier sniffed and wiped at his face but didn’t lean back to look at Geralt, “I- Geralt I can’t just fill a hollow relationship with lust. We ha- I thought we had more? But if you want the- the fights and the hate fucking- I don’t- Geralt I don’t want that. Not with anyone but not with you. Ne-”

“Hey, hey,” Geralt tugged at Jaskier’s arm, gathering him to his chest when the brunette melted into sobs, “I don’t want that. That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry I let you think that.” He cradled Jaskier’s head to his shoulder, pressing kisses into his hair between softly spoken apologies and reassurances. They stayed there until Jaskier’s tea went cold and his sobs were closer to little gasps. 

Eventually, Jaskier lifted his head and met Geralt’s eyes, “H-how do you love me?”

Geralt licked his lips, his voice barely above a whisper, “Not- It’s not hollow.”

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to Geralt’s, “Please?”

One of Geralt’s hands came up to cup Jaskier’s cheek as he took a deep breath, “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you… I never wanted to be romantic with anyone until you. You… You make me feel… safe. I’m never bored of you or numb or sick of you. This is the first relationship I’ve had where I bother to fight, Jask. I love you so much it makes me do things I never thought to do and I’m glad and I never want to change anything about us. Never.” 

A shiver ran down Jaskier’s spine as relief flooded his whole body. His throat ached from crying and his shoulders were sore from holding all that tension in a way they hadn’t for years, but he’d never felt so good. Geralt loved him. Him. Not some tumultuous relationship or the sex or the drama of it all. Someone finally loved him for him. 

It hadn’t really hit Jaskier till then. They’d said ‘I love you’, sure, but he hadn’t really believed Geralt, just like he’d stopped believing the string of selfish lovers before him. 

“Thank Mellitelle,” Jaskier laughed, just on this side of hysterical as he tightened his grip around Geralt’s shoulders, “I fucking love how boring we are. And you. Fuck I really really do love you.”

“Even when I smell like my regulars?” Geralt teased, intentionally huffing a little extra and dosing Jaskier in his horrendous hangover morning breath.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose but smiled and kissed him anyway, “Of course.”

“Mhh,” Geralt pulled away for a moment, brushing his thumb over Jaskier’s crows feet in a silent request for him to open his eyes, “Can we go back to bed?”

“The crying does it for you, huh?” Jaskier chuckled, his voice was still weak but his laugh was genuine.

“I’m so dizzy, Jask,” squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head ever so slightly, Geralt plopped back onto his heels. If Jaskier hadn’t witnessed just how much he drank he’d say he was lying, but Jaskier was truly surprised he’d even climbed out of bed this morning.

“Mkay, up. Back to bed then.”

They settled under the blankets and tangled themselves back together. Geralt hummed, closing his eyes and squeezing Jaskier a little tighter.

New, happier tears threatened at the corners of his eyes but he pushed them down, opting to trace the corner of Geralt’s buttercup tattoo peeking out of his shirt, “I love you.”

Geralt took a deep breath in before he sighed out a rumbling, “I know.”

“No, Geralt. Really,” Jaskier laid his hand over the yellow and green ink, “I’ve said these words more times than I can count but I don’t think I ever really understood them until you.”

“Jaski-”

“I love you,” Jaskier’s interruption was far smaller and far more fragile than he had intended. His words just continued to spill out, “You’re steady and calm and I’ve never had that. I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like and I’m constantly scared I’m gonna fuck it up…”

Comforting fingers ran through his hair as Geralt murmured his reply, “Me too,” Jaskier just squeezed his shoulder in a bit of solidarity and a bit of selfish comfort, “But I think we’re doing alright…”

“Why’s that?”

“Well,” Geralt started, shifting so he was practically engulfing Jaskier, “we both still love each other, and...” his boyfriend pinched him when he trailed off, pretending to fall asleep in a way that always mad Jaskier giggle, “Ow- and you use the hooks by the front door.” 

“I do, don’t I?” Jaskier sniffled, “And you used your words.”

“I’d use all the words for you.”

“All of them?”

Geralt really was drifting away this time, his words coming slowly as his arms relaxed and Jaskier felt their full weight over him, “Not well, but I would...” 

[kuroopaisen]

tiny love || 14

➵ as tooru’s younger sister, falling in love with iwaizumi hajime is easy. your feelings aren’t ignored, either. after finally telling him the truth, there’s a lot of tension in the air.

warnings: f!reader

wc: 2k

m.list | ch. 13 ↞ ch. 14 ↠ ch. 15

Try as you might, you just couldn’t pay attention to your lecture.

The lecturer droned on in the archetypal slow drawl, slowly clicking through their powerpoint for each new point. Thank God they had the decency to upload the PDF after the lecture – you’d just take all the important notes from that.

Getting back to some sense of normalcy, back to the thrum of everyday life, was supposed to take your mind off things. But it didn’t. Tooru, Hajime, the whole damn mess – it still wavered in the back of your mind, flickering in and out of conscious thought.

It was almost impossible to ignore.

“Give him time,” Iwaizumi had said, exhausted. “It’s up to him now.”

He was right. You knew that. But it didn’t make you feel any better.

Your phone buzzed in your lap. Frowning, you looked down and turned the screen upwards.

Everything stopped. Your eyes shot wide, your heart beating erratically to the tempo of the ringing.

You gathered your things up in an instant and fled from the lecture hall as unobtrusively as possible, hands trembling as you jabbed at the ‘answer call’ icon.

The girls’ bathroom seemed to be empty as you rushed through the doors and sought out the closest cubicle. You held the phone up to your ear as you sat down on the toilet lid, breathless.

“Hello?”

A silence answered you. Had you been too late? Just missed it? Would it be amiss to call back immed—

“Hey.” Tooru’s voice was tight, sharp, unfamiliar.

“Hey,” you echoed, a queasy uneasiness settling in your stomach. Why was he calling you now? Why hadn’t he warned you?

You hadn’t been given any time to prepare.

Maybe he’d done that on purpose. Maybe he was trying to catch you off-guard.

“Did you… did you want to talk?” You asked.

Some part of you still wanted to fight, to get all scrappy and shout again. You didn’t want to grovel, to beg him for forgiveness, to rebuke anything you’d said prior.

But you didn’t want to throw this all away, either. He’s still your brother; even if he’s a brat, even if he’s selfish, even if he’s inconsiderate.

“Yeah,” he swallowed.

You bit the inside of your cheek, totally at a loss of what to say next.

God, this was so awkward. You’d never had this much trouble talking to your brother before. Well, trouble, maybe, but discomfort… It’s almost worse than the anger. At least there’s something to say during the fire. There’s just ash in the aftermath.

“I just…” Tooru sighed. You could visualise him gripping his hair with frustration, or touching his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Ah.

That was the question, wasn’t it?

If you’d just said something all those years ago, maybe you could’ve avoided this entire debacle. But how were you supposed to know? You didn’t know anything when you were in high school.

You hadn’t known that you’d be sitting in your university’s bathroom, halfway across the world from home, feeling like you were about to spew your guts out because the thought of talking to your brother terrified you so damn much.

The only time you’d ever been scared of Tooru was when Hajime was involved. But scared of what?  

“I… I thought you’d be mad,” you mumbled.

It sounded silly now. Scared of Tooru? Scared of your own damn brother? Pathetic.

But you weren’t the only one.

“And Iwaizumi, he…” It was all a blur, but you could remember one thing. The fear of disapproval.

Iwaizumi had been terrified that Tooru would disapprove. Worst of all, he’d been afraid that Tooru would misunderstand it all.

“He told me that one of the other guys on the team asked about me,” you said quietly, “and that you got really mad.”

Tooru laughed. “What, he thought I’d disapprove of him just because I didn’t want Yahaba getting anywhere near my sister?”

“I heard you got pretty mad,” you mumbled. In truth, you were still kind of pissed about that. Tooru had no say in who you did and didn’t date – much less who had a right to a relationship with you.

Although, you felt you’d made that much clear the last time you’d spoken to him.

“And let me guess,” Tooru sighed after a long moment, “Iwaizumi didn’t want to create a big mess and pit us against each other and break a bunch of hearts.”

“Mhm,” you nodded slowly.

“Sounds about right…” Tooru grumbled.

“He also was worried that you’d think…” You swallowed roughly, the words sticking to your throat. “That you’d think he was messing around with me.”

It was the worst thing he’d said. The implication that he wasn’t serious, that it was all a game to him; of everything he’d said that awful day, that’d hurt the most.

“Messing around with you?” Tooru scoffed. “Like he’s the type of guy to do that…”

There was comfort in hearing those words. But they have a different pallor from the last time you’d spoken with him; had Hajime’s words moved him so much? What had been said between them? You hadn’t asked out of fear, but maybe you should’ve…

“You sounded pretty angry the other day,” you mumbled.

“Yeah, but…”

There was still a terseness in his voice, an edge that he couldn’t soften.

He was trying. Hard. He wasn’t hiding how he felt, but he was… containing it. Was he coddling you?

No. No, he was trying to be reasonable. You couldn’t fault him for that, at least.

“Look… I’m not going to sit here and pretend I’m not mad,” Tooru sighed.

Your gut twisted, your instincts screaming at you to hang up, to avoid Tooru for the rest of time, to do anything you could to avoid that anger. You’d faced it once; you never wanted to face it again.

But Tooru didn’t raise his voice. If he really was still mad, he was stymieing it gently, keeping it contained.

“I just…” His words were quiet, barely audible. “I just want to understand what went wrong.”

Your thoughts skidded to a halt. “What went wrong?”

That’s… a big question. A really big question. One with all sorts of caveats, countless nooks and crannies to fall into and get lost in. Hell, you weren’t even sure if the two of you had the same interpretation of that question.

“Well… neither of you told me, right? But from the sounds of it, you got pretty hurt.”

That felt like an understatement. But what would Tooru know? What could Tooru know?

“I… I don’t know, Tooru,” you sighed. You were no longer the kid you were back then. “Hajime made the decisions but I… I just went along with it. I didn’t… advocate for myself, I guess.”

You couldn’t blame yourself for that. There you were, infatuated with your older brother’s friend, and terrified of making a mess.

And that’d been considerate of you. There was no reason to be upset with yourself for thinking about others.

But you’d forgotten yourself, letting your own feelings get shoved aside for a ‘maybe’. ‘Maybe’ you’d break up. ‘Maybe’ Tooru would be mad. ‘Maybe’ it’d cause a mess. How were you supposed to live your life protecting other people from possibilities, from problems that hadn’t even taken root?

A ‘maybe’ meant you could prepare. Meant you could make promises, make vows, make sure that the outcome wouldn’t be as bad as any of you feared. As much as you could.

“I think Iwaizumi was more scared than I was,” you admitted.

Perhaps it’s not your secret to tell; frankly, you don’t really know if it’s true. But you knew Iwaizumi, and you knew his heart.

You hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but it felt like the truth. Maybe he’d had more to lose than you. Maybe he was worried that his relationship with Tooru would never recover. You had the safety net of being a family member; someone he’d have to forgive one day, even if the mere act of dating his friend seemed like an insurmountable transgression to him.

Iwaizumi didn’t have that security.

Tooru was quiet for a long moment before sighing. “What, did he feel like he was betraying me or something?”

Your stomach twisted at his choice of words.

“Not… not that I ‘own’ you,” he mumbled, as though tripping over what he just said. “But, you know… teenage brains and all that. They’re not exactly reasonable.”

You bit your lip, frowning. “I mean, I can’t be sure… You’d have to ask him about that.”

“Right…” Tooru sighed for what felt like the thousandth time this conversation. Well, at least he wasn’t shouting.

“Can I ask you a question?” Tooru asked, surprisingly apprehensive.

“Sure.”

“Did you ever hate me for it?’

The question shot through you with a jolt.

The unfortunate truth was yes. In a way, you had. It was hard not to feel some kind of bitterness towards him – for being so bright, for being so ambitious. And of course, for what happened with Iwaizumi. It felt like you’d lived half your life in a shadow, unable to distinguish yourself as anything other than ‘Tooru’s younger sister.’

But there was no way to say that. Not when it’s complicated. Not when it’s your brother.

“Nevermind,” Tooru said, clearing his throat. “Look, just… keep me in the loop from now on, okay?”

You grimaced. “You want to know all the details?”

“Of course not!” He damn near shrieked. “Just… you know. If you break up, or if you get engaged… stuff like that.”

Your face flushed hot. “Tooru—”

“Okay, that’s all!” He hummed. “See you later!”

“Wait, Toor—”

The phone buzzed against your ear, a sure sign that Tooru had taken his leave. You sighed, letting all the tension that’d gathered in your chest dissipate in your breath.

That was… weird.

But not unwelcome. Not unwelcome at all. Everything was uncertain; maybe Tooru would change his mind. Maybe he’d decide that, actually, he hated the idea of this and he’d disown you if you kept dating Iwaizumi.

But right then, sitting in your tiny university cubicle, you realised something.

It was all in your hands, now. You could choose the way forward.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Hajime!” You called as you rushed through your front door, bag in tow.

“Yeah?” He was standing in the kitchen, clad only in a pair of grey sweatpants as he unpacked the dishwasher.

You didn’t even take the time to marvel at the sight. The only thing on your mind was rushing towards him and throwing your arms around his neck.

“Everything okay?” He chuckled, placing a firm hand on your back.

“Mhm,” you hummed into his neck, revelling in his warmth. He was always so warm; your own man-sized furnace. Did his sheer amount of muscle mass have something to do with that?

“You’re back early,” he said after a moment.

“Oh, yeah,” you grinned, tilting your head back to look at him. “I left my lecture early.”

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow at you.

“It’s fine,” you giggled, “I’ll just watch it later.”

Iwaizumi sighed, tutting under his breath as he leant in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. You knew he didn’t have the heart to actually scold you; not when your arms were wrapped around him.

You hummed into the kiss, slipping one of your hands into his hair.

It was nice, being with him like this. There was nothing to worry about anymore; you didn’t need to hide this. You didn’t need to push your feelings to the side and hope you’d just get over them. Finally, finally, it was okay to feel this way. To bare your heart without any shame.

It was one thing to stand up for yourself, to assert your right to do what you wanted.

But knowing that the one thing that’d always been holding you back, that’d taken your feelings hostage for God knew how long…

Everything just felt lighter.

[gryffindors-weasley]

Somebody Else

Draco Malfoy x Reader, Ron Weasley

Summary: When Draco shows up on your doorstep, he finds you’ve already found somebody else.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: breakups, angst, mentions of anxiety, bit of fluff

A/N: This is the first fic of my 1975 collection! Lyrics are bolded and italicized, as well as flashbacks. I hope you enjoy!

So I heard you found somebody else

And at first I thought it was a lie

The cracked pavement beneath Draco’s feet had been wet from the steady rain coming down that day, the cold droplets splashing in every direction under his hurried footfalls as he continued on down the sidewalk of the small town. Your small town.

His hands had been stuffed hastily into the pockets of his jacket, fists clenching and releasing in a relentless pattern of nervous habit having gone unseen to just everyone else around him. His mind was stuck on every single possibility that could happen in a matter of minutes, replaying in a loop. He thought of everything he might say, everything he wants to say—everything he might do, everything he wants to do.

The weather seemed to have matched his mood perfectly; cold and rainy, gloomy and dark though he still held a shred of hope within his chest that this wasn’t just a hopeless effort as he’d heard it would be. As he’d been told that it would be. The thought of you having moved on with someone else was one of a nightmare, something that made his stomach churn and twist in knots if he allowed himself to linger on the subject for even just a second. He supposes it wouldn’t be entirely unexpected if you had, he just hoped that you hadn’t, and he knows it’s selfish to think.

But now, as he walks along in a place amongst unfamiliar faces, he begins to worry more and more. His nerves begin to spark and his mind begins to wander to that very night that he’d surely never forget. The night he regrets more than most anything, wishing he hadn’t said the very things he’d said, wishing he could take each and every single one back. But he can’t.

The Hogwarts library had been rather dark that night, the constant clouds outside sweeping over the moon having stolen its light every other moment as the wind continued to blow strongly. Worry had been pooling in your stomach as you sat with Draco at a table tucked amongst tightly packed shelves in the heart of the library. You could tell it must not have been anything good.

“Draco?” You ask softly, placing a hand in his arm.

He tenses beneath your touch, the conflict he’d held within himself only worsening at the soft action. He looks at you, his fingers splaying overtop your wrist as he envelopes it for a moment, only a moment before he pulls your hand away from him gently. The look on your face nearly tore him to shreds when he’d done so, and he couldn’t help but to let the tips of his fingers linger on your skin for a few seconds more as if it’d make things better. He doesn’t want to let go, he never wants to let you go. But he has to.

His heart pounds heavily, so much so he found it impossible that you couldn’t hear it in the quiet of the library. Draco is quite sure he’d never been so nervous, never been so distraught in his life up until that very moment in time.

His hand trembled when he pulled his hand away, and he swallowed thickly. “I can’t be with you anymore.”

The words were quiet, near whispers as he said them aloud, his quivering voice betraying any sense of confidence he’d tried to maintain with you. Your brows furrow immediately as the words fall from his lips and your mouth falls open slightly, closing once more as you try and process just what he’d said. You didn’t understand it, not really. He had been fine all week, had been fine the previous day for that matter. You were utterly confused and you hated the way the hurt had begun to pool in your stomach as you sat with him, the feeling heavy and inescapable.

“What?” That’s all you can manage to say as you think over his words, of what his reasoning could possibly be.

“It’s for your own good,” he states, averting his gaze from you otherwise he just might crumble. He watched as the crease between your brows deepens in your displeasure. “It’s safer this way.”

“Safer?” You repeat quickly, your gaze narrowed at him. “From who, your father?”

His jaw tenses at your change in tone, and he dreads the way your voice is on the very edge of failing you should you continue to speak. At the way you move away from him a fraction, unnoticeable to most but having felt as though it was worlds apart to him. Your eyes began to sting with the burn of your tears pressing just behind your eyes, and your heart had been racing in your chest as you sat in the hardwood chair.

It felt as though the room was beginning to spin, as if the temperature had increased several degrees despite the cold draft seeping in through the old windows. A part of you had wished this would be some sort of foolish joke, that it wasn’t real. But you could tell by the look on his face, conflicted and flushed, that it wasn’t fake. Could tell by the very way he could barely meet your eyes.

“You don’t understand, Y/n—”

“Make me understand.”

You hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, you hadn’t meant to speak so quickly, but you wanted desperately to know just what had been so bothersome that he’d felt he couldn’t even give you a reason for breaking up with you. You deserved that much—with the way your heart had been cracking with every silent moment passing, with the way it felt as though the breath was stolen from your lungs. You deserved a simple explanation.

He looked away from you then, his inner turmoil becoming far too obvious for his own good. He couldn’t tell you, couldn’t tell you just what kind of ultimatum his father had cast upon him without so much as a second thought about it. Lucius Malfoy could be terribly cruel if it meant he could gain from it, no matter if it’d hurt his only son. Hurt feelings and the thought of young love were of no importance to him, and if he wanted his way, he was sure to get it. It wasn’t something Draco could ignore, and it was something he found himself wanting to keep a secret forever.

He didn’t want to tell you of the night before the first day of seventh year. He knew about you, of course he did. Draco wasn’t as careful as he should have been running around the gardens with you in the late hours of the night. He wasn’t careful because he was foolishly in love, and when he was with you his mind paid no heed to the consequences of being with you on the grounds of the manor. He hadn’t seen that his father had caught sight of the two of you hand in hand by a crumbling stone statue.

All he knew was that his father had appeared in the doorway of his bedroom that night as he’d packed his belongings for his final school year. Draco could tell by the look on his face that he knew, could tell by the very sneer he held when he spoke so vaguely of you yet so specific of just who he’d been talking about. It was clear his father hadn’t approved of you, for you were openly and adamantly against everything Lucius had strived so desperately to be. He knew of it and he knew his son was in love with you, and that had been a problem for him, one he made very well known as he spoke to Draco that night although the blonde didn’t need an explanation to know just how he’d felt about it.

So, as Draco sat there with you, he found he hadn’t wanted to tell you just why he couldn’t be with you. Couldn’t tell you just how rudely his father had spoken of you that very night before his mother had ceased the conversation. It was a conversation he felt best kept to himself and never to be spoken of again. He spent two months longer with you sneaking around in the shadows of corridors in hours far too late at night, two months longer than he should have because he just couldn’t part from you. But now he knows he can’t keep doing so for your sake.

“Draco,” you repeat, your voice wavering as you took a deep breath and pulled him from his thoughts.

He brings himself to lift his gaze and look at you, at the single tear that’d spilled over your cheek and the others that threatened to follow. He brings his hand to settle on your cheek, his thumb swiping over it and brushing away the tears in a featherlight touch. You grabbed his hand softly before you could find yourself leaning into his palm, pulling it away and releasing it before you found yourself unable to let go.

“Tell me, Draco.”

He swallowed thickly, his eyes welling once more as his lip quivered under the weight of his tears.

“I can’t,” he murmurs, voice just above a whisper. He was too worried to defy his fathers wishes, too fearful of what would happen to you. “I can’t.”

You look away from him as your heart sinks, nodding your head as you take another breath and let your eyes fall closed for a moment. You sat there for a few fleeting seconds, quiet and somber before you gathered yourself, looking at him once more.

“I—I should go now,” you manage to say, rising from your chair as he finds himself at a loss for what to say.

It remains that way as you brush past him, only letting your tears fall once your back was to the blonde. He had reached his hand out to you when you’d already been too far, standing to his feet as he watched after you, watching as you rushed down an aisle of tattered and dusty books before leaving him to stand there by himself. Leaving him having no knowledge of just why he’d broken your heart.

He shook his head to try and rid himself of the unpleasant thought that stuck in his mind, running a hand through his hair before letting it fall back to his side once more. The coldness of the wind had helped to keep him in the current moment as he walked along the sidewalk of the small neighborhood. It was rather welcoming, actually, no two homes having been even remotely the same though bursts of color from various flowers seemed to be quite universal. He supposes he could have just apparated, supposes it would have been faster. But he found even having walked was not a great enough distance to prepare himself for this. He felt not even traveling across the country would give him enough time to think about it.

His heart began to race as he approached the familiar looking home, a small cottage tucked away within trees and unkempt bushes of flowers. A for sale sign had been stuck on the edge of the front yard, a sticker with bold red words reading ‘sold’ having been stamped across it. Panic had surged through him as he saw the warm lighting filter outside through the chilled window panes. You were home, someone was home; he could no longer use that as an excuse to turn around and leave, to back out and try again some other day.

Draco’s hands tremble slightly as he reaches for the wooden gate, opening the tarnished metal latch with hesitancy as he looks up the crooked stone path. His mind is going a mile a minute as he stands before the home, seemingly having forgotten any and all the things he’d thought about saying for days, weeks, months on end. He was so overwhelmed with this, that, and the next thing he barely registered that he’d crossed the threshold of the fence. The gate clicks behind him and his fists begin to clench and let go once more as he exhales a shaky breath.

It wasn’t until he had made it just halfway up the small walkway that he’d seen. It wasn’t until he saw you that his heart skipped a beat. He supposes it should have been a relief to see he’d gotten the right address, to see you after nearly ten years apart since he last spoke to you in that library. But it could only have been so much.

He stood still in the rain, stopped in his tracks as it’s drizzling shower icy and cold as it pelted down upon him relentlessly and soaked through his clothes. It wasn’t the inclement weather that bothered him in that moment. It wasn’t the wind whipping around him. It was the way his heart ached and squeezed uncomfortably in his chest as his gaze fell upon the fogged window.

For there you were, radiant and glowing amongst the dreary and darkening weather. There you were dancing contently within the arms of somebody else, in the arms of the redhead he’s grown up with, and you were safe and sound and as happy as you should be. As happy as he could hope you’d be.

I hate to think about you with somebody else

He watched with dread as you danced together, as you twirled and you fell back into his arms with a laughter he knew would break him if he heard it once more. The moment before him was one he once shared with you in the shadowed and vacant gardens of his parents estate amongst flowers and twinkling stars. A moment he felt he should have cherished more than he did then, one permanently remaining as a memory. They were memories that would come to taunt him for the rest of his life as long as his mind will allow it. He knew they would.

He saw the way you looked at him, eyes bright and smile beaming as if he’d been the only one in the world. A gaze that held the utmost of love, a smile that was just as soft and telling of your feelings. He knows because you used to look at him that way, you used to smile at him that way. And he knows by that very thing that you truly love him, you are utterly in love with him.

Before him he sees a home, one emanating absolute warmth and love and everything you had desired to have since you were seventeen years old. You could never shut up about it once you’d started talking of it; it was everything you wanted and more. It was everything you’d dreamed of as he stood there and watched from the sidelines.

It feels as though the very breath had been stolen from his lungs, as though his heart stilled in his chest. He supposes he should be angry, he is angry, but he gets it. He supposes he should be jealous, and he is, but he knows. He can tell by the very way you look at him, by the way Ron looks at you. And it was the very same way he looked at you. He knows you’ve found the one, your other half, and no matter how much he wished it’d been him he knows he couldn’t give you what you deserve.

Our love has gone cold

You’re intertwinin’ your soul with somebody else

He knew then that it was foolish to come there, it was a wasted effort as everyone had said. He knew then that there was nothing left. He knew that very night, in that library, he’d made one of his biggest mistakes in letting you go. He sees the unpacked boxes and the sold sign in the yard, he sees the little yellow car and the happy couple before him. You’ve found your love, your best friend. Someone who will love you and give you the safety he knew he couldn’t.

So, he looks at you one more time. At your smile and the happiness radiating off your every feature. He looks at you once more and turns on his heel, rain pounding heavily against his shoulders as he walks away from the little stone cottage, tears pressing behind his eyes and his fists tightening within his pockets. Amongst his sorrows, he finds himself relieved. He may have felt as though the ginger boy was his enemy for the better part of his childhood, but he knows he’s not. He knows he’s quite the opposite, he’s taking care of the love of his life after all. As much as that may hurt, as much as that may tear him apart.

As much as he hates to see you with somebody else, knows you’re better off.

—

Tags: @anchoeritic @vogueweasley @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @lunalovecroft @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @writeroutoftime @lilypad-55449

[engie-ivy]

Remus won't be joining Sirius quite yet.

Remus is only now realising what it means for him to become the Secret Keeper, what Lily and James were already counting on: he’ll need to stay alive.

Warning: Angst, Major Character Death, No Happy Ending.

Not Quite Yet

“We want you to be our Secret Keeper.”

After James has spoken, the expression on Remus’ face doesn’t change, and remains impassive, empty, just like it has been for the last weeks.

“You want me to be your Secret Keeper,” he repeats in a flat voice.

James nods. “You’re close to both of us. It makes sense.”

Remus laughs a wry laugh, completely devoid of any real joy. “Isn’t it better with this type of thing to not go for the obvious choice?”

It’s true. It’s what James had discussed with Sirius when he was still around. It’s why they came up with the plan to make Peter the Secret Keeper, as he is the last person the Death-Eaters would suspect, and they surely would’ve gone after Sirius. While James had resented the idea of using Sirius as decoy, the Death-Eaters would’ve gone after him anyway, whether he had actually been the Secret Keeper or not. James and Sirius had been in so many dire situations before, always able to laugh about it later, James had thought Sirius invincible. How wrong had he been about that.

Sirius, Lily and James had even approached Peter already. James had partly expected Peter to say no, as poor Pete never thought himself as brave as he really was, but he had underestimated him. Peter had immediately agreed, and even seemed strangely relieved. Now, however, Lily and James have decided together to change the plan and ask Remus to be the Secret Keeper instead. Of course, Remus is clever and skilled, can be trusted beyond any doubt, and knows how to lie low. But there’s another reason that had really decided it for Lily and James.

Remus needs a reason to live.

Remus has been completely neglecting his own safety lately. He volunteers for the most dangerous missions, never taking some rest, throwing himself into battle without any regard for his own life.

A part of James can understand. He’d even be lying if he said he didn’t want to do the same from time to time. They don’t know who actually fired the fatal curse, but each one they take down feels a like some small revenge. But James has to be responsible, as his reason to live is evident. He has a wife and kid who are counting on him coming home at the end of the day. That’s actually what Sirius had used to get James away from the fighting.

(“They’re too many! You should leave! Leave before it’s too late!” “No! We’re in this together!” “Don’t be a fool, Prongs! Your wife and son are waiting for you at home!” “Pads...” “No, James, no! You will not let Harry grow up without a father, I won’t have it!”)

Afterwards, James had insisted to be the one to tell Remus, despite Lily’s protests that he wasn’t in a right state of mind himself. James had been the one who was supposed to have Sirius’ back, and James had to be the one who needed to face the consequences of his failure. It had been the hardest thing he’s ever done.

Remus had been pacing the living room of the flat he and Sirius shared, getting increasingly anxious as time passed and Sirius ought to have come home already. The moment James entered the room, Remus had rushed towards him, worry etched on his features. The moment he saw the expression on James’ face, however, he had staggered back, repeatedly shaking his head. James had told Remus what he didn’t want to say and Remus didn’t want to hear, and that was the last time he saw emotion on Remus’ face. Every emotion passing by in rapid succession: fear, disbelieve, despair, anger, pain, only to be replaced by emptiness. The empty numbness was all that remained, and all that has been there since. Remus didn’t cry that day, or any day after. Crying means feeling, and feeling simply hurts too much.

Lily and James had expected, and hoped, Remus would break at the funeral. Thank Merlin they at least had a body to bury, which is a wry thing to be thankful for. It’s not that they wanted to see Remus break, but Remus had to feel in order to be able to grief, to mourn, to accept.

But Remus didn’t break.

Despite the indescribable pain it caused to watch Remus tentatively place a hand on Sirius’ cold cheek, and how no one will ever forget the look on Remus’ face while the casket was lowered into the ground, Remus didn’t break. He didn’t cry, and the numbness remained.

Lily and James got increasingly worried. It’s not that they had expected Remus to be okay by now, but they had expected Remus to be further along in the grieving process. To have at least started the grieving process. To pick up the pieces, you need to break first. There won’t be any question of him being okay for a long time. Hell, James himself is far from okay. Lily had to move all photos from his Hogwarts years in their house out of sight, as James couldn’t bear to see himself and Sirius standing side by side, grinning at the camera, ready to take on the world.

(“Potter and Black.” “You’d almost think they’re brothers.” “How is it you never see one without the other?”)

Never one without the other.

“Are you sure?” Remus asks, still no emotion sounding through in his voice.

James nods again. “Lily and I immediately agreed, and... I think it’s what he would've wanted.”

Of course, James never had the chance to ask Sirius, but he’s convinced that Sirius would’ve been in favour of anything that’ll help keep Remus alive. And as much as they love Remus, Lily and he would never take any chance with Harry’s safety. A Secret Keeper should go into hiding, and make himself unfindable to the ones trying to uncover the secret. A much more selfish reason for Lily and James to choose Remus as their Secret Keeper, is that they can be sure that, if the worst happens and he’s caught, Remus will easily choose death over betraying the secret.

Peter is a different story, and James honestly doesn’t blame him. It’s actually a convenient consequence that Peter won’t have to be the Secret Keeper. While he seemed eager to help Lily and James when they asked, and James is entirely thankful for that, he’s been acting rather off lately. He often seems to be somewhere else with his mind, distant and quiet. Sometimes it seems like he can hardly look James in the eye. James is convinced Peter is having second thoughts about becoming the Secret Keeper, and is afraid to talk to him about it. Peter will be happy to be to hear the plans have changed, and relieved to be completely left out of it from then on, James is sure of it.

“I’ll do it,” Remus suddenly says, after a short silence.

James smiles at him gratefully, and wants to thank him, but falls silent upon seeing Remus’ reaction.

Remus’ eyes suddenly widen, as he starts to tremble and presses a hand to his mouth, while staring at James in shock.

James opens his mouth to ask him what’s wrong, but before he can do so, he understands.

Remus is only now realising what it means for him to become the Secret Keeper, what Lily and James were already counting on: he’ll need to stay alive.

He had planned to take down as many Death-Eaters as possible, before inevitably being killed himself. But now, thanks to James, he won’t be following Sirius any time soon.

James watches as tears well up in Remus’ eyes and stream down his face, as it hits him that he’ll have to keep on living his life without Sirius, that he won’t be joining Sirius quite yet.

James reaches out and holds Remus tight, allowing his friend to shatter in his arms, and trying his best to keep the pieces together.

[dat-town]

poison like you

Characters: princess!you & guard!Xukun feat. king!Yixing

Genre: historical, fantasy, royalty, bit of enemies to lovers, bit of childhood sweetheart to lovers, bit of i’d die for you, angst with hopeful open ending

Warnings: blood, violence, murder, poisoning and death

Summary: If you wanted to kill the last son of the Dragon Clan, first you needed to get through his right hand man. Too bad he knew you too well but it felt like you didn’t know him at all.

Words: 11.1k

Author’s note: please note that even though this historical fantasy is inspired by ancient China, it is not historically accurate because it isn’t set in any certain era or even at any existing place. the governor structure and politics might be confusing but this is basically about a lot of small kingdoms (called clans) having a never ending war for more power over the area. Chinese mythical creatures exist in this world but have gone almost extinct during the wars. to know how i imagine this world, watch Lay’s Lit mv!

for the one&only @lily-blue​ 💕

As the only daughter of the Jade Clan's head, you had your responsibilities. To your father, his men and all the people under them. Most importantly, you had to do everything in order to protect the Clan. When the Dragon Clan started expanding its territory, winning over more and more land, becoming more and more powerful, you knew that no army could fight theirs, so you had to go to the war with wits instead of swords.

When your father proposed the idea of a reunion between the two Clans by marrying you to the son of the Dragon, you hated it. The other Clan was everything you despised: ruthless, brutal, selfish and while you knew arranged marriage was your future, you didn't want to rule next to a tyrant. But when your father said that this would be the perfect chance for you to kill their leader and rule over the united clans yourself, it suddenly wasn't that bad of a plan. Although you never wanted a huge empire and you didn't want the responsibility over so many people, freeing them from a bloody rule sounded like the best you could do. Especially now that the man needed an heir to secure his bloodline and power.

It took ridiculously few letters between your father and Zhang Yixing before you were off, on the road with only a chest of your belongings and another one full of gold and other jewels as marriage gifts. You had your most trusted maids and soldiers with you but otherwise you were alone, alone with your plan to poison your husband-to-be. Surely, you didn't think it was going to be easy while being surrounded by his people in a palace but getting there, the dark monstrum of a building wasn't like how you imagined your future to be. Everything wore the pattern of dragon scales, the city burned in the colours of fire and ash, even the waters were dark. People wore black clothes and wore their hair down without many accessories but despite the grayness of the place, the men and women you ran into didn't seem unhappy or living in fear. They must not have known any other life, so you felt sorry for them.

You were escorted to a chamber right away and compared to the light flowery room you were used to at home, this was very different but you didn't complain. Instead you inquired about Zhang Yixing's whereabouts and when you could meet him but the maid told you that he had a meeting with his generals, so you couldn't see him until the next day when you were supposed to have lunch together. You thanked her for enlightening you and after blaming your fatigue on the long voyage, you requested to be left alone. Opening your box of accessories, you pulled out a small glass bottle with yellow liquid inside. A few drops of it was enough to put a man to sleep, a whole spoon was surely death, so your only job was to get time alone with your fiance. Until then, you needed to play your cards well.

You were quite restless and maybe a bit paranoid but you couldn’t sleep during the night fearing that someone might attack you. Even though you knew you were now under the protection of the ruler of the Clan just by being Zhang Yixing’s fiancée, it didn’t calm your traitorous heart. You have seen enemies in every corner and yet, you raised your chin high, confident and proud when you were called to that lunch with your man to be.

Followed by a bunch of maids, you walked to the room on which Yixing decided and you took your seat on the opposite end of the long table full of delicious goods. The young king was already there, his pitch black hair falling into his almond-shaped dark eyes as he looked up at you sternly, eyes narrowing as if he wanted to see through you. His skin was pale against his black clothes that were simpler than you would have thought of a tyrant. You had never met him before but you heard stories of him and you heard descriptions of his looks. However, he was younger than you had expected, only a few years older than you, but with his defined jawline and rigid expression you could imagine him being the one behind the destruction of your neighbours.

He didn’t greet you but signalled that you should start eating and tentatively you reached out for the rice, chopsticks freezing in your hold as soon as he spoke up in a raspy voice.

"It's quite unexpected, your father's wish to join hands," he said calmly and it sounded like a challenge or a test, you couldn’t tell but you didn’t like the tone he was using to talk about your father. As if he was a weakling crawling to his feet.

"Is it?” you raised an eyebrow, daring to look straight into his cold eyes, watching his every move, every twitch. “I think it's a very reasonable timing. After all, you just reached our borders," you explained because he must have known there were not many choices you could take: it was either seeking peace or a war and your nation was a peaceful one, hence you would have done anything to keep it that way.

“Is your father afraid of me?” Yixing questioned and you bet he wanted to believe that, that he could scare the Jade Clan’s head. But your father was a born strategist, he always had a plan.

“Isn’t that why you’re doing this? You want other nations to fear you?” you counterattacked with a question, knowing the lesson yourself as well: If you cannot be loved, you must be feared.

You were well aware that it was a reckless thing to challenge the king. He might have been your fiance on paper but he could have just lifted his hand and have you killed and everybody you had with you to make it look like you were attacked on the road, never reaching his palace. However, for the first time since you had seen him, the man ahead of you looked amused, the corners of his mouth curling upwards.

"You have a sharp tongue for a princess," he said and it almost sounded like a compliment. You took pride in that with a raise of your chin.

"I'm the only child of the Jade Clan's head. I have learned how to wield any kind of weapon," you answered confidently. You might not have been an undefeated warrior but you had learned how to protect yourself and you knew too well that spoken words could cause just as harm as knives sometimes. But still, it seemed to make the young king interested as he bobbed his head towards you, leaning forward with his elbows balancing on the table.

"We could test that. Are you good at archery?" he asked, probably with the intention to invite you for a game. But his smugness irked you because he made it sound like he expected you to lose no matter what. So you did the least princess-like and least wise thing you could have done in that moment: you pulled your hairpin out, letting your long locks fall onto your shoulders before swinging your arm forward and letting the pin fly forward.

In the next moment two interestings things happened. Not only Yixing’s guards weren’t by your side, forcing you down or even killing you for your brazen act but he himself didn’t move. He looked into your eyes without fear and without anger. At the same time, you saw a shadow move so fast you didn’t think it was possible for a human and his sword hit you hairpin out of its path before it could have landed in the painting behind Yixing’s throne, hitting the dragon on it in the eye. The soldier, guard or whoever he was, wore black just like his ruler but there was a textil mask in front of his face, so he must have been a special kind of warrior. Not that you cared, your attention was back on Yixing immediately.

"You tell me... do you think I would be good at it?" you asked, finding the silence a bit unsettling, it was almost like the calm before the storm. But then the king laughed and you were baffled.

“What a bride you will make,” he tilted his head and then finally, you started eating.

 You were aware that you were lucky that you hadn’t been executed for that bold move you had made but it only ensured you that Zhang Yixing needed you. Or at least what you represented: the peace deal with your nation and a secured future bloodline. He could have probably forgiven as much. Or was he really that sure that either you miss the target or his guard would save him? You weren't sure but since you needed to know about his most trusted men anyways, you asked your maids about the masked figure. They didn’t know much, so you gave them the task to ask around among the Dragon Clan’s servants. You needed to know who your enemies were and where they laid. You also needed to know the palace as best as you could in case you needed an escape route or a secret passage to get to Yixing faster than anyone.

Hence, your night escapades started: once night have fallen, you pulled out a dark, comfortable clothing usually men wore and tied your hair high to not get into your way as you climb out of your window, up to the roof from where you could see the U-shaped building complex, knowing exactly where you should go: towards the king’s quarters. Running from rooftop to rooftop reminded you of your childhood when you practiced hide and seek in the palace back home. Your father had taught you how important it was to remain invisible and his advice still stayed with you as you made sure to dissolve into the shadows as you jumped to the gardens: step lightly, breath lightly like air in the morning but listen well and open your eyes because the smallest sounds, the smallest movements can be your enemy’s.

There were two guards in front of what you thought was Yixing’s suite but you didn’t care about that. You were more interested in the room where he planned his strategies to see if he really wanted to march through your home and bring war there just to conquer your other neighbours too. But before you could reach for the wooden door, you heard a shush and you crouched down just in time for the dagger to land in the wood instead of you. You bolted immediately, making a run for it, stepping up on a barrel you jumped onto the roof, so you could find a hiding place. You were prepared for such a thing. If things went South, you just needed to sneak back to your room, under the blanket and act alarmed when they banged on your door. You might have been from another Clan but nobody would have disrespected a princess by checking what she wore while sleeping and none of your maids would have said anything against you.

But you didn’t reach your quarters. No matter how lightly and in the shadows you tried to step, the one who followed you must have been really good because from one moment to another you felt yourself being hauled down from the roof, onto the ground. You and the man (based on his build) fell down together and lucky for you, it was him whose back hit the grass first with you on top of him. It gave you a bit of advantage to get to your feet immediately but you didn’t get far away. Dodging the man’s attacks, you had to admit that his training was very good, no fighter made it so hard for you to get even one hit and you grunted in annoyance when your back hit the wall of the stable. It was a full moon, so it was dark, only some tinkling light illuminating the palace for which you were grateful but it also gave you disadvantage because unlike your attacker you didn’t know this place. You felt a sudden pressure on your chest as a strong arm was pressed against it, a blade close to your neck but you only saw a silhouette.

“Speak, are you just a thief or a spy?” he asked, his voice sounding younger, softer than you expected but there was something dangerous to it. You didn’t wait enough to find out what it  was. You tightened your grip around the ceramic cup you had picked up earlier and smashed it against his head. You had indeed learned how to use everything as a weapon.

For a moment, it looked as if the guard’s eyes flashed gold in the moonlight but you were too busy running away, into the stable, scaring the horses and hiding behind a straw pile, controlling your breathing until the man who had come after you gave up and left.

You hissed when you touched the wound on your fair skinned neck. It wasn’t deep and didn’t hurt a lot but it was obviously a blade wound, one that a princess shouldn’t have. So to hide it, you brushed your head over your shoulders before you left for your archery practice with Zhang Yixing who wished to see your skills for real. He greeted you with an expectant smile to which you bobbed your head politely.

You didn’t talk much while taking turns, shooting arrows but you carefully and discreetly eyed his guards when it was the king’s turn, wondering if one of them was the one from the day before. Not that you could have told with their masks on.

After practice (you lost but only because you didn’t try too hard), you went to eat fruits in the gardens and you learned that Yixing was about to leave to check on his Eastern borders. He would be away for at least a week but promised to get the wedding preparations started with his servants. You knew that was why you came but still, it made you nervous as it meant you had less time.

“Princess!” A sudden, unexpected voice called after you when you were ready to leave with your maids. Nobody other than Yixing had initiated a conversation with you since you arrived, everyone waited for you to step first. So you were curious what this man, one of the king’s closest guards, could have wanted from you. Turning around, you saw him holding out your hairpin, the one you had thrown towards Yixing the first time you had seen him, the one someone dodged, could it be…

You looked up at the young man, his hair, somewhat ruffled in his forehead, mask covering his face under his eyes. He didn’t look at you, he casted his eyes down like a good servant would.

“Thank you,” you spoke up, a bit uncertain and there was a flicker in the guard’s eyes the moment he glanced up at you after his gaze lingered on your neck: something familiar yet scary but you blinked and it was over. You took the hairpin and left, your dress sweeping the floor behind you. That guard made you feel uneasy for some reason.

The next day Yixing indeed left and when you didn’t bump into the man from the other night for the next three days you were starting to think that he went with the ruler as well. It was only after you managed to sneak into the king’s room and out when you had to realize just how wrong you had been. You knew something was off the moment you stepped into your quarters. Your guards weren’t outside of your doors and the candle you left there lit up burnt out. It was already cold to touch when you lit it again which meant it must have blown out when your intruder opened the door earlier. You pulled out your sword and pointed it ahead of you, alarmed. Your shadow danced on the walls as the candle light flickered.

“It’s been a while… Princess,” the intruder spoke up much too calmly for someone who broke into a royal’s room. You could have gotten him killed for that but you froze. Not only because he must have known about your night adventures but because the playful tint of his voice was somewhat familiar.

The shadow stepped out from the corner, hands held up, defensive, revealing the guard from earlier. You furrowed your brows, not lowering the sword, not until the other pulled down his mask and the man you faced made you gasp.

“Xukun...” you whispered, almost whimpered, and you felt your knees weaken. But he– you thought he was dead.

“I think we have a lot to talk about,” he suggested with a hint of a smile and you couldn’t agree more.

You could still barely believe that it was Cai Xukun in front of you, alive and grown up unlike the boy you had last seen him as. The boy you practiced fighting with, the son of your father’s general, your childish first love. He had never known, of course, you never had a future to begin with but still. You remembered being sixteen and so in love, secretly gushing everytime he had brought you wild roses saying they reminded him of you. But then at eighteen, he had gone off to a battle and never came back. You remembered the crinkle around his eyes as he joked, telling you not to worry, he wasn’t that easy to kill. Apparently, he was right but you didn’t understand what he was doing in the Royal Palace of the Dragon Clan as one of the high rank guards when he was supposed to be back at your home. If his father still lived, what would he have said about his son becoming a traitor?

“I knew it was you,” he spoke up, eyes a mixed colour, mouth in a thin line. You looked at him questioningly. Then he pointed at your neck without a word and you reached for the now scar on your throat. “Obviously, I didn’t know then. Sorry.”

“Why didn’t you report me then?” you asked directly, looking straight into his eyes and you let your gaze linger on the slope of his nose, the corners of his mouth, the sharp line of his jaw. He had grown up, he was more handsome than ever. “Or why didn’t you kill me during the past two days when you were following me?”

“So you knew,” Xukun nodded at you, impressed but you just raised an eyebrow. You had a guess. Everything was too easy, too quiet. When you didn’t answer, the once boy now man standing in front of you sighed as if he carried the weight of the world with him. “You should know I would never hurt you.”

You scoffed at him. You would have been naive to believe him and you weren’t a child anymore. Hell, you came here to kill the king.

“How could I be sure? It’s been years, Xukun, and you were nowhere! You gave no signs that you were alive and here you are, in an enemy clan serving their ruthless ruler?!” you spat at him and you knew that your words were harsh, that your tone was cold but honestly, you knew a barely 18 years old boy and not the young man who was in front of you. You were conflicted to say the least.

“Zhang Yixing isn’t ruthless,” Xukun corrected you. Of all things you said, he found this the most obnoxious thing you had told him out of all, he decided to correct that. You wondered why. Why was he loyal to him? Why when you had only known him to be a murderer and someone who dared you to show him her best shot?

“Isn’t he? Then how does he keep destroying these nations around us? He burnt the Moon Clan to the ground for the deities’ sake!” your voice rose by the end and you had to remind yourself to stay quiet. It would have been a scandal if someone knew you had a man in your room while your fiance was away. Your whole plan would have gone down the gutter if your reputation was ruined just like that. But you heard all the stories: the massacre in the West, the burnt towns in the South, the sunk ships at the sea. They were his doing or so people said.

“That… that wasn’t him,” Xukun objected, so sure of himself that it almost made you feel sick. “And it’s a war either way. There are no saints here. Your father isn’t one either.”

You knew how wars were fought, you knew that everybody including you was a sinner, you had both grown up in a world where you knew nothing but neverending fights, losing loved ones and never knowing safety. Yet, when the boy who your father thought of fondly dared to call him out, anger flared in you.

“My father sent his only daughter to marry a tyrant to save his people from suffering, so don’t talk about him like you knew him!”

Maybe it wasn’t what you said but how you said it, the sword you still hadn’t let go of trembling in your hand but Xukun paused, licked his lip in consideration and his voice was softer when he continued:

“I can prove that Zhang Yixing isn’t as ruthless as you think he is,” he claimed but you didn’t really care about that. You wanted to know why he was there, in the Dragon Clan instead at what you had known as a home.

“Does it have something to do with why you never came back? Like you promised,” you reminded him, sounding bitter at the memory. Gosh, you had been such a child. But who could have blamed you? He smiled and it tipped your whole world back then. But he just visibly gulped now, so you must have been right.

“I owe him my life,” he said curtly and you sucked in a breath, wondering whether he meant it figuratively or literally. You didn’t have to ask, Xukun kept talking as if now that he started, a river flood. “When the Phoenix Clan attacked us 5 years ago, I was captured. They must have known that my father was a general and they wanted to get to him. When they took me in front of their leader, Yixing was also there, barely a boy not much older than me, caught while sneaking into the tent while stealing maps on a mission for his father. They confused him for someone from the Jade Clan and thought he came for me. They let him go to pass a message to my father and then they left me in the desert far enough from the battlefield with an open wound. I was so sure I would die.”

You had imagined before how it happened. How he died, or so you had thought. You’d had nightmares about it. Seeing his beautiful eyes wide open in shock and pain. You’d imagined it on the battlefield but his body was never found. The nearby river had been red though, so you thought maybe… But it was all wrong. He was never really there.

Xukun unconsciously touched his abdomen with a grimace on his face and you wondered whether he felt the phantom pain of the stab but he kept talking without addressing that.

“The next thing I remember is waking up to being carried on horseback and Yixing yelling for a medic. I wouldn’t have thought he would come back for me, we didn’t even know each other after all,” he stopped short at that as if he was still dumbfounded that the heir of the Dragon Clan saved him then. Honestly, in his place you had been too. Maybe Yixing hadn’t had his reputation back then but you were still enemies. “When the royal medic told him I’m a lost case, he took me to a shaman and they made me drink something that cured my wound by the next day.”

“Dragon blood,” you whispered in shock when Xukun gave you a meaningful look.

There was no other way but the magical powers of dragons. Although there were more rumours than credible sources on that, nobody denied that any essence of the heavenly, snake-like creature could save lives. But there were too few of them, maybe exactly because humans dared to hunt them down for either their scales, antlers or their blood, you wouldn’t have thought it was still possible. Yixing must have paid a fortune to save someone whom he barely knew.

“See why I can’t go back home?” Xukun asked and mouth open in agapé, you casted your eyes down.

Such medication… such witchcraft was illegal in Jade nation. He would have been branded as a monster and exiled even if he went back. Dragons and creatures like that were considered sacred in your home.

“Where did they even get dragon blood from? Nobody has seen a dragon in years,” you took a shallow breath, trying to work through your messy thoughts.

“What do you think caused the fire at Moon nation?” Xukun asked knowingly and with hope in his eyes resembled the boy you had once known. He hoped you would believe him and you did but it wasn’t easy to digest all this new information.

The two of you just looked at each other in silence, a heavy one, before the sounds of the midnight patrol startled you. Hushed, you blew out the candle light, leaving you in the dark, speaking in hushed voices.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do but… please, don’t go against Yixing. I might not be able to save you then,” Xukun spoke up, his deep voice echoing in the room, you clenched your hands in fists. As if he was there to save you in the last years when you would have needed him.

“I don’t need you to save me,” you told him, hurt clear in your voice but he didn’t say anything. He left without saying a word, wind whizzing into your room as he became one with the shadows outside. His last words left you wondering. Would he have died for Yixing, even in his place even if the weapon was in your hands?

You told yourself it wasn’t because of Xukun but you didn’t sneak into the king’s quarters in the next few days. Instead you wrote a letter to your father telling him about recent events and what you have found out about the Dragon Clan’s plans based on what you had found in the strategy meeting room. You entrusted one of your best guards with the letter and sent him home.

Days had passed uneventfully then but only until Zhang Yixing and his men came back with news that knocked air out of your lungs: the Eagle Clan attacked the weakened eastern wing of your nation. You knew they had become daring lately no matter how your father wished to keep it a secret from you but it was still all too sudden. Your army wasn’t ready to not only stand guard in case you got attacked from the South but now from the sunrise side as well.

“You cannot tell me to just wait it out!” you rose from your chair at lunch when Yixing told you the news. You felt offended at how calm he was. It must have been just another attack for him, but for you, it was your home.

“What else could a princess do?” he raised an eyebrow at you challengingly and you would have liked to sneer at him.

“I’m not the type of princess you think I am,” you claimed, hating that he probably thought you were used to letting other people fight your battles for you. Just because your father didn’t let you go into the war because you were the sole heir of the clan, it didn’t mean you couldn’t have. But now, as Yixing’s fiancée you didn’t even have much choice. You knew you shouldn’t go against his words or he might dance back on his agreement with your father. But you panicked, so you did the only thing you could possibly do in such a situation. “What do you want? Do you want to marry immediately, so you would help? Or would you let them destroy my home even then?”

You were desperate, so you would have agreed to anything only if he sent a handful of soldiers to help your people. Hell, if you had become the queen you could have commanded them yourself. But the king seemed to have different ideas.

“I will help. On one condition,” he said slowly, tasting every word and you were holding your breath, waiting for him to reveal what he wished from you. “Show me what type of princess you are then. Let’s not lie to each other about these things, Princess.”

Well, you certainly did not expect that.

“What do you mean?” you stuttered and your heart skipped a beat when the man slid an overly familiar envelope onto the table. You were smart enough to not be obvious about what you wanted to discuss with your father but there were still hints in your letter about things you shouldn’t have known if you were just picking flowers and practicing embroidery like an ordinary princess would have.

“You don’t want to marry me,” the man said and even though it was an accusation, he didn’t make it sound like one. And yet…

“You don’t want to marry me either but it hardly matters what we desire. We come from the bloodline of royals, we have our responsibilities to our people. And my people need me,” you slammed your hand on the table, spilled rice wine pouring like melted snow. You caught one of the masked guards - probably Xukun - turning his head towards you at that.

“You don’t want to be a princess,” Yixing continued and it baffled you. As if you had a choice! “You have the heart of a warrior.”

Well, you couldn’t argue that, so you just gulped, looking over the table, at the man who was a mystery to you. What did he want you to say? You couldn’t possibly admit that you planned to kill him.

“Come with me,” the king said as if it was his ultimatum and there was something knowing in his dark eyes when he explained: “Come with me to the front. Fight with me and then I’ll help the Jade Clan.”

His offer was an interesting one, you didn’t quite get his reason but you nodded anyway. You were ready to fight alongside your people but you didn’t even have to look at Xukun to know he was frowning.

You left the next day, at dawn. You took all your guards with you and Yixing added his own as you departed towards the North… your home. You wore your comfortable man clothes, hair swirling in the air around you as you galloped on your horse next to the others. It took about two days to reach the endangered border, so on the night when you had to set up a tent you could be finally alone a bit. Since you were the only woman you got a separate place and nobody should have bothered you but the tent wasn’t empty when you got in there. Gosh, were your guards so imcompetent or how?

“Reckless of you to sneak into my tent. What would your king say?” you asked, words a bit biting. You didn’t have a chance to talk with Xukun ever since that night in your room and you knew, it could have been indecent to exchange words in front of others even if you explained that you knew each other from before.

“I came exactly because of that,” the once boy explained, sitting near your small table as if you had invited him over for tea. Only because you had known him before you noticed his fidgety fingers as a sign of nervousness. “Did you write about me in the letter he got his hands on?”

Oh. So that was what he was worried about. Disappointment made you taste bile in your mouth. You hated this feeling.

“I’m not stupid,” you told him curtly and turned your back on him to indeed pour some boiled water over tea leaves to soothe your nerves. Honestly, you thought about telling your father about Xukun but then you realized you didn’t know what to write. You weren’t sure what you should have. It wasn’t your place to decide and maybe it was for the better if your father still thought that he was dead.

“He… he has a man watching you. He told me he can’t trust me with that,” Xukun who once had jumped to hover above you when a wooden house fell upon the two of you during a heavy storm sounded pained admitting that. You gulped hearing his words and the worry lacing through them. You didn’t want to think of him caring. He disappeared from your life years ago, he didn’t get to worry about you now.

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked, slowly, tentative as you sat by the table across him, putting cups of tea between you. Xukun waited until you looked up, into his deep brown eyes that had the most beautiful golden specks in them you had ever seen. Maybe it was just the lights’ doing but he still took your breath away, unfairly so.

“You need to be careful. He knows you’re up to something,” he pressed, desperate and you forced a smile, a charming, confident one. Oh, Zhang Yixing had no idea what was coming for him if he betrayed you.

“If he helped my people, our people, I wouldn’t have a reason to plot against him, would I?” you voiced out your thoughts, the decision you made on your own. If the king proved to be not as ruthless, just as your old friend claimed, maybe he deserved another chance. So you meant it but Xukun didn’t look convinced.

“Princess, I have something to discuss,” the cold, authoritative voice of the Dragon Clan’s head could be heard from outside and the pace of your heartbeats picked up, whipping your head towards the entrance of your tent then back to Xukun… or where he had been just before. Now, nothing but a smell of smoke lingered after him. You had no idea how he did that.

As it turned out Yixing wanted to discuss the reports he had gotten from the battle and if he had noticed the two cups of steamy tea, he didn’t make a comment on it. The situation was quite bad, the enemy had already gotten over the walls you had pulled up all those years ago. He had already had a man of his own let the Jade Clan general there know that Dragon soldiers were coming to rescue and not to attack, so if things worked out, you could crowd out the attackers from two sides. If you were lucky enough you could bait them towards the river where they were more vulnerable. It didn’t sound like a bad plan at all and hearing Yixing’s strategies, you understood why he had won so many battles but what surprised you was that he didn’t intend to drown everyone in the river or kill them on the spot, he sounded like he hoped they would give up and retreat. You wouldn’t have thought that of the ruthless Zhang Yixing.

Knowing how wars worked was different than being there, in the middle of a battle, sweaty, limbs tired, blood dripping from the end of your sword and a painful bruise blossoming on your left shoulder. You saw red and adrenaline carried you as you shouted and attacked the next man with mace in his hand coming at you.

“Princess!” Someone screamed and you dodged the sword aiming at you just in time but its owner stepped closer, pushing you backwards on the slippery ground. You weren’t strong enough to push him back.

“Princess, huh? How interesting,” the man, covered in dirt and blood not his own, grinned at you, a hand clasping his hand around your throat, squeezing hard. You gasped, clawing at his arm with your free hand because he pushed the one that held the sword close to your chest with his. For the first time in your life, you felt powerless even with a weapon in your hand. You tried to kick and get away from the soldier but you couldn’t and felt disgusted by the names this disgusting leech called you.

You didn’t know how long you had fought back but the noises of the battle started to fade out when suddenly the man was yanked away from you but you still felt his blood splatter across your cheek as a sword pierced through his chest. Panting, gasping for air, you stared at Xukun behind the fallen soldier and he stared back at you, eyes glowing dark and golden. You smelled something burning...

You heard the screams before you had seen the source of sudden panic and shock.

You looked up to where everybody was pointing while running and you had seen a huge dragon appearing above the walls of Jade. Its fur and scales were dark like the night sky except a few gilded ones that looked like burning fire from afar while his antlers were long and ivory. It was terrifying yet beautiful. Its honey-coloured eyes gazed down upon you mere humans and it seemed to have a concrete target in its mind as it flew above you rippling the water and air behind.

Xukun grabbed your arm, trying to pull you away but his touch felt burning too and you couldn’t take your eyes off the dragon that halted in the air, levitating just above the ground, its huge head merely an arm away from Zhang Yixing who stood there alone, unmoving. It reminded you of the day when you threw your hairpin at him, how calm he was and you still couldn’t believe what you saw when the Dragon Clan’s leader lifted a hand and put it on its head as if he was trying to discipline a dog.

Thunder roared above and Xukun managed to pull you away now that everyone had scattered all over hell's half-acre. He took you farther, inside the wall of your nation and you only noticed that he must have been hurt when he stumbled and you had to catch him before he fell.

“Kun!” you shrieked, scared, the old nickname slipping naturally as you put his arm around your shoulder and pulled him inside of a half-destroyed house nearby. Your hands trembled as you let him sit down and then looked around to look for a lantern to light it.

In the dim lit room you kneeled next to the guard, his clothing soaked with his blood and you could see sweat forming on his forehead. How did it happen, you questioned, but it wasn’t the important thing. With a shaky breath, you reached out to peel off the bloody material from his chest to see the sword cut across one shoulder. You hissed seeing the fresh wound and all that blood. You cursed in frustration.

“Shh… it’s okay,” the boy whispered with droopy eyes, taking your hand, weakly pushing it away from the cut.

“It’s not okay,” you argued and you could feel tears in the corner of your eyes. Did he get hurt while trying to get to you? Did he forget to pay attention to himself because he saw you? You felt guilty and you hated that, you didn’t want to be the reason why he was hurt.

“There’s something you should know…” Kun coughed and grunted at the pain flashing through him. He had his eyes shut, teeth clenched and it hurt to look at him. “I– I heal faster than normal… The dragon blood that saved me…”

“I know,” you cut him off, not wanting him to exhaust himself with speaking. You could see him struggle, his eyes bright gold when he opened them briefly. His blood was working its magic.

To be honest, you didn’t know, you just had a guess up until now. His golden flashing eyes, the warmth radiating off him, how fast and soundless he could move or disappear leaving only smoke behind… It was because of the dragon inside of him.

There were legends saying that if a person spared a dragon, it would be bound to him for life and the blood of an alive dragon in a human would create a connection between the two. A connection that could call the other half if one felt threatened. Although it was just a theory, with the intensity of Kun’s eyes on you, the beautiful burning fire in his pupils made you believe you were right, that the dragon appeared because he feared for you.

There was a short cut growl leaving the boy’s mouth and you grabbed his hand, letting him squeeze yours while you could see his skin basically knitting itself back together, the wound closing in as if it had never been there. It might have been only a few minutes but it felt too long with how much it seemed to hurt the boy you had just saved your life. When it was over and he opened his eyes, they were plain brown again – your favourite though – and he looked tired.

Oh, thank the deities, you let out a relieved choked sound and you didn’t even notice you had been crying until Xukun didn’t wipe your tears off your cheek. He looked at you as if he had seen you for the first time, properly at least and you felt your lips tremble. Heavens, you had mourned him once and now you almost lost him again. Suddenly, a rush of emotions rippled through your body, your fingers tentatively touching the freshly healed skin.

“You’re so warm,” you whispered in awe since his skin was hotter than expected and you knew it wasn’t fever caused by the wound.

“Princess...” he muttered oh so gently and his hand, wet with your tears, slipping from your cheek to your neck, caressed your skin just like his voice caressed your soul.

“No,” you stopped him firmly and when confusion flashed in his orbs you told him to call you by your own name. It was a command, a request, a plea. It was everything and a sweet little nothing at the same time.

Kun’s eyes widened at the permission but pushed himself away from the wall to lean closer and he sighed your name into the seam of your mouth. You closed your eyes feeling his hot breath tingling on your lips and when he kissed you, you melted against him like wax melted near fire.

Once the storm passed, you could still feel Kun’s touch on you. It was like a vivid memory and it tasted sweet on your tongue even if you knew you were being naive.

You didn’t talk about it. About what it meant because you both knew you couldn’t. But you were stupid enough to forget about your other problems when you had seen the retreating army. Your people could be a bit more safe at least for a little while.

“Cai Xukun!” Another guard called out when he caught sight of his comrade next to you. He looked panicked and it scared you. What now? The man walking up to your duo looked at you warily before answering the question about his worried expression. “The king is injured.”

Oh. Interesting how it was what you had wanted since you had left home but now that Zhang Yixing was bedridden, you found yourself worrying and by the looks of it Kun too. The two of you were escorted to the king who lay on a makeshift bed, chest wrapped with a cloth that he had already bled through.

“What happened?” you questioned, looking from one soldier to another. This didn’t look like something caused by the dragon’s claws or teeth, it was definitely a human-caused injury and your guess was confirmed when one of the men told you that while he was trying to calm the dragon, someone from afar shot an arrow through him. It made you anxious because what if they captured the dragon? What would that have meant to your people, to Kun?

“And the dragon?”

“It chased them away and is probably in the mountains,” the man said and that made you a bit relieved even though you weren’t sure you were allowed to feel that while your fiance was bleeding out only a few steps from you. You nodded in acknowledgement and made a hand movement to excuse the soldiers. Soon, you were left with only Xukun in the room.

“Why isn’t he healing? Doesn’t he...” you looked at the boy, not understanding why the injury took its toll on the king when Xukun healed within an hour. Was it some kind of special arrow damped in poisonous liquid? Was it...

“No,” The guard cut your words off but you could already tell by the look on his face that it wasn’t how you thought. “He saved the dragon and it now serves him but he never got its blood and I… I think the dragon is hurt, too.”

“What?” you were dumbfounded how he could tell something like that when you had left the field together, so he couldn’t have known about this. Not by seeing it happen. But as Xukun clenched his hand in front of his chest as if he was hurting, you started to understand. They were indeed connected after all.

“I can feel it. I can’t explain but its energy...”

A hurt dragon in the mountains. A hurt king in the desert. Gosh, things really weren’t on the path you hoped them to be. You suddenly weren't sure what worried you more.

“Do you think the dragon is in danger?” you turned to Kun, fingers fidgeting with the handle of your sword by your side. If those from before knew that they managed to wound the creature, were they looking for it? Anyone who got control over a dragon could have immense power, you didn’t even want to think about it. Especially the dragon that had this special connection with the boy beside you.  “Go then. Help the dragon!”

He seemed surprised and conflicted at your nudging. He didn’t move, eyes flickering to the bed behind you.

“But Yixing...” His protest fell short when you quickly explained:

“I will stay with him and wait for the medic,” you promised but weren’t sure Xukun trusted you with something like this until he reached out to take your hands in his. His palm was warm like every other part of him too, his fingers felt nice against your dirtied, dry skin. He squeezed your hand gently in agreement.  

“Call for a shaman, too,” he added and you nodded with a lump in your throat. You needed to get prepared for any kind of situation.

You could have been called a loyal fiancée based on how you spent day and night next to Yixing, watching over his recovery. However, he didn’t get much better over the course of days and you didn’t hear about Xukun either. The only reassuring thing was that you weren’t attacked there, at the border of three Clans. You couldn’t leave either way because the king wasn’t well enough for such a long voyage and you wanted to be as close as the mountains anyway.

The medic said the arrow hit Yixing so close to his heart that it was a miracle that he was still breathing and it scared you more than you had expected. You let him change the bandage and stayed by the unconscious man, putting fresh wet cloth over his feverish forehead.

That night, marking the third without Xukun, the king stirred awake.

You looked up from your place beside his bed, startled. It was the first time he seemed more conscious than just to drink a bit of water or ginger soup because his eyes looked alert. For the first time since you had met him, he seemed scared.

“The dragon...” he croaked out with a hoarse voice due to not speaking for days.

“Xukun is looking after it,” you told him reassuringly and held a metal cup to the king’s chin, urging him to drink a bit. He gulped down the fresh water as if it was healing potion and once he finished with the entire cup, he fell back onto the sheets with a painful sigh. Closing his eyes, he traced his ribs until he reached the bloody bandage over his wound and hissed. He must have suffered more than he showed.

“I would have never thought I would have my fiancée look after me after a battle,” the man whispered, deep voice weak and uncertain, a little playful though. Although his words were conveying the truth, it made you feel like someone who committed adultery. You knew you didn’t swear either loyalty nor love to each other with the king but after learning how he had saved your first love from certain death, you didn’t want to do something like this to him. You needed to come clean even if the timing was quite off. 

“With all due respect, Zhang Yixing, I’m afraid I can't marry you,” you said quietly, expecting a frown or a scolding but none of it came. Maybe because he was injured but he didn’t react at all and for a moment you thought he had fallen back asleep but then he slowly opened his eyes again and turned his head to be able to look you in the eye.

“I had a feeling,” he nodded calmly. He didn’t seem angry nor disappointed. He had already said your father’s proposal was an odd one, one with interesting timing. There was nothing interesting about it, it was just a strategy, a plan you didn’t want to follow anymore. But before you could have spoken up, to apologize, to ask whether it meant your alliance was off, Yixing continued: “Xukun treasures you too much. He was the one who urged me to trust your father.”

“He… Did he tell you about me before we met?” Words stumbled out of your mouth before you could have stopped them. You were more than dumbfounded to know that. Had Xukun known about your father’s wish to marry you to Zhang Yixing even before he agreed? Was it him because of whom the king agreed at all? And here you thought that he had been just another guard, loyal to his king until death.

“He talked about you all the time,” the man reminisced with a faint smile on his lips as he stared at the ceiling. “He always says how I saved his life back then but with him here, not being able to return home, I feel like I have taken his life instead. Taking you from him would have been even worse.”

You cast your eyes down bashfully as you listen to him talk. Yixing’s side of the story was an interesting one as well. Learning how he didn’t save Xukun out of the kindness of his heart but because he wanted intelligence was something you could understand, something you could relate to as you lived in a world like that after all. You couldn’t even be angry, not when he told you how they had become friends over the years. As the king drifted back to sleep, you thought that maybe you could become friends as well, maybe you could still be allies. You didn’t necessarily have to be enemies.

But once being enemies, it was hard to forget and not everybody had the same insights as you.

You woke up to a small noise, only to open your eyes to see one of your own soldiers from Jade Clan stepping inside the tent. You had always felt safe next to your guards but this time, something was off.

“What are you doing here?” you questioned as you sprang to your feet from the seat you accidentally fell asleep in.

“Princess,” the guard bowed with respect. Though, he was clearly surprised to see you still there and you could see the hint of hesitation in his eyes before he answered. “I am here as per your father’s wish.”

You furrowed your brows. You hadn’t been notified of anything like this.

“My father’s wish?” you raised a brow, looking at the man expectantly but he didn’t reply, not with words at least. Instead he took out a small glass bottle with familiar yellow-ish liquid inside. It made the blood freeze in your veins.

“That wasn’t the plan,” you reminded the man even though you hadn’t even known your father told anybody else about it. Didn’t he trust you or… 

“It wasn’t your plan but your father had doubts whether you could do it with a cold heart. That’s why he sent me,” your guard informed you dutifully and your brain kept coming up with reasons why this was a terrible idea. It would have been much easier if Zhang Yixing was indeed the tyrant you had imagined him but after learning about his personality and starting to form an amicable acquaintance with him, it just didn’t make sense.

“I’m not the queen yet,” you objected but the guard didn’t seem to care.

He explained how the public sentiment had changed in your favour just because you stayed with the injured king in the last few days and there was something in his explanation that was quite logical: if Yixing passed away now, nobody would have looked for a murderer because he was already on his deathbed. Nobody would have known he didn’t die from the arrow. Nobody needed to know. But… it wasn’t the plan. If he died then, without a queen or heir, the Dragon Clan would remain without a leader and neighbouring nations would all want their pieces of it. If they got to know about the dragon too…

“It’s a chance we can’t waste. We need to prioritize the safety of Jade Clan,” your guard reminded you and for a moment you were stuck. If it hadn’t been for Xukun, you might have done it within a heartbeat, not even considering other options because Zhang Yixing was a dangerous man but now… you were torn, unsure what to believe. Your uncertainty must have been written on your face because your guard pushed the bottle into your hands, encouraging you to make a move and you gulped, too busy with your internal turmoil to react fast enough when you got company.

Four of the masked guards of Yixing stepped into the tent, one of them immediately slicing the throat of your man which made you scream. Two guards held you back from behind, not letting you move, to get any weapon while another one walked up to you, his dark eyes trained on you, his bloody dagger aimed at your throat. He forced the little glass bottle out of your hands.

“There was always something off with you, Princess. You should have been hung the moment you dared to fling your hairpin at the king,” he said, disgusted and you couldn't quite blame him. You raised your chin though, proud because as a royal it was expected of you even when you looked into the eyes of death. You weren't afraid of dying, you had walked out to the battlefield earlier with that mindset too, it was just… you wished you could have said goodbye to Kun.

You knew that the only reason the guard didn't kill you off like he did with your man was because you were a royal. If you died by a hand of a guard of the Dragon Clan, you knew your father would have gone to war against them and you also knew he would have lost which broke your heart even more. 

"So what now? Will you kill me too, in the name of justice because one of my men blabbered? You have no idea what we even talked about!" you accused the guard of making a scene over nothing because as of now prolonging the conversation was your best chance. Either Yixing could wake up and stop them, if he believed you didn't want to hurt him any more, or your other guards could show up as well.

"I have a good enough guess, Princess, but of course, you can prove your innocence by drinking this. If it isn't poison, you have nothing to lose, am I right?" the man turned the small glass bottle between his fingers. You didn't show reaction to that even though you knew you were going to die if you drank it all. But at least it was said to be a fast killer. You were contemplating whether you should have taken it and then spit it out saying it was bitter for your 'princess taste' because he wouldn't have been able to prove anything then. He could still kill you though but maybe it was worth a chance.

However, before you could have decided the tent's entrance flew open and a very dishevelled looking Xukun showed up. He looked like he was running and hadn't slept properly in days. The presence of guards, his comrades, seemed to surprise him, the dagger at your throat even more.

"What's going on here?" he asked in an authoritative voice even though you weren't sure he had a bigger rank just because he was friends with Yixing.

"The princess and her guard were caught trying to poison the king."

"That's not true!" You protested heavily looking for eye contact with Xukun, hoping he would believe you. It was all just a terrible misunderstanding. Once you might have wanted to cause harm but you had no reason anymore, not if you signed the Lotus pact with Yixing like you had agreed. When you met Kun's gaze, it was confused but not unkind.

"Then prove it, Princess," the older man said and pushed the blade closer to your neck where your earlier scar was still visible. The situation seemed to scare Xukun but you didn't want him to save you again, you only needed him to believe you. He seemed to think differently though.

"Let her go and lower your weapon, we don't have time for this," he stood in front of you pushing the man's hand away and flashing his golden eyes at the guards you kept you caged. Their hands immediately loosened their hold as Kun lifted his bag. "I have the dragon blood. Where is the shaman?"

One of the guards ran off with the bag to fetch the shaman but you could only breathe peacefully for a moment. Then the masked man with a slit across his eye crowded you and Xukun into a corner.

"My bad. Why would I have thought that you of all people can be rational? Do you think you were so discreet about disappearing, just the two of you? Are you maybe in it too? Did the two of you, Jade bastards, plan to get rid of our king to take over?" With each of his words, he poked Kun's chest with his index finger until the younger swatted his hand away. His voice didn't waver as he answered:

"If you really think that after all the fights we fought together, I feel very distraught," he said with his voice so cold like you never heard it before. Xukun's pride must have been on the line with his loyalty being questioned just because of his connection – maybe affection? – to you because the next thing you knew was him grabbing the glass bottle out of the other man's hand. "You know what? I'll prove it to you!" 

“Kun, no!” You grabbed his hands in panic, closing your fingers around his, so he couldn't lift the poison to his lips. Was he crazy? Did he want to die just for you to follow?

Or oh… he believed you. He really believed you and that it wasn't poison in the first place or maybe he believed you had nothing to do with it and knew nothing of it because when his eyes locked with yours, he seemed surprised that you stopped him.

You were both startled when the shaman arrived with the finished potion but before he could have stepped to the injured king, the man in front of you lifted his hand. Although you couldn't see his mouth, you would have bet he pulled it into a malicious smirk.

"Ah look at that, trying to save him from harm, how touching," he tsked, mocking before he pointed at the potion in the shaman hands and then at the bottle in Xukun's. “How about this? One cup has dragon blood that could save the Dragon Clan’s last son. The other which you claim isn't poison was retrieved from your room by your own guard. Choose wisely, Princess, what to give our king because your hero will drink the other one.”

“Why are you doing this?” you shrieked, having enough of this mind game of his. You knew he was just a loyal guard of Yixing and you couldn't blame him for not trusting you but did he have to go this far to make you suffer?

“I cannot let the filthy Jade Clan take over the Dragon Clan. So you either save him or be executed for killing him which was your original plan, wasn’t it?”

"Save the king, Princess," Xukun told you, determined and maybe he had a plan, a better one than you or at least you hoped. You looked him in the eyes mouthing Please don't at him but he just smiled. How could he act so nonchalant? "Trust me," he whispered.

You let go of his hands and maybe it was a mistake because he had told you: he owed Yixing his life. You barely stepped to the bed of the king, lifting his head to help the shaman give him the potion when you heard glass breaking. When you lifted your head you saw Xukun swaying, barely grabbing on a chair to stop him from falling and the broken glass was by his feet. The liquid from inside was nowhere which meant…

"Kun!" you screamed trying to run up to him, to help, to do anything but the guards turned towards you with their sword out and you could only do one thing, listen to the boy who had once saved you when the stable's roof collapsed onto you, he hovered over your body with his to save you from the impacts of the falling pieces. He always did.

So when Kun told you to run, you ran. Back to your own tent to get your sword to be able to fight off and it was ridiculous how only a few days ago you fought alongside these men but now they wanted to kill you. Oh, how fast the tables turn but maybe you deserved this, maybe you deserved to die for killing the boy you loved since you had been 16 and had given him your first kiss under the stars. You might not have a future but you wanted to believe nevertheless, but you ruined it all.

You felt tears running down on your cheeks as you dodged the daggers and swords coming your way, hissing when one managed to cut your arm. You ran, you didn't look where, you just wanted to get away. If you killed Yixing's men, peace wouldn't have been an option, so you needed to escape, that was the only way to stop another war.

You stumbled when a huge shadow overtowered you and heard the scared muffled sounds of the soldiers following you as well. Gulping, you looked up at the majestic dragon in front of you, its nostrils flaring and smoke coming out of its mouth as it huffed. It stood above you, staring at the soldiers behind you as if… as if it was protecting you. It made you feel safe, like Xukun, and gosh, you just cried harder because he was trying to save you even now. You fell onto your knees, not knowing what to do with this information and then…

"It isn't nice of you to chase my fiancée away from me, is it?" Yixing roared in a forever calm voice and through your tears you could barely believe your eyes when you saw him walk towards you. And not just him, it was Xukun who helped him move because he must have still been in pain. But how?

The masked guards seemed just as flabbergasted as you were. But Kun, oh the deities, Kun looked almost smug as he passed by them after Yixing pushed him towards you. Then he ran, ran until he knelt next to you, taking your face into his hands. You touched him as if you didn't believe he was real.

"I didn't want to…"

"I know," he assured you with a stupid smile on his stupid face like he did back in that ruined house where he kissed you like you were his life line.

"I can't believe you drank the poison! How could you be sure your blood would fight it off?" you whisper-yelled at him, hitting his chest all too weakly and he laughed, too. The nerve of him!

"I wasn't but Princess, I would drink poison over and over again if it tasted like you," he said with a smirk and you would have bet Yixing told him about your agreement because otherwise he wouldn't have been so daring. Or was it the near death experience? Or the thought of losing each other all over again? The wars might have been still messy, politics stressing, but in that moment, you didn't care, you just closed your eyes and kissed Kun back when he pressed his lips against yours, happily burning with him.

[darkacademicfrom2021]

Headcanon/fic: "Tom with superpowers"

Reader x Tom Hiddleston/Loki

Gender neutral reader

Context: in the same world that happens the whole Avengers situation, Marvel releases the movies. You get a job as health assistant in the franchise, helping the injured actors while they train. There, you met Tom Hiddleston, and... maybe someone else too.

Loki won his reputation in Midgard the wrong way, since the whole New York incident. You knew him well as the selfish psychopath you thought he was.

But ever since you started working in Marvel, you got a bit into the story and past of him and understood his character better. You thought he was quite charming.

Actually, you thought Tom Hiddleston, his actor, was more than charming.

You met him on a rainy day. Your scrubs were soaking wet, since you've come to work by walking (a terrible idea) and the rain caught you in the middle.

Someone in the entrance told you to get something dry from the lost & found box, and so you did.

A nice and warm hoodie replaced the top of your scrubs and you started drying your hair with a towel as you walked on set.

"Excuse me", said a deep and harmonious voice, touching your shoulder. "I think that belongs to me".

You lifted your gaze at the stranger and as soon as you met his eyes, both were speechless.

Tom Hiddleston in person. God, the man was even more beautiful than through a screen. You smiled nervously as he smirked. He didn't take his eyes off you for a second.

"What?", you finally said.

"You have my hoodie".

"Oh, I'm... I'm really sorry. I was... anyways, I'm giving it back now" you tried to articulate, still choking on your words. He noticed you were nervous and didn't comment on it. What a gentleman, you thought.

"Give it back in dinner, would you?" he said suddenly, yet smoothly. You had to blink twice to realize what he just said. "Meet you at eight in the doorway? I'll take you somewhere nice and quiet".

Your mind was off for the rest of the day, until dinner came along. Your coworkers noticed your brain was somewhere else than in the present, but they didn't say anything; they kind of figured Tom would've asked you out. They saw how he smiled at you on set the whole day.

Dinner was perfect, and so were the other five, six, seven...

You started dating very frequently. Always kept it down, avoiding the press rumors, avoiding paparazzis, keeping private life... well, private.

If there was something you definetly loved about him, was his passion. He was passionate about everything he spoke about. And he was even more passionate about listening to you talking.

And when you spoke your mind off about how Loki was misunderstood, and such a good character, such an interesting person (well, God); he listened.

Sometimes you could catch a glimpse of him being still on character. He'd say or do something and you'd answer "your Loki is showing", and he'd get all nervous and blushed.

You always wondered why. It's normal for actors to slip away something of their characters sometimes. Why did he get so embarrassed about it?

It was even more in interviews. He'd hide pretty well those assets that you'd connect so much to Loki's personality, afraid he might not "look Tom enough".

Already years into the relationship, you have already made it public. You still worked for Marvel and spent a lot of time on set, and sometimes you walked in some interviews.

There was this specific interview where you walked accidentally in the room, and he greeted you, with the camera running, with the most Loki tone of voice possible.

"Hello, baby".

Tom never called you baby. Not even when you called him daddy. He'd call you darling, dear, beloved, my love, my sweet, sweetheart, lover... but baby? Never that.

As soon as he realized those foreign words slipping out of his tongue, his face straightened and went into what you'd call his 'dark mode', a very serious face he made when his inner Loki spilled out of his words.

The 'dark mode' only could be described as the face someone does when making a big, irreparable mistake. Like saying the words he should've never said.

And it only faded away when he realized you didn't notice it. Like he was hiding a big secret from you, and those words would give him away.

But they never did, and he always relaxed his face to see that you were unaware of what he was hiding.

"Baby..." you recalled that same night, wrapped around in the warmth of the blankets. "You went all Loki today. But I like it. It fits you so well".

He stared at you from the doorstep, holding a book he promised to read you before sleeping. He smiled slightly and turned that smirk into a sad look very quickly.

"What's wrong, honey?".

"Nothing, my love. I'm just tired from work, that's all".

"For playing the God of lies, you're a terrible liar" you mocked him. He sat by your side and caressed your cheek with the soft touch of his hand.

"You're the only one who's always been able to read right through my bullshit. That's one of the reasons I love you so much". He said quietly.

"I'd love to know what goes through your mind when the character slips through your words. You play him marvelously, you shouldn't be ashamed to have gotten used to some of his mannerisms", you told him while running your fingers through his hair.

"I'd say I have too many of them".

"Yeah", you chuckled "it's almost like Loki is playing you, instead of you playing Loki".

"Oh, darling. Only if you knew", he said with the deepest and sexiest voice he has ever spoken.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you whispered.

He laughed slightly, and cut the conversation off with a "nothing, I'm just messing with you".

But you knew he wasn't.

Something in his eyes... he couldn't lie to you any longer. Not with you allowing it.

"What is it? I really, really want to know".

You insisted and insisted. He rolled his eyes and said nothing all night.

Next morning he didn't awake by your side. You were waiting for him in the kitchen, with a fresh cup of tea and a teasing smile on your face.

"Good morning, love" he said, hands in your waist while kissing both of your cheeks. "What are you doing up so early?".

"I want to do something crazy".

"Oh no".

"Oh yes".

"What do you want to do?".

"Let's go to Asgard. Let's go to catch a glimpse of the cell Loki is supposedly locked up in. I know it sounds crazy, but I really think it would help you with the character building. You know, since you give such importance to the role and..."

But he didn't let you finish, and closed the conversation with a "no way. Absolutely not".

And there was nothing else to discuss.

"I'm going".

"He's a crazy murderer that wants to slave everybody. There is no way I'm letting you see him".

"I'm going you like it or not", you said, grabbing your keys and going towards the door.

He stood infront of you with the most serious look you've ever seen in his face. "You're not going".

"Just one reason, give me one".

"He's not in his cell, you wouldn't find him there".

"And how do you know that?".

His eyes, that once showed anger and concern, were now fearful and disappointed.

"I can't say".

"This has to do with your 'dark mode', doesn't it? What are you hiding from me, Thomas?".

He sighed. Hugged you tightly as if you were never holding him again after what you'd hear next.

He whispered in your ear "I'm sorry for lying. It's just what I do best".

Tom and the expressions that differentiated him from Loki got bathed in a golden light. His hair became long and dark, his facial hair disappeared, his eyebrows got fixed (exactly how they made his make up for the movies), and his midgardian shirt and trousers transformed into the leather and metal armor that represented Loki so well.

"Oh my FUCKING GOD" you yelled as you hold your body against the wall, trying not to fall. Your legs were shaking.

"Yes".

"YOU'RE--".

"The... fucking God".

"H-how??".

"Long story short, I needed to start over. And I'm a shapeshifter, it's not too hard for me to disguise".

You sat on a chair and he did the same. You looked at him up and down as you steadied yourself. Once you were already taking all the madness in, you were able to speak.

"So, you could've pretended to be ANY midgardian out here".

"I could've".

"And you chose to become an actor that would play you?".

He laughed, with the same laughter Tom had. He's the same man I fell in love with, after all, you thought.

He started saying that he understood if you felt unsafe and lied to with him. That if you wanted to end the relationship his soul would ache eternally, but he would let you go. That he did something unforgivable; he played with your trust.

You got up and cupped your hands around his neck, leaving a small kiss on his lips.

"Shut up".

"Beg you pardon?".

"I love you, I don't care about anything else. To me, now you're Tom with superpowers".

"That's the most stupid yet most lovable thing you've ever told me".

"I'm sure I said stupider things". And you glanced down. "I wonder how much of your God skills you were hiding all this time".

He smiled before lifting you in the air and taking you bride style to the bedroom.

"Oh, baby, you'll see".

[violetrose-art]

Corpse Bride Headcannons, Theories, and Ideas

This is just a list of the theories, headcannons, and ideas I came up with for Tim Burton's Corpse Bride. I might add more later on, so watch out

-Victor and Victoria were born and raised in a small English village close to the Atlantic Ocean called Burtonsville

-Victor’s full name is Victor Ichabod Van Dort

-When he was about four years old, Victor found Scraps as a mixed-breed puppy in an alleyway. Nell and William refused at first, but William saw how his son quickly became attached to the dog, so he let him stay. Sadly, when Victor turned eight, Scraps was brutally mauled and tragically killed while trying to defend his beloved owner from a bigger, nastier dog

-Victor’s favorite toy as a child was a stuffed horse he called Usher. He begged his mother to let him keep Usher until he was fourteen

-Victor learned to play the piano when he was about five years old. He was a fast learner and he picked up on it very quickly, and his tutor was greatly impressed by his skill. His favorite musicians are Mozart and Beethoven

-Victor works as an artist to draw many types of butterflies for the Lepidoptera Community, as well as a professional pianist. Originally, his father wanted him to work as a fish merchant and take over the family business, but Victor politely told him “no thanks” because he wanted to follow his own dreams. William was disappointed, but deep down he wanted his son to be happy. So he usually encouraged him, especially when Nell wasn’t around

-Outside from his butterfly works, Victor does paintings during his free time at home. The color theory that he studied was written by Eugene De La Croix·         Victor has been drawing since he was a child. His favorite things to draw are animals, butterflies, and other insects. He also does landscapes and people sometimes. He also likes to write sometimes, mostly a few poems and a couple musical compositions. Nothing he took too seriously, though. He also likes to sing when he thinks he’s alone

-In his childhood, Victor used to have a somewhat regular playmate named Humphrey. They were almost friends, but when William’s business became very successful and Victor’s family became rich when Victor was about eleven, Humphrey stopped coming over and the two boys haven’t seen each other since

-When he was a boy, he learned how to speak French because his mother thought it was “high-class” to be bilingual. Victor was diligent in his studies and thus has a good knowledge of spoken and written French. He may not be perfectly fluent, but he can carry on a decent conversation

-Victor is severely allergic to walnuts and poison oak

-Victor had a cousin named Mary whom he was very fond of, but she passed away when she was seventeen and he was six. She got lost in the woods and was attacked and devoured by a pack of wolves

-Victor doesn’t drink anything more than the occasional glass of champagne or wine. The reason? Mayhew once got him drunk and it turns out Victor is a CHATTY drunk. As in, he’ll tell you his life story at the slightest provocation. Victor was so embarrassed when he sobered up that he nearly swore off all alcohol forever. It’s very unlikely he’ll ever knowingly get wasted again·         After he and Victoria were finally married, Victor gained confidence and he stood up against Victoria's parents earning him some respect

-Victor HATES smoking. He was secretly offered a cigarette from Mayhew when he was fourteen and after the first inhale, he was coughing and gagging so much that he nearly threw up

-Victor is the tallest member of the Van Dort family, making him stand out quite a bit during family reunions

-He may not be a sporty person, but Victor enjoys cycling. He also loves a good game of chess

-Victor adores reading. His favorite writers are William Blake, Charles Baudelaire, Lewis Carroll, Edgar Allan Poe, and William Shakespeare

His favorite books are “Les Miserables”, “Dracula”, “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”, “The Fall of the House of Usher” and other works by E.A. Poe. The play/book that he hates the most is “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” because he strongly dislikes this style of a love triangle in the plot line. He also has a fascination with penny dreadful. Yes, he knows the serial stories are really nothing but lowest common denominator trash, but he loves them anyway. He got hooked on them as a teenager thanks to Mayhew’s nephew, and he used to keep a secret stash under his mattress

-When she still rather young, Victor noticed that his daughter, Emily, became very interested in music, so he taught her how to play the piano as well as the violin

-Victoria was the one who taught her son, Edward, how to read and they bond over books and stories they both enjoy

-The worst day of Victor’s life happened about three weeks after Scraps died. Victor’s parents had some business friends over for tea, and forced a still-grieving Victor to come down and be social. Poor Victor made a bad impression, being quieter and clumsier than normal, culminating in knocking over one man, tripping his wife, and insulting said wife’s coat in apologizing. Nell, humiliated and enraged, turned on her son once the guests were off, screaming at him about what an embarrassment he was while they were still standing on the front steps. Victor was so horrified, embarrassed, and depressed that he came too close to taking his own life. He got his hands on his father’s straight-razor, snuck into the bathroom, and actually had it to his neck when a noise from outside the bathroom spooked him and he dropped the razor and ran back to his room as fast as he could. Fortunately, the distraction gave him time to realize suicide wouldn’t fix anything, and he made a promise to himself never to stoop that low again. His parents also apologized the next day, which helped a lot. Victor avoids telling anyone about it unless he feels he has to, certain they’ll think less of him for it

-Victor was born June 9th, 1867

-Victoria’s full name is Victoria Elizabeth Everglot

-When she was very little, Victoria had always wanted a pet (like a cat or a small dog) but her mother said that having a pet in the house was uncivilized and improper and that all animals were filthy and uncouth creatures

-Victoria’s favorite hobby is sewing and knitting. She often designs most of her husband’s clothes and others in her spare time

-As a child, Victoria tried to be closer to her parents, but often found the family maid Hildegarde as more of a mother figure

-Victoria loves to read in her spare time… even though most people call it scandalous for a woman to do such a thing. Her mother even said reading was too passionate for a young lady. At a young age, Hildegarde, taught Victoria how to read (something her parents never found out about)

-Her favorite books are “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”, “A Christmas Carol”, and any classic fairy tale. And her favorite writers are Charles Dickens, Lewis Carroll, Charles Perrault, Hans Christian Andersen, and the Brothers Grimm

-Victoria’s favorite toy as a child was a china doll she called Miss Liddie. By the time she was about eleven, she had grown out of it. Even though she knows she’s too old for toys now, she still misses Miss Liddie

-Victoria isn’t allergic to anything, but she does tend to sneeze if dust is in the air

-When she was a little girl, Victoria was nearly trampled by a horse-drawn carriage, which made her develop a slight fear of horses

-Victoria likes to sing whenever she thinks she’s alone. She doesn’t believe it, but she has a surprisingly lovely singing voice

-When she was a little girl, Victoria was entranced by the piano in her house and she immediately wanted to learn how to play but her mother had told her daughter many times that music was improper and too passionate for a young lady. But Victor always tells his wife that music is a wonderful way to express oneself and that he would be more than happy to teach her how to play

-Victoria used to have a regular playmate named Gwyneth in her girlhood. They were good friends, but when Victoria reached her pre-teen years, Gwyneth stopped coming over to play for some reason and she never heard from her since

-Victoria is the most beautiful member of the Everglot family

-When she was in her early teens, Victoria secretly dreamed of becoming a writer someday

-Victoria was born February 3rd, 1868

-Victor and Victoria had two children. Their names are Emily Alice Van Dort (age 15) and Edward Daniel Van Dort (age 10)

-When Victor and Victoria were married, they moved out of their parents houses and bought a beautiful two story house that sat at the edge of a large meadow that was right next to the forest… plus, the house was a good mile or so away from Burtonsville

-The Corpse Bride’s full name is Emily Charlotte Cartwell

-Emily was born into a wealthy family. Her parents, Lord and Lady Cartwell, couldn’t say ‘no’ to their daughter and they practically gave her everything she asked for, so she became incredibly spoiled, selfish, and incredibly naïve·         Emily was a hopeless romantic, often spending time reading romance novels and daydreaming about her wedding when she was alive

-When she was alive, Emily was blonde

-When she made it to Heaven, Emily was finally reunited with her mother and father

-When their daughter disappeared, Lord and Lady Cartwell were so sad and depressed that they wasted away and passed away in their sleep

-Before ascending, Emily considered Bonejangles to be one of her best friends. They used to sing and dance together all the time. He even taught her how to play the piano

-When she was alive, Emily knew how to ride horses. She even had a pet white mare she called Aphrodite

-Emily Cartwell died at age eighteen

-Lord Barkis’s full name is Barkis Finbar Campbell Bittern

-Emily met Lord Barkis while she was on an outing with her parents. Her parents had their backs turned while Emily was talking with Barkis. After only a few minutes of talking, she was instantly smitten with him and she accepted his immediate proposal of marriage… and her mother and father were not happy about it at all. Emily and her father had a huge fight and she decided to elope with Barkis… but for her, it didn’t go as planned

-Barkis told her that if they were going to be together, they would need money. Emily wasn’t sure, but in the end, she agreed

-On the night she was running away, Emily stole not only her mother’s wedding dress, veil, gloves, and best shoes, but she also stole the jewels from her mother’s jewelry box and a large bag of gold from her father’s office

-As Emily was waiting for her fiancé that night, Barkis snuck up behind her, stabbed her, knocked her out cold, took all of her money and jewels, and buried her alive. She woke up in a shallow grave and tried to claw her way out before suffocating to death. That's why her hand was sticking out of the ground

-Barkis was married six times in his life. He and his first wife were married out of love until he found her cheating on him and killed her. The second was an elderly widow for her money. The third one got away before he could even hurt her, but she drowned herself in a deep, rushing river. The fourth was a drunken lonely woman who “accidentally” fell out of a two story window. The fifth being Emily and the sixth being Victoria

-In the Land of The Dead, Barkis was brutally beaten and ripped apart before he was imprisoned in an iron coffin chained seven feet underground with other criminals like him for all eternity

-After he ran away, Barkis studied linguistics in French, Latin, German, and Russian in order to impress others… or use different fake accents to fool them with

-Barkis’s original first name was Bradford and he had a rough upbringing. His father was a violent alcoholic and his mother was a reckless prostitute and they both abused Bradford as a child until he ran away from home at age sixteen and changed his name to Lord Barkis

-Barkis has a twin sister who had a son named Hector. Hector greatly looked up to his uncle and when he heard about what happened to Barkis, he was taken aback, but he also felt he could use that to his advantage. When he turned 30, Hector came to Burtonsville to exact revenge on the Van Dort family… but he also developed a vile infatuation with Emily. Whenever he tries to woo the young girl (which always fails since Emily finds him repulsive and cruel), Victor gladly steps in the way every time and he always sternly tells Hector to stay away from his daughter

-Mrs. Van Dort’s full name is Eleanor Minerva Fitzackley Van Dort

-Nell came from a lower class family. She lived with her father, mother, and three sisters. However, Nell wasn’t happy with her place in society and she wanted to became something more

-Nell and William first met when she was caught in the rain one stormy day and he offered her a ride home in his fish merchant carriage. She declined at first, but quickly gave in when it started to bucket down. As they rode together, they started chatting and soon became very interested in one another

-Nell and William made their way back to the village just in time to witness Emily's soul disappear into the night as a swarm of blue butterflies

-When she learned about Mayhew’s death, Nell quietly wept in her room about it. She might be overbearing, but deep down, she truly does care for the ones closest to her. She also adores her husband and son, even if she does find them a bit irritating. She just has a hard time showing her emotions

-Mr. Van Dort’s full name is William Oscar Van Dort

-William loves talk about fish and his business, he always tries to weasel in the topic whenever possible to his wife and son's annoyance

-William used to take Victor on fishing trips when he was younger, which practically bored Victor to death

-While he tends to be the more passive one in their relationship, William does put his foot down when the situation calls for it

-It may not seem like it, but William adores Victor and he tries to do whatever he can to be there for his son

-When Victor turned sixteen, William gave him a silver pocket watch with a design of a fish on the front and his initials

-Lady Everglot’s full name is Maudeline Hortense Glottberg Everglot

-Maudeline and Finis didn’t plan on having a child in the first place and Victoria came as more of a surprise

-Maudeline had a sister named Marie who loved playing the piano. They didn’t get along in their youth and they drifted apart as they grew up. Maudeline wasn’t even invited to Marie’s wedding to Lord Frederick Cartwell

-When Marie died, she left her piano to her sister, but Maudeline never touched it. She felt it brought back too many memories and forbade Victoria from going near it was well

-Lord Eveglot’s full name is Finis Augustus Everglot

-While he was disappointed in not having a son, Finis deeply cares for his daughter. He just doesn’t know how to show it

-Even though they’re not good at sharing their feelings, Maudeline and Finis do care for each other to some extent

-Hildegarde has lots of grandchildren and she visited their home in the countryside as often as she could before she passed away

-When he was alive, Bonejangles was a freelance jazz musician from America and his original name was Dexter. He was finishing a gig in England when he died in a horrible carriage accident (he was run over), which also caused him to lose his eyeball

-General Bonesapart and General Wellington were actually General Napoleon Bonaparte and English General Wellington, two real historical figures. However, even though they hated each other at first, they became real pals eventually

-Although they don't say it out loud, people in Burtonsville make fun of Maudeline's hair cut, calling her names like "Rump Head" or "Hairmungus"

-Elder Gutknecht is one of the many Afterlife Lords, responsible for managing the dead after they pass. Among them include God, the Devil, King Vince, Hades, Hel, Osiris, Odin, Freya, and, the Hindu God Yama

-The Underworld is actually thousands of miles underground and due to the magic surrounding it. Mortals can't access it unless they die themselves

-After his death, Mayhew kicked the habit of smoking altogether and is very glad he did

-Elder Gutknecht has a fearsome Hellhound by the name of Infernius, his fierce and ever loyal pet. He guards the entrance to the Land of the Dead and can breathe fire that heats up to 900 degrees

-The fellow who was cut cleanly in half was an English gentleman by the name of Herman, who lived in Burtonsville years before. He ended up meeting his death due to an accident involving a rather large guillotine

-Generals Bonesapart and Wellington are the leaders of army of the Land of the Dead, but are only called into combat in times of great peril

-The people of Burtonsville sometimes call Lord Everglot “Everglut” behind his back

-Victoria has a cousin by the name of Dolores. Dolores is something of a freeloading con artist who moved to America when she left home. She considers herself a very attractive woman, but she just wears too much makeup and rather revealing clothes and is actually rather sleazy in reality. She also smokes, which Victoria and the rest of the Everglots are strongly against

-When he was alive, Elder Gutknecht used to be a wise sage that helped people in their time of need. He passed away when he reached the age of 102

-The Everglots were a family of nobles with a significant amount of money, but due to a bit of excessive gambling (by Dolores), they lost almost everything

-Almost every member of the Everglot family is rather ugly due to bad genetics. Victoria considers herself very, VERY lucky to have not inherited such genes (she unknowingly received her natural beauty from her late Aunt Marie)

-Pastor Galswells was raised in a strict environment. He was taught that kindness was weakness and to be stern and firm with everyone. He passed away shortly after the official wedding of Victor and Victoria and a new pastor took his place. His name is Pastor Ivan Blackthorp and he’s much kinder and friendlier than Galswells ever was

-The reason Victor named his dog Scraps was because he only ate table scraps

-The people of Burtonsville have a secret inside joke about the squatty walk Finis Everglot does where they assume that he would jump like a toad and snatch up a fly at any moment

-Burtonsville is well known for its raven population and there's an old legend saying they're messengers to the Land of the Dead

-For some weird reason, William Van Dort is known to mutter the words "Fishy, fishy, fish" in his sleep and it honestly creeps Nell out

-Paul, the decapitated head waiter, was actually a French man who served Marie Antoinette during her reign. Unfortunately, he was unjustly executed by association with the queen when the French Revolution broke out and he was never able to find his body after he died

-Several people have assumed Maudeline's hair is an actual wig and she's bald under it… only to be mistaken, resulting in a whooping

-Lord Barkis was a master of disguise in life and was never caught by the police as a result

-The Underworld has a prison known as the Iron Tomb and it holds some pretty infamous inmates who include Bluebeard, Caligula, Henry VIII, Mary I of England, and many more

-The Town of Burtonsville was actually built on an ancient burial ground, which is possibly why the Land of the Dead is connected to it

-After her death, Emily was made the official guardian angel of the Van Dort family

This is all I've got so far, but feel free to tell me what you think and tell me which one is your favorite

[koolkat9]

HetaFamily Week 2021 Day 6

@hetafamilyweek

Prompt: Betrayal/Hurt Comfort

Family: France and Canada (+England)

Author's Note: This takes place following the Revolutionary War and is based off a World Stars strip where Canada is caring of a sick England. Also half of this was typed up on my phone and I didn't have access to the program I usually used to edit the Grammer and stuff so there may be some errors. I just got really busy these last two days so I have had to write it on the run lol. Enjoy!

He wasn’t getting any better. When India came over the other day, things seemed to be looking up, but after he tried to cheer England up by acting like America, he was sent back to square one. To say Canada was worried about the Brit’s condition would be an understatement. Could this be more than any of them thought? Could nations die from something like this? He regretted not thinking of asking India about this when he visited last. There was always the option of sending a letter, but he’d hate to bother the man even more. On the other hand, there was no one he could reach out to. Well...except for maybe one. 

He hadn’t spoken to Francis since he lost to England in 1763. It had been about two decades since then without so much as a letter. He had tried as soon as he learned to write, and even though England forbade him, Canada sent them out in secret. Despite all his hard work, the Frenchman never replied so he gave up on it after a few years. But now, it felt like his only option. 

‘He’s not going to reply,’ Canada thought to himself as he wrote out his plea for help. 

“He hates England, so why would he reply to this letter out of all of them,” he muttered to himself as he handed it over to the post office. He didn’t have that much hope for an answer, but it was better than nothing.

---

Canada was woken up the next morning by a knock at the door. With a sigh he got up, checked on England (still asleep) before heading downstairs. He was shocked to find Francis standing there, a small bag in hand and an awkward smile on his face. “Bonjour,” he greeted.

“Ah...y-yes...Bonjour. I-I wasn’t expecting-” 

“You invited me, did you not? Anyway, may I come in?”

“Ah..yes...Of course. Come in.”

After explaining the situation in more detail, Canada led France to England’s room. A sad look crossed the Frenchman’s eyes as he looked over the shaking man in front of him. “Well...You needn’t worry mon chou-”

“D-Don’t call me that,” Matthew said, cutting the man off. He used to love that nickname, but now all it brought was anger and feelings of betrayal. 

France’s grin fell, disappointment setting in. “Fine...He will be fine. Maybe sick for a little while, but our kind will not die as long as our nation, our people continue to exist and believe in us.”

“Thank God.”

Canada suppressed the urge to hug England so relieved to know he would be okay eventually. Time. That was all he needed. And maybe some tea and support. He could manage that. With that information, he felt a little silly for freaking out. Now he just had to deal with his ex-guardian who just up and left him.

“We should probably let him rest,” Francis suggested, already moving towards the door. Canada couldn’t help but follow.

“I could make us some tea, '' Matthew offered as they came upon the kitchen, “and I’ll bring it to you in the living room.”

“That sounds lovely Mathieu, thank you.”

He was probably being a little too nice considering his feelings and their history, but at the same time, he was polite to a fault. ‘He helped me, this is just to show my thanks,’ Canada told himself as he poured two mugs.

The politeness and hospitality began to fade as Canada entered the living room. France attempted to make small talk, asking how he had been, discussing the political climate, regular catch up topics for their kind. Canada tried to remain polite, but just found himself getting more and more frustrated until he muttered. "Maybe if you kept in touch, we wouldn't have to be doing all this catching up." 

“Ah.” Francis lowered his cup, his gaze falling in shame as he heard the words. “So that’s why.”

That was the final straw. Canada slammed his cup down on the table. “Is that all you have to say to that? Really?”

“Non...I...th-there’s nothing...I can’t make it any better. I…”

“An apology, and admittance that you were wrong. I don’t, maybe even just acknowledgement!”

"Oh Matthieu-" He went in for a hug. 

"DON'T TOUCH ME," Canada screamed, shoving France away. 

After overcoming his shock, France dropped his arms in defeat. Taking a breath he began. “I’m...I’m so sorry...God I thought I was a terrible father before but...That doesn’t matter now. I fucked up big time, I hurt you and I’m sorry. You were just a little boy and...no, excuses aren’t fair to you…I left with barely saying goodbye and never reached out to you. I tried telling myself it was for the best, that I was doing this for you, but really I was just selfish and a coward. It was too messy and I didn’t want to deal with it. But that wasn’t fair to you. I… No amount of apologies or any words for that matter feel like they would make up for all this. But still...I’m sorry.”

Canada was quiet for a moment, arms coming to wrap around himself. “Well...you were more honest than I expected," he finally said after a moment, "I’ll give you that. And...I appreciate the apology. It's everything I asked for so why…” His shoulders began to "Mathieu...It's okay. You can tell me, even if it's that you don’t want to see me again. I’ll respect it.”

“It still hurts…” Great, he was crying now. So much for being tough and putting his foot down. 

“That’s fair.”

“But...I don’t think I’m as angry anymore.”

A strained smile made its way onto France's face. “Thank you...Time...I think we need some time. Mend this relationship. We can at least try that hmm?”

“I guess.”

Another tense silence settled over them as Canada wrestled with his uneasiness and France reached for what to say next. Eventually the Frenchman came to the conclusion that he better just leave. "Maybe we need some space. That way you can sort all your feelings out." 

Unsure what to say, Canada nodded. As he helped France collect his things there was this familiar sadness and pain. Not like the kind he had been feeling these past decades, no. He hadn't felt like this since… 

"Don't go," Canada found himself blurting out right before France opened the front door. 

France froze. For a moment a familia fear creeped up on Canada. France was about to leave him a second time and although they promised to try and rebuild things between them, the young nation couldn't help but fear being abandoned again. He felt like crying until France turned around a warm smile on his face.

“Arthur will probably kill me if he becomes conscious enough but I’ll risk it.”

Matthew let out a light laugh and Francis swore he was going to cry, all the feelings from these past years threatening to flow over. But they were starting to heal and neither could ask for more.

[guqin-and-flute]

In Your Hands [Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[@theleakypen​ *points accusingly* Look what you did! 😁]

[Second Chronological installment of the Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[First Installment] [Ao3 Series]

It starts small and slow, because Yanli asked and because A-Yao listens. It’s more delightful than she could have imagined, to shyly mention something and see it tucked away behind a smile. To have it come back later and set before her in reality. 

She isn’t truly used to receiving a great many gifts--A-Cheng and Xianxian are men of action, showing love in hugs and favors and tucking her into bed when she is too tired or sick to do so herself. (Now she has 3 people who would do this. Sweet boys. How lucky is she?) 

Usually, it’s her that brings the food they like, makes sure to tuck little notes into the folds of their clothes when they pack for a trip, brings back little knick knacks from the market that might make them smile. So, when she wakes alone in the crisp air of their bedroom and goes to do her hair for the day, she is startled to find a silver hair pin topped with a delicate metal lotus with tiny pink beads tucked in the petals that mirror the ones interspersed throughout the 2 trailing chains that dangle beneath it. There is no note, but it had been placed very obviously and precisely in the middle of her table. Yanli finds herself smiling as she picks it up and admires it, noting the fine, swirling engravings that etch down the stick itself. It’s a gift! For her! 

She, of course, slides it into her wound hair and finds herself holding her cheeks as she grins at herself in the mirror and  turns this way and that, watching the little chains sway with her movement, clicking gently. The flush on her face matches the beads. It’s a little silly, she tells herself, to be blushing over a gift like this. He’s my husband! I’m already married! 

There is still that giddy lightness in her chest that feels as though she will burst out laughing at any moment, like the morning sun has roosted in her heart.

Because it’s more than just the gift, of course. She and A-Yao had been chatting over tea one evening on the pavilion over the lake, listening to the night frogs and the fresh wind through the curtains and distant treetops. It had been very soon after their realization (their breakthrough, she privately considers it, the silly man, of course she cares for him, of course) and he had been watching her with warm eyes. “Jiang-furen,” he had said lightly, because it made her wrinkle her nose at the formality--and she had, and he had smiled. “Would you allow this one to court you?”

Oh. 

‘I think I would like to try,’ she had told him, and with such confidence, too. Loving. And here they were, at the trying part. Complication had swelled within her chest like a tide, wanting and fear and a sudden shyness. The thrill of flattery and being wanted; the fear of ruining this, too, somehow, by too demanding. Unworthy.

The fear that she would not be able to...feel the right way. She had never been in love, not even the giggling, girlish love her friends had spoken of as children, nor had she ever understood the longing whispers of her shimeis and shijies when they saw the young men unloading the boats, sweaty and gleaming in the sun. She had been confused when her mother had lectured her on the importance and the virtue of staying out of the beds of men. It had just never seemed as difficult as anyone made it out to be. She had been prepared for the duties of a wife and a mother when she had agreed to marriage--both times--and had not meant to shy from it. It was the way things were. And she did want a child--several of them, actually. 

And then had come A-Yao with his gentle understanding and his poor wounded heart and his telling her that she had no obligations and him, no expectations. And that secret part of her that had bound herself up tight in the waiting had breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed.

Now, within the bounds of marriage, she was being asked. Is it what she wanted, of them, with him. It was real and present with no barriers, time or otherwise. And she didn’t know. Because he was sweet and kind and she did not want any part of him hurt.

It had almost been easier when there had been a straight path she had been bound to walk with no option of deviating. Inevitable. 

Oh, and she had been silent for too long, leaving him waiting and wondering. She had felt him go completely still across the table. Hurriedly, she moved her hand over to cover his, to quell any rising anger or misunderstanding, had opened her mouth to try to stumble through an explanation--

And his hand had covered hers. And he had waited. And she had loved him for it. His face was stiffer than she might like, his pleasant smile up, now, like armor against whatever he thought was going through her mind, but he allowed the time it took for her to gather this all up. “A-Yao…” she had begun and her throat had closed up and she had chastised herself for being a silly, stupid girl and making him wait, making him fear that she was saying no, because she wasn’t, she did want to try, for him, for her, because she could feel the first step in her heart of loving him in a way that was unlike A-Cheng and A-Xian, unlike her mother and father, but she couldn’t say exactly where or how far those steps would take her and she would never want to break a promise or get his hopes up and be unable to--unable to--

“A-Li,” he had said, polite shield of a smile disappearing, brow tucking into worry as her eyes filled with frustrated tears. “Have you...changed your mind?”

She shook her head quickly, mouth working and oh, why couldn’t she ever just speak? 

“Are...you sure? You don’t....”

Yanli nodded, just as vigorously and she sniffed, trying to stem whatever this was. “I’m...Of course….Yes, of course, you can, I’ll....”

Hurriedly, he had risen to kneel beside her, below her, both his hands on hers, now, where they rested on her knees, face open and almost scared. “A-Li,” his tone had been urgent. “What do you think I’m asking you?”

Finally, finally, she had choked her way through an explanation, an apology, a promise to try to do better, to try to fix whatever incomplete love she was offering and his fingers had tightened over her own. 

His voice had been rough. “I would never ask something of you that you’re not ready to give.”

“But...what if...I’m never ready?” she had managed in a watery whisper.

His answer had been as gentle as the breeze that brushed by them from across the lake, flickering the flames in the lanterns. “Then I will never ask.”

“Wouldn’t that be horribly selfish of me?” Her eyes had remained fastened on the rise and fall of his chest in his purple robes, unable to meet his gaze. She could hear her mother in her head, knew what she would say; yes. Selfish and childish and unrealistic. If Yanli could not cultivate, if she could not be strong or clever or useful, what on earth did she expect to be her duty to her family? Did she think she was special? Did she think that marriage was just easy for everyone? 

“Why would it be selfish?” 

When she gave a small, despairing laugh at what she assumed had been a joke, he had simply blinked at her. She had wiped her eyes. “Children, for one, A-Yao.”

Something distant had come over his eyes, the look he got when he was puzzling through a problem for A-Cheng on the spot and his tone was one of musing when he said,“If you wanted a child, I could get you a child.”

That laugh had burst from her in shock and some of the tightness in her chest lightened. “You’re as ridiculous as A-Xian. Is YaoYao 3, as well, with that sort of reasoning? Where do you think children come from? A roadside store?” Shaking her head, she had bopped the tip of his nose with the crook of her finger and tucked his already neat hair behind his shoulder, soothing herself, giving an excuse to be close to him.

He had smiled, slow and sleek, head tilting a little, saying, “Of course,” and nothing more. When he had simply waited patiently for her to stop fussing over his hair, she had taken his dear face in her hands and ran her thumbs over his cheeks.

“We’re here again,” she had noted and knew by the way his smile dimmed, slightly, and the softness that came back into his eyes that he, too, was thinking of their wedding night when they sat in this very same position; him at her feet, promising to take no more than what was offered; her holding him in fondness. She sighed and tilted her head in hopeless asking. “And what about a wife’s duty to her husband? The other part you’re promised.”

“Neither of our vows said any such thing. All I was promised was loyalty and support.” His voice had quieted further, and a tentative had hand lifted, and rested on her cheek, light as a moth’s wing. “Which you have given. I want to court A-Li because…” To her delight, his cheeks had pinkened slightly, and he looked young and sweet and oh, yes, she loved him as A-Yao--whatever that meant to her, she did. “Because I want to. I-I want to do it the right way, to please you, and bring you gifts and gain your favor. Because you deserve it.”

She had felt a warm curling in her throat, like tears, but not (loved! loved!) and she had smiled and hadn’t been able to help from leaning down and kissing his forehead, kissing the tip of his nose. Then, daringly, because she wanted to, she had brushed her lips over his and he had sat, hands carefully in his lap, still as a stone as she pressed them, warm and soft against hers. He smelled like the fragrant flower tea they had been drinking. “You already have my favor, ” she had murmured when she sat back from the chaste kiss, feeling her own face heat up as his had. Oh, as his was!

“If it…” he had started, almost staccato and slightly too loud, as if he had surprised himself and he pressed his lips together and made a face like he regretted it. But then he pushed out, almost in a rush. “If it makes you feel any better, I also wasn’t...looking forward to...that night. I...would have slept with you. If it was what you had required.” He took a breath and pressed his hands, chill in the night air, over the backs of hers on his face. “But, now, we can go as slowly or as far as only you desire. It is in your hands. I’m simply happy to have A-Li.”

Her heart felt as if it were the tail of some magnificent fish, fluttering and flashing around with a gleaming joy. She believed him. Knowing what she knew of his mother, of his father, and of how that rested in him like chains and blood and hurting, she believed every word. Safe. Safe to test, to try. To stop.

He was safety.

“One condition,” she had said, schooling her face to seriousness and warning so quickly, he must have known it was a jest. 

He, in turn, however, didn’t make light, and only smiled, dimpled and almost completely real. “Name it.”

“I can court you in turn.” 

At this, his face had dropped into blank startlement for a brief moment before a crooked little smile had hitched itself back on his face. That was real. She had been able to tell. “Of course,” he had agreed steadily. “Anything at all.”

And now, as she leaves their room with his first gift in her hair, she sees him down the walkway, slim and purposeful in his angling, talking to A-Xian about something. All at once, something mischievous and powerful skitters up from her stomach and down her arms like laughter and she straightens and glides like she was taught, a grin on her lips. A-Xian looks up first and grins back. Excitedly, he bounds up for her to stroke his cheek, which she does, still walking, still passing, and as she draws level, she gives a preening toss of her head, making the little beads of the pin click and flicks her eyes over.

A-Yao is watching her performance with eyebrows raised, eyes wide in surprised appreciation, fresh delight pressed behind his lips, making his whole face light. Like they are sharing a private joke. Like he thinks she’s beautiful and funny. His regard feels like lovely fingers combing through her hair and, beneath this silly posturing, she’s blushing all over again. “Husband,” she greets with exaggerated propriety, inclining her head. The chains sway in her peripheral vision.

He inclines his head back, smile wide and gracious. “Wife.”

She doesn’t break her stride, continuing her glide down the walkway, not looking back. She hears A-Xian say, “What the heck was that about?”

She is in earshot long enough to hear A-Yao laugh, quietly.

[dazedbydazai]

예뻤어 - You Were Beautiful

➤ Pairing: Dazai Osamu x Fem!Reader

➤ Genre: Angst

➤ Warning: Character death(s)

➤ WC: 2.0K

(A/N: This was requested by an anon and was inspired by DAY6′s song, You were Beautiful. I suggest listening to that while reading this. It just hits right.)

Dazai Osamu was a very secretive and elusive man. He had multiple tricks up his sleeve, he was manipulative, cunning, and unforgiving. He didn't know what love was, he abandoned that emotion long ago. He was merciless and self-centered, only caring about things that will benefit him. Dazai Osamu was not a good man.

But all of that changed when his closest friend, Odasaku, died.

Promising to turn over a new leaf, Dazai left the Port Mafia in pursuit of something more beautiful, something good, and he had also vowed to not let anyone else enter his life and be attached to them in fear of losing them like he lost his friend.

Dazai vowed. He closed himself off, hiding behind a pretentious and flamboyant character that fools people with his handsome smile and witty banter. Dazai didn't want to repeat the same mistake twice. Dazai had already learned.

He chanted this in his mind over and over again but alas, he was not able to stick to his word. Because just after a few months of leaving his past self behind, he suddenly met you.

A beautiful woman. Funny, kind, and just as intelligent as Dazai, you showed up in front of him like an angel and broke down all the walls he's built.

Dazai didn't understand why, of all people, did you come to him? Why waste your time on someone who's suicidal and clearly not of sound mind? Why bother entertaining his antics and flirtatious behavior when you knew that he only did this to cover up his ugliness within?

Simple. The answer was simple.

It was just in your nature.

You were gentle when you first embraced Dazai. You were understanding when he told you about his past. You were soft spoken when you told him that it's okay. You were kind, so very kind, that Dazai didn't bother to put up his walls around you anymore.

Dazai let himself fall. He wanted to hold you in his arms longer, wanted you to kiss his pain and anguish away, he wanted to love you. And he did.

That promise he made himself was long forgotten as he sighed contently, letting your fingers drag through his hair, gently fixing it up.

"Dazai? Are you falling asleep?" You giggle as you look at him through the mirror of your dresser.

Dazai blinked a few times before grinning at you. "Hmm... if I say yes, would you let me sleep in your bed tonight?"

You lightly smack his forehead and laugh. "If you meant that literally, then go ahead."

You were always so welcoming with Dazai, no, actually with all the people you meet. You treat them equally, always talking to them with a smile on your face. But Dazai likes to think that he's given special treatment from you. You are, after all, the closest person he's ever let in his life next to Odasaku.

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Being with you was easy. You calmed Dazai's heart, relaxed his mind, made him feel more human.

"You are the most beautiful person I've ever met," He had told you one day as you ate your lunch together. If it was anybody else, they'd assume that Dazai was just being his usual flirty self. But since it was you, you knew that those words held something deeper as you look in his brown orbs.

Being with Dazai was difficult, to say the least, but you kept up with him, determined to help him in any way you can. And it wasn't long before you found yourself falling for him too.

It was in the gentle way he held your hand, the glint in his eyes whenever he talks to you, the softness and vulnerability of his voice when he lets out his inner thoughts and nightmares.

You were always there, listening through each and every one of his stories. Even when he had called you up at three o'clock in the morning, voice hoarse and shaky as he apologized to you.

"Did you have another nightmare?" You ask softly and when Dazai says yes, you sit up on your bed and walk him through it. You always knew how to calm him down, knew the right words to say, and Dazai was thankful for that.

Dazai truly loved you and you loved him too.

That's why even if he knows he won't be able to hold you in his arms forever, he still takes the chance and asks you to be his.

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It feels like heaven. Dazai thought as he held you in his arms one cold winter night.

It was perfect. How your hand fit in his as he kissed your knuckles gently.

"You are so beautiful, my belladonna."

Those words never failed to make you blush, your heart skipping a beat as Dazai traces the features of your face with his finger.

"Stay with me like this forever, Dazai. I want to keep you close to me for as long as I can," You whisper these words as you close your eyes, feeling sleepy.

"Don't say that like you're going someplace else, my love. I will forever be by your side," Dazai replied as he kissed your forehead and wrapped the blanket closer to your bodies.

But maybe Dazai should have taken your words more seriously that night. Because a few weeks later, he will find himself regretting not holding onto you tighter.

Life was cruel, Dazai knew that from a young age. Things never go according to plan. One moment you're up in the clouds, and the next you're falling head first to the ground.

That's how Dazai felt today as he got a call from the hospital.

Leaving behind his work at the agency and rushing over to you in a panic, Dazai felt his world slowly crumble to pieces as he saw the state you were in.

"What happened?" Dazai asked the doctor as he stood still at the doorway of your room. Dazai's eyes were blank as he listened to the doctor explaining that you suddenly fainted in the middle of the street. That it was probably due to the strain in your heart, a terminal illness that Dazai had no idea you had.

But maybe he already knew. He saw you multiple times trying to take some medicine in secret, as if you were afraid of letting Dazai see. At one time he found a bottle of pills in your cabinet but he didn't dare ask what it was for.

It was silly, how you two were so alike, how you also masked your own pain by that beautiful smile of yours.

When the doctor had finished and left, Dazai approached your bed and sat by your side. Even with your eyes closed and your lips not the usual shade of pink, Dazai still found you beautiful and he simply stared at you, waiting for you to wake up.

When you come to, the first thing you see is the familiar tousle of Dazai’s hair as he laid his head on your hospital bed. You felt your words get caught up in your throat and your hand flinch.

“Belladonna?” Dazai called out groggily, having woken up by your movement.

Immediately, as you lock eyes with him, you felt your tears forming and falling at the corner of your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Was all you could say as you cried. You felt horrible, both physically and emotionally. All this time you had kept this a secret from him, from someone who has been so honest with you from the start. You apologized over and over again, not knowing what else to say.

Dazai hushed you by wiping your tears away. “What are you sorry for, my belladonna?”

You force the lump down your throat as you look up at the ceiling, suddenly unable to face Dazai head on.

“For everything,” You whisper. “I know I should have told you about this. But I just…”

Dazai waited for you to continue, staying silent as he brushed his thumb across your cheeks.

You shut your eyes and cry harder, your body shaking horribly. “I didn’t want to worry you, didn’t want you to see me like this. I look and feel so helpless.”

You clutch the sheets in your hands and take a shaky breath. “All my life they told me to just stay still, to not venture out in the world. I know I don’t have long to live and I planned to listen to them and close myself off. But that was until I met you.”

You find the courage to finally face Dazai again and your heart sank deeper as you see the blank look in his eyes. “I became selfish. Ever since I met you, I suddenly wanted to live. I wanted to experience everything life had to offer. I wanted to fall in love, and I’m so glad that I found that in you. And I don’t regret leaving my past behind and meeting you. But…”

You reach up and hold Dazai’s cheek and that’s when you saw the familiar pain cross his eyes. “The only regret that I have now is that I put you in this position once again.”

Dazai knew what you meant and he couldn’t help the deep sigh that escapes his lips. Closing his eyes, he leans into your touch and says, “Can’t you stay with me for a little longer, Y/N?”

It was the first time in a long while that he called you by your name and it hurt so bad how sad his tone was when saying it.

“I honestly don’t know Dazai,” You admit you aren’t sure how longer you can stay with him, how longer you can live. And as you helplessly lay on the bed and hold Dazai’s hand in yours tightly, you couldn’t help but pray to all the gods to give you a little bit more time.

Life was indeed cruel and it left a bitter taste in Dazai’s mouth as he stared out the window of your shared apartment. There were a lot of things left unsaid between you two but one thing was for certain, you really didn’t want Dazai to see the pain you were hiding inside.

You only wanted him to see the good things, the beautiful things. Wanted him to enjoy life and continue on his journey. But how was he supposed to do that now? He wanted to be angry, wanted to scream at the universe for kicking him down like this over and over again, but he can’t bring himself to. He couldn’t hate you. No. Not you.

Because you were beautiful.

From the moment he first saw you, he knew how gorgeous you were from inside and out.

You were beautiful.

Every time you said you loved him with that sparkle in your eyes. Every time you called his name in that sweet voice of yours. Every time you kissed and wrapped your arms around him.

You were beautiful.

Even as you saw all the ugliness of life, you still managed to smile.

You were beautiful.

Even as you said you were sorry, with tears staining your cheeks.

You were beautiful.

Even as you said your final good bye when you thought Dazai was sound asleep by your side.

Everything about you was beautiful, and deep down, Dazai was glad he found you. He was thankful that you guided him to the light. He was happy he got to spend a significant time with you.

But no matter how beautiful your time spent with him was, he still couldn’t help but clench his fist in anger. Why did you have to leave me too?

It was a question Dazai always asked but he never found an answer. Again, for the second time in his life, someone so dear slipped away from his hands.

Sometimes he wanted to end it as well, to fall into the hands of death. But he was suddenly afraid to push through it. He was afraid to forget you, to never see you again even as he closes his eyes. He was scared to lose his precious memories of you.

Because all of it was beautiful in his eyes.

And now as he lays in bed, he doesn’t know what hurts and haunts him more; the nightmares of his past life, or the constant dreams he has of you and your beautiful smile.