#put me in a yearn off with vessel and i’m sure to lose

[thisantithesis]

when sleep token said “i can see you in my fate” and “i’m a winged insect, you’re a funeral pyre” and “yet in reverse you are all my symmetry, a parallel i would lay my life on” and “so if your wings won’t find you heaven i will bring it down like and ancient bygone” and “i know for the last time, you will not be mine, so give me the night” and “i’m caught up in her design and how it connects to mine” and “i was more than just a body in your passenger seat, and you were more than just somebody i was destined to meet” and.

[pikapikabishes]

Light of My Life

DESCRIPTION: CHARACTERS ARE NOT MINE, THEY BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTFUL OWNERS. ONLY THING THAT IS MINE IS THE PLOT

Summary: Kirishima and Y/n realize their love for each other after years of yearning

Warnings: slight nudity, some cursing, tooth-rotting fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two years.

Kirishima has been in love with you… for two whole years. Ever since he met you on the first day they had started as first years in UA. When you stood up for your new friends against the angry blonde pomeranian that is Kasuki Bakugo, then for some reason apologized for it. You were just the epitome of beauty, both inside and out, and benevolence, a fiery spark in your eye that indicates the strong will and fight that you have.

And the way you handle yourself in combat during that first training exercise with All Might? Kirishima swears that the existence of Cupid must be real because he was pretty sure it must’ve been incredibly abnormal with how fast he had fallen for you. You fought like some kind of battle goddess. And with your quirk, you might as well be.

You called your quirk “Celestial Light,” meaning you manipulate sun-, moon-, and starlight to your will. He’s seen you use the sunlight as powerful beams, to which you secretly admitted to him later that you got that move from Pokemon, forge weapons out of either light, and can now weave yourself a dazzling pair of wings along with armor as your ultimate move.

And while all these features, plus with just how stunningly beautiful you are; with your soft, shiny (h/c) hair, your (e/c) eyes that seem to make the stars in the sky lose their sparkle, those plump, soft-looking lips that stretch out into that dazzling smile that proudly shows off your pearly whites. What really reeled in his attention was all the little quirks you have.

The way you twirl a lock of your hair when you’re deep in thought; the way you chew on that kissable, plump lower lip of yours and your nose scrunches in the cutest way he’s ever seen, when you’re stuck on a difficult problem or when you don’t understand said problem; the way you always pluck out the tomatoes from your salad; how you always save your dessert for last so that, according to you, the delicious taste lingers on your tongue long after you’ve eaten it, or how you’re quick to offer some of your said dessert when a friend seems upset or sad about something; or the way you lightly sway your hips while you’re cooking to a song that’s either sounding from your phone or ringing in your head, at times humming to the tune playing, and how you tend to hum to what seems to be a pleasant daydream, if the soft smile on your face is anything to go by; as well as how you always, always make hot chocolate late at night when you have problems sleeping and how utterly adorable you look as you fight to stay awake as he fondly watches from around the corner during the times he himself has gown downstairs for something to drink as you sigh so contently when you take that first sip before clumsily making your way back up to your room. Especially when you still continue to argue with Kasuki to this day on how he treats Midoriya even though he’s mellowed a bit, Kirishima can’t help but find you so utterly adorable when your 5’7” is all up in Kasuki’s 6’5” personal space. It’s like watching a cute golden retriever puppy going up against a big bad (pomeranian) wolf.

Man, he could just go on and on. And he can go on and on and on about how hopelessly in love with you he is. Which he was subconsciously doing right now with his group of friends as he watched you happily interact with your best friend Mina and the other girls, as they undoubtedly plan their “girl’s night” tonight. Kirishima gave out another sigh, which earned him a hard smack on the back of his head within the next second.

“Ow!” Kirishima’s hand shot to the spot the angry pomeranian he calls his best friend had smacked him. He turned a questioning look over at the seething blonde next to him, looking at the bulging vein that looks ready to pop on his forehead. “What the hell was that for, Bakubro?!”

“That is the fucking twelveth time you’ve fucking sighed like that in the last 20 minutes, and I swear to fuck if I have to hear another fucking comment on how ‘beautiful’ Lamp is, Imma blow your ass all the way to Timbuktu,” Bakugou angrily spat out.

Of course, the threat of getting his ass handed to him rolled off him like water on a swan’s back. In the back of his mind, Kirishima laughed at how his friend was just all bark as he knew Bakugou wouldn’t actually beat him up that bad… probably.

Kirishima blinked, “Wait, what?”

“Yeah, bro,” Denki butted in, looking slightly annoyed as well. “You’ve been going on about ‘(L/n)’s hair looks great today’, ‘(L/n) looks so cute with her nose scrunched up when she chews her food’, ‘(L/n) looks so good in her uniform today.’ Like bro, you say she looks great in her uniform everyday, which I won’t argue, she do be looking mighty fine in a school uniform,” Denki trailed off as he leaned back in his seat as he stared at the girl in question, looking suspiciously like he’s trying to get a better view of her ass.

At that realization, Kirishima glared at the pervy, knockoff pikachu and kicked his shin hard.

Denki yelped, high-pitched and whiny as he brought up his leg, tendly rubbing the spot that was kicked. “Oooww, dude! What the hell?”

“Don’t look at her like that,” Kirishima growled, eyes glaring daggers.

Denki puts his arms up in surrender, cowarding before his suddenly intimidating friend. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry, I won’t stare at your girl again!”

Blood quickly rushed to the red-head’s cheeks, painting them a rosy color. “Wha- She’s not my girl!”

“You wouldn’t be able to tell with the way you look at her with that lovey-dovey expression on your face and how you follow her around like a lost puppy,” Sero intervened, casually leaned back in his seat with his hands behind his head, the straw from his drink dangling from his lips.

“Yeah what he said,” Denki agreed, still tenderly rubbing his injured leg.

“That’s not-” Kirishima tripped over his words. “We’re just hanging out! I do the same thing with you guys!”

“Yeah. but if ya compare how much time you spend with us vs. (L/n), you’re practically non-existent in our group hangouts,” Sero laughed at his friend’s red face that is one shade off from blending into his hair.

“Guys, com’on. I- I just-” Kirishima was waving his hands, trying to think of something to say.

“Quite making fucking stupid-ass excuses,” Bakugou butted in. “Do you like Lamp or not?” Kirishima nodded hesitantly before glancing back over to your table as if nervous that you would hear this conversation even when you were like 4 tables away in this noisy cafeteria. “Then be a fucking man, or some shit, and fucking tell her already before I pop a goddamn blood vessel from all your fucking lovey dovey shit and whinning!”

Kirishima blinked thinking about his best friend’s words. After a moment, Kirishima gave the pomeranian his usual bright grin that could blind anyone who witness, hence why Denki and Sero simutaniously brought out sunglasses and place them high on their noses, and Bakugou’s squinting. Standing up suddenly, he declared, “You’re absolutely right! I have to man up and tell her how I feel!”

The commotion of Kirishima’s declaration turned around all the heads in the cafeteria, causing the red head’s cheeks to heat up again as he became fully aware of all the pairs of eyes on his 6’4” self. After giving a hasty apology, Kirishima plops back down, leaning on the table and covering his eyes with his big hands. Unknown to him, a pair of disheartened (e/c) orbs glanced at the embarrassed red-head with a sadden longing lingering in them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re staring at him again,” Mina, your number one best friend, noted in a singsong voice, popping another french fry in her mouth.

“What? Staring at who?” You questioned, immediately picking at your side salad, suddenly having lost interest in eating.

“Oh com’on. I saw you looking at Kirishima again.” Mina nudged you with her elbow. “Why don’t you just tell him already?”

You looked at her in confusion. “Tell him what?”

“That you’re completely and hopelessly in love with him,” she gave off a teasing lovey-dovey sigh.

Heat rushed into your cheeks. “I-...” You stuttered, going back to jabbing at your salad. “I don’t know what your talking about.”

“Oh, please gurl,” Mina scoffed. “It’s so obvious, it’s kinda painful watching. Why don’t you go talk to him?”

“What do you mean? We talk everyday, we’re best friends just like you and me,” You defended. “Besides,” You absentmindedly twirl a lock of your hair around your finger. “I doubt he’d be into someone like me. I mean, I’m not all that special.”

“Are you kidding? You’re freaking gorgeous, how could he not love you?” Mina asked.

“I just feel like, I don’t know, maybe I’m too plain for him?”

Mina rolled her dark eyes before grabbing your shoulders, and turned you around towards the other girls sitting with them.

“Gals,” she called, turning all five heads. She slung an arm over your shoulder and pointed at you. “Smash or pass?”

They all simultaneously replied, “Smash.”

“See? You are not just a plain, ol’ girl. You’re beautiful, and you’re kind, and fun. Why wouldn’t he like you?” Mina glanced at the Kirishima, watching as Kaminari and Sero poking fun at the gentle giant. She may or may not know Kirishima’s feelings about you, having picked them up a while ago.

Your blushed increased. “I don’t know. He’s just so sweet, and determined, and I just… Sometimes I feel like he’s way out of my league,” you sighed solemnly.

Mina hummed, thinking. “Well that’s too bad then. I think you guys would make such a cute couple.”

“That’s nice of you to say,” you thanked, a bittersweet smile resting on your lips. “But you heard him just now. He already has someone he likes.” You sighed, “Looks like I’m too late.”

Mina decided then and there, she was going to be both of your wingman, determined to get her two friends together by this weekend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking down into the common room later after school, with a nice blouse and a pair of skinny jeans with a purse hanging from your shoulder, you come to see the BakuSquad hanging on the couches.

“Alright Mina, I’m ready. Let’s go,” You happily say, waiting for her on the side of the sofa she and Kirishima were lounging on.

Kirishima looked up from his phone, seeing you all dressed up causing a faint blush to rise. “You look good! Where are you going?”

His compliment on your outfit causing heat to rise in your cheeks as well. “Um, Mina and I were going to head to the mall for snacks and clothes.”

“Oooh yeah about that,” Mina started, smiling sheepishly. “I can’t go with you.”

Your face fell a bit. “What? Why?”

“Some personal business came up, But hey! Why doesn’t Kirishima here go with you?” Mina nudged the giant next to her with her elbow.

Kirishima bounced onto his feet in excitement at the thought of you two alone together. “Yeah, let’s go!”

“You don’t have to Kiri, I can go by myself-”

“Nonsense!” Mina interjected. “Kirishima was just telling me he wasn’t doing anything today. Plus you’re going to be needing both an extra pair of hands and eyes if your going to be shopping for clothes.”

You looked ay her in confusion. “I mean, I suppose. But if he doesn’t want-”

“I do!” he shouted, interrupting you into a shocked silence. Clearing his throat, he continued, “Ahem, I mean… I do. I don’t mind tagging along.”

“Alright,” You smiled, your cheeks still feeling warm and butterflies swarming your stomach at being alone with your crush. “If you’re ready, we can go now.”

“Uh,” Kirishima patted his pockets. “Give me a minute to go get my keys and wallet,” he said, before full on sprinting up the staircase towards his room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Here we are,” Kirishima announced, turning off the engine to his beat-up, red pickup truck.

“Thanks for coming along with me Kiri,” you smiled at him.

“It’s no problem, really. I like spending time with you.” His smile was tender and genuine.

“That’s sweet of you. I like spending time with you too,” you said, reaching for the handle of the door.

“Nuh-uh, what do you think you’re doing?” He gently grabbed your forearm, effectively stopping you from opening the door.

You quirked an eyebrow in confusion. “Opening the door to get out??”

“Nope, not while I’m around. A lady shouldn’t have to open a door when a man is with her. I’ve told you this before,” He shakes his head in mock disappointment, not effectively hiding the upturn of the corner of his mouth. “What’s wrong with you?”

He steps out of the truck, quickly rounding the truck and reaching your door to open it. “Seriously Kiri, it’s not that big of a deal,” you said, stepping out of the truck and onto the asphalt, watching as Kirishima locked the truck before walking side by side to the giant building.

“What kind of man would I be if I didn’t open the door for you,” Kirishima asked rhetorically.

You giggled at his catchphrase, or rather catchword. As you two entered the mall, you mindlessly glanced at the stores around you. “So you’re going to buy new clothes?

“Yeah, and some snacks, too, for Girl’s Night tonight.”

“Any reason for buying more clothes?”

“Um…” You started blushing again. “It’s kinda embarrassing.”

“Oh, I get it. You don’t have to share if you don’t have to,” Kirishima reassured, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

“Thanks,” you smiled gratefully.

You two continue on your way towards the clothing stores, when a shout suddenly sounded throughout the mall and people screamed. You both looked at each other before rushing over. There was a commotion, a young man had a kid hostage in front of the store.

“Give me my son back! Please!” A woman screamed, sounding terrified.

“Mommy!” the boy cried.

“A-Alright, listen up!” the young man stuttered, his whole body trembling as he held up his fingers to the boy’s temple in a gun position. “N-nobody try anything or else this boy is gonna get it!” Everyone stayed still as they nervously listened to his commands. “Everyone here h-hand over whatever money y-you have on you, including you register boy, or else the boy’s not going to be breathing anymore!”

“Robbery, one hostage,” you whispered to Kirishima next to you.

“And his quirk still unknown. We should be cautious about this, otherwise the kid’s gonna get hurt,” Kirishima added.

“Okay so what should we do?”

“How about I sneak up behind him while you get the kid away from him,” Kirishima suggests

“Fine with me,” you agree, going over to a potted plant as to hide your purse. “Let’s go.”

Gathering a small bit of sunlight in your palm, you directed the beam to the robber’s face, not powerful to cause permanent damage to him, but enough to temporarily blind him long enough for you to get the frightened boi away from him.

As soon as the robber yelped in surprise and closing his eyes, you sprinted forward and shoved the blinded robber away from the boy to which he fell against Kirishima who held him in a restraining hold while you jumped back with the little boy in your arms to put a bit more distance just in case. As the robber struggled again Kirishima, who didn’t even budge with all the squirming, you checked over the crying boy for any signs of injury.

Just as you were about to let the boy run over to his mother, the criminal being held by the hulking tank that is Kirishima, pressed his finger gun to Kirishima’s face and a loud bang sounded as he apparently shot at the redhead, a bullet of fire hitting him in the cheek. On instinct, Kirishima activated his quirk to protect himself, but since it was so sudden, he let of of the robber out of surprise. Once he was free, the robber aimed at the boy in front of you and fired.

Without hesitation, you threw yourself over the boy to protect him. Since you handle sunlight, you can take a bit of heat, unfortunately though… your clothes couldn’t. Next thing you knew, your blouse was catching on fire. You tried patting the fire out but obviously it wasn’t working so without thinking, you ripped off your shirt and threw it on the ground, leaving you in just your red, lacy bralette.

A thud sounded from behind you, making you turn around battle-readied, only to see Kirishima with his harden fist hanging in the air and the robber out cold on the ground. “Oh,” you said, “guess you handled that.”

Kirishima gave out a nervous chuckle, a red hue on his cheeks as he looked away. “Uh, yeah…”

A sudden shiver ran down your spine, reminding you of your current state. You let out a shriek, your cheeks now on equal footing with your crush’s red hair. You tried your best to cover yourself, your cheeks getting hotter by the second. Your embarrassment growing as well, as the stupid teenage boys your age started cat whisling at you.

Kirishima couldn’t help his red cheeks when he saw you in your bra, turning his head as to respect your privacy, but as soon as he heard the cat calls, he snapped his head towards the source; a group is rowdy guys his age looking over your general direction.

Wait… were they whistling at you?!

Glancing at you he catches how you were squirming and red in the cheeks, uncomfortable.

Nope. Not happening.

Without much thought, he took off his t-shirt he was wearing, leaving him bare, and went over to hand it to you. “Here, you can use this to cover up,” he said, the heat not entirely have left his cheeks as he trained his eyes solely on your sparkling, (e/c) eyes.

“What about you?” You asked, timidly reaching the shirt.

“No worries. Let’s just cover you up first,” he smiled reassuringly.

Smiling back gratefully, you took the offered clothing and went about putting it on. Meanwhile the group of teens were practically drooling over your figure. That is until Kirishima stepped into their view, arms across his chest with a glare starring daggers and a warning directing at them, his huge hulking frame completely blocking you from their hungry eyes. Being shirtless allowed Kirishima’s hardcore muscles to be displayed in all of their glory. It seems the red head’s goal was working, considering the group all froze up at the sight of his 6’4” muscular build, with not an ounce of fat visible. It took a moment for one of them to unfreeze and quietly urge his companions to move along before the frightening stranger decided to beat them to a pulp.

Satisfied with their scampering away with their tails between their legs, Kirishima turns back around only to be met with your figure practically drowning in his t-shirt. The heat made a complete comeback to his cheeks.You looked so adorable standing there in his clothes.

Before long, the mall’s security made their way over where they took their statements and the unconscious robber and bid the two young heroes their grattitudes before moving along to wait for the police to come and take the criminal away. Once they left, the boy and his mother walked up to you two to give their thanks as well, with the boy excitedly asking for Red Riot’s and (h/n)’s autograph which you both happily gave him, along with a picture being taken. Once the boy was satisfied and proclaiming to never washing his shirt, he and his mother left.

Kirishima turned to you. “You sure you’re okay? You’re not hurt or anything?”

You gave him a reassuring smile as you walked over to the planter in which you had hid your purse. “I’m fine. The fire didn’t burn me or anything, but I might have a bruise from where it hit me. Nothing that I can’t handle.”

“Good, good,” Kirishima nervously rubbed the back of his head.

When you secured your purse over your shoulder, you grabbed his free hand and walked in the direction of the clothing store you usually shopped at. “C’mon. The sooner we get my clothes shopping started, the sooner you can have your shirt back.” Though you didn;t really want to part with his shirt. It was completely engulfing you in his scent, something musky and manly that made you swoon.

“Aw, you don’t like seeing me shirtless?” Kirishima teased.

Hell yes, you thought to yourself. You’d have to be blind or gay to not drool over his washboard abs and bulging biceps, which you were desperately trying not to do. You didn’t want to come off as a pervert but it was hard to ignore the butterflies furiously partying around in your stomach and the intense heat coming off your cheeks.

“Yes,” you whispered, hoping to God that he didn’t hear you. He did, of course, which gave both his ego and the heat in his cheeks a nice boost. Before he could comment on it, you started, “Here we are. This is where I like to buy my clothes.”

Looking up, Kirishima saw the both of you walking towards (insert favorite clothing store).

~~~~~

Mina, having been standing far enough away from you two so as not to be noticed, grinned and squealed and she happily clapped her hands and did a little happy dance. She had followed you two as to figure out how to get you and Kirishima close, but lo and behold a robber with a fire type quirk came along, albeit she hadn’t really planned for this part to happen at all, but when your shirt was set ablaze and you tore it off in a panic, she had the perfect plan.

She had walked up to the group of teens earlier all flirty and bribed them to go over and give you plently of unwanted attention for some extra cash. Though judging by their snarky appearance, she had bet it wouldn’t be too much trouble for them to start drooling all over you.

Mina did feel a bit bad, exposing you like that and making you uncomfortable, but for the sake of the personal, covert mission she assigned herself to get her two friends together, she knew it would be well worth it. Plus you had the gentle, red-headed giant with you to comfort you in your time of distress so she didn’t let it hold her back too much.

Having the group return a bit shaken from the encounter with Kirishima, one of them shakily asked the pinkette, “W-Was that good enough?”

Giving them her signature grin, Mina handed over a few yen bills as agreed upon. “Yup! Thanks for your help guys!”

Muttering a ‘no problem’, the males continued along their way, counting the money they’ve earned, undoubtedly planning on spending it on drinks or food. Mina glanced back at you two as you lead Kirishima to your favorite store, the giant red-head’s posture now screaming protectiveness over your dignity. She was well assured that her plan to give you guys he right nudge was a success, knowing that Kirishima was planning on confessing his love to you today from her little conversation with the other guys of the Bakusquad.

Satisfied with her work, the cheerful pinkette skipped her way to her favorite store as to buy the required snacks for their girl’s night that evening, confident that you wouldn’t be returning until much later that night after your date.

~~~~~

Right away, as soon as you two entered the store, you stop by a rack of clothes, excitedly sifting through the hanging clothes.

“Sooo…” Kirishima started. “Is there a specific reason why you’re getting new clothes? Or are you just getting them for the hell of it?” He asked, mindlessly lifting up a blouse, examining it and then putting it back, and that’s when he looked up. Immediately, he felt a sweat drop sliding down the side of his face at all the hungry, drooling ladies in the store shamelessly staring at his bare torso.

“Um, I guess you can say a bit of both,” you responded, checking out a blouse that seems to have caught your attention. “I accidentally burned some of my blouses when using my quirk.”

“How’d you managed that?” Kirishima found what appears to be a pink sleeping shirt that said ‘Donut Worry Be Happy’ with sprinkles all over and a donut in the middle. “Hey this is cute,” Kirishima said, showing you the shirt. He was silently begging you to get it, he knew you’d be adorable in it and he was desperate to see it in person.

You looked over to see the shirt your best friend was holding up. “Oh my god!” You squealed excitedly, taking the shirt from him. “I love this! I’m so getting this. Great find, Kiri!”

Once you turned around, Kirishima silently fist pumped in victory. “Well, anyway. You know how a magnifying glass can concentrate the sunlight and you can start fires with it? Well my quirk is kinda like that. And because of that, there has been more than one occasion where I accidentally burnt my clothes, as much I hate to admit it.”

“Oh, okay I get it,” Kirishima said.

After finding a couple more outfits, you dragged your very shirtless, very hot best friend to the dressing rooms to get his opinion on the outfits you chose. As you showed off the outfits you chose, to which Kirishima said that each one looked great on you.

You guys were started getting goofier, as time went on, you two acted as if you were in a fashion show, with you strutting around in a new outfit each time striking a new pose every minute, even going as far as fixing your hair in messy styles for each one, be it a quick, braid, bun, or ponytail.

As Kirishima patiently waited for you to step out with the next shirt, you called out. “Oh my god, I think this one is my favorite so far! I think this would great with heels though. Hey Kiri?”

“Yeah?”

“You see those heels I was eyeying earlier before we came to here?”

Looking to his left where the wall was covered with shelves and shelves of shoe boxes plus the ones on display, he sees the pair you were talking about. “The white heels, right?” He asked, already walking over to them.

“Yeah, can you see if they have (insert shoe size)?”

Mumbling the shoe size you gave him as he scanned the boxes, he spots the only size that you requested. “You are in luck, milady. There is only one left.”

“Thank you very much, my good sir,” you giggled reaching your hand out for the shoes without revealing the shirt you were wearing. “I’ll be but a moment,” you impersonated a proper tone hand and shoes disappearing behind the closed curtain again.

While Kirishima waiting idly (and trying his best to ignore the hungry stares still directed at him), he decided to ask for some dating intel in the form of small talk. “So hey, random question. Have you ever thought about dating?” Yeah, so not obvious. Way to go, Kirishima.

You paused your struggle with the second heel strap. “What kind of question is that? Of course I have.”

“Oh,” Kirishima simply said. “So, you have a crush on anyone?”

Staying in your position in front of the full-length mirror, you thought about it. Obviously, you had a big fat crush on the male just on the other side of the curtain, but was this his way of finding out if you liked anyone for himself or just out of curiosity? “Yeah… there is someone I really like, but I doubt he’s noticed me at all.”

“Oh? What’s he like?” Kirishima asked, nervous as all hell that you liked someone else.

“Well, he has spiky hair.. Gorgeous red eyes that shine like rubies… he looks intimidating as hell when you first see him, but actually nice once you get to know him… and he’s really handsome, too,” you blushed, lightly hugging yourself as you pictured Kirishima in your head.

Said male had gone quiet, his heart dropping all the way down into his stomach, the weight feeling like a bowling ball. Wait… Do… Do you have a crush on Bakugou?! “Oh… um… he-he sounds like a lucky guy,” Kirishima responded, trying to keep the tremor and disappointment out of his voice.

Dammit, am I too late? Kirishima cursed his reluctance at approaching you with his feelings.

“W-...What about you? Do you like someone?” You asked, heart hammering in your chest in anticipation to his answer.

“Yes,” he said, causing your heart to stop.

“What’s she like? She’s gotta be amazing for you to like her,” you tried to keep your voice cheery, happy that your best friend had found someone, but a whimper threatened to spill past your lips as tears gathered against your lower lashes, your bottom lip wobbly.

“She’s so amazing. She’s strong, and kind, and sweet, and she’s probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing,” Kirishima gushed, a dreamy look on his face. “She does (insert hobby 1), and (insert hobby 2), and she’s so good at it. And she can make some really delicious food, though she swears up and down the road that she’s not that great of a cook, but I can’t help but love every single bite of it.”

“That’s… that’s great,” you said, unable to keep out the tear-filled tone out of your voice.

“Wait, are you crying?!” Kirishima panicked.

You sniffled, hugging yourself tighter, “No.”

Kirishima stayed quiet for a moment. And deciding to be a man and take that leap of faith, he continued, “Though, I admit, she is a little dense.”

That caught you off guard. “Huh?”

“I mean, you would think she’d at least notice a little bit how much time I spend with her,” He said, laughing out loud, partly out of nerves. “Or how no matter the hour during the night, if she came to my dorm crying, I would drop everything to make her feel better, and will do the stupidest shit just to see her smile and laugh. Or how she is literally the sunshine of my life, and with her quirk, its just makes it even more true.”

Your eyes widened. Was he talking about someone with a quirk similar to yours? No, it couldn’t be, there was no possible way he was talking about you, it must be some huge coincidence.

“Or how whenever we go stargazing with each other at night, I have never looked up at the sky, not even once, before. No star, or constellations that she makes up could ever compare to the stars in her (e/c) eyes. (Y/N)... you’re just so perfect, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be good enough for you.”

You whipped around so fast, you actually tripped over the clothes that were scattered at your feet, causing you to curse as you fell, hitting you head against the wall of the dressing room with a rather loud thud as you fell right on your bottom.

Hearing the loud, resonating thud, Kirishima panicked and went into hero mode, rushing to pull back the curtain to see if you were harmed or not. Quickly finding you on the floor, tenderly rubbing the back of your head, your expression pinched with slight pain.

“Hey, are you okay?!” Kirishima worried, kneeling down to your level with his arms outstretched as if to catch you should you fall over all of a sudden.

“Yeah, just banged my ass and head is all,” you groaned, still tenderly rubbing the sore spot, sitting up more.

“Here, let me check your head.” Before you could protest that you were perfectly fine, Kirishima gently cradled your head and tenderly pushed your head forward so he could check out the damage that had been done. You instantly shut your mouth, your cheeks blooming into a rosy color at the close proximity, smelling his natural scent coming from his bare skin. “Well, you have a slight bump but that’s about it,” he concluded, letting your head go. “But I don’t know if you’ll end up with a concussion or not.”

You shoke your head, saying in a soft voice, “I doubt it. I’ve hit my head harder on missions.”

Once he was sure enough that you would be alright, it was then that he noticed what you were wearing and he couldn’t help but blush. It was a one sleeved crop top that showed a moderate amount of clevage, the end of it reaching above your cute belly button, and it was such a nice shade of red, almost reminding him of his hair color.

“That’s uh… That’s a really nice blouse,” he complimented, suddenly flustered at how beautiful you looked along with the blouse you were currently wearing looking up at him through your hair which was hanging down, eyes big and doe like.

Completely blanking on the compliment thrown your way, you continued to stare at him in awe as you processed what he had said earlier. “…Did you mean what you said?”

“Oh, uh,” his hand shot up to rub his neck nerviously, chuckling. “Well yeah, of course. It would be pretty unmanly if I lied. And… it would be pretty unmanly for me to not tell you how I feel about you.”

“H-How you feel…?” Kirishima prayed that that sparkle in your (e/c) eyes was hope as you subconsciously leaned closer to him in anticipation.

“I’m just- I’m gonna just come out and say it,” Kirishima said, more to himself though as to encourage himself. Taking a deep breath, reached out and ever so gently held your cheek as though you were fragile and can break at any moment, and looked into those sparkling (e/c) eyes he loved so much. “I really, really like you (Y/n). For a long time now.”

Tears gathered in your eyes as a brilliantly bright smile spread across your beautiful face, rivaling the sun. “Really?”

“Yes really,” Kirishima confirmed, your bright smile bringing forth a bright grin of his own.

“Am I dreaming?” You giggled nervously, hoping to god that he wasn’t pranking you or anything. It all seemed so surreal and like a dream. “You actually like me?”

Kirishima laughed. “I’ll even go as far as say I love you.”

You leaned forward until your forehead bumped with his hard chest, clenching your fists against him. “This isn’t a dream…” you whispered happily. “You actually like me.”

“And I would be just as happy if you will have me as your man,” Kirishima muttered into your hair, bringing his arms around you in a hug.

“Yes!” You didn’t hesitate in accepting his proposal. You squealed in delight as Kirishima squeezed you tight in his arms, rocking the both of you back and forth.

Pulling away, you were blinded by his bright grin. “Let’s go to the movies!”

“What, right now?” You giggled, wiping at your tears.

“Yes! We can do a movie and dinner date! I know the food court isn’t probably the most appealing, but I want to take you on a date right now, especially in that amazing outfit you have on now,” Kirishima rambled, his excitement reminding you of a hyper puppy dog.

“Okay, let’s do it!” You couldn’t help but share his excitement, completely forgetting the fact that you had girl’s night later that evening and the reason you came to the mall was to grab snacks for it.

Right away, Kirishima helped you pick up the clothes that you were going to buy, in the process, finding and putting on his own shirt, insisting that you keep the shirt and wedge heels on for you last minute date. The both of you were practically jumping at the seams with excitement as you went up to the register. Being the gentleman that he is, Kirishima tried insisting that he pay for the clothes and heels for you, but you argued that you were perfectly capable on paying for them on your own, the two of you continued going back and forth as the cashier looked between you two as you argued who was paying as she tried her best not to laugh.

Ultimately you allowed to pay for the shirt you were currently wearing, the sleep shirt he found and the heels, but no more. As you paid the cashier for all the other clothes, you laughed at Kirishima’s grumbling, reaching up to kiss away his pout. After paying, you two had decided to stop by the theaters in the mall to choose and pay for a movie, and this time you let Kirishima pay. As you awaited for the time of the movie, you walked around sharing a pretzel as a snack as you continue doing a bit more shopping, with Kirishima also buying you a stuffed animal because what kind of man would he be if he didn’t buy you a plushie as a memento of your first date?

On your way towards the food court, you could hear Kirishima humming My Only Sunshine with a satisfied expression on his face. “Are you really humming that?” You laughed.

Kirishima grinned down at you, lacing his fingers with yours and swinging your arms. “I can’t help it if you’re the light of my life.”

[bokutosworld]

in the stars | m. atsumu

character/pairing: single parent/dad atsumu with son

wc: 1.5k words, angst, longing for loved one. warning/s: slight mention of death.

summary: in which atsumu helps his only son find comfort in the stars where he believes your soul lives on.

--

in the dead of the night, atsumu awoke with tears streaming down his face. confused and startled, he shakily brings a hand to wipe his cheeks. just when he was finally getting peace on his evenings, the nightmares that plagued his days and disturbed his slumbers has returned to haunt him.

he scrambles to get the blanket off of his body, standing up and slipping on his fuzzy slippers. he remains seated on the side of the bed, a hand clutches his chest as he feels his heart being twisted and burning with pain - a sensation which he hasn't felt in a long time.

the clock on his bedside table reads 1:15 am and he tries to catch his breath. when he woke up, he felt as if he has been running a marathon, sprinting to get to the finish line. but in his case, wouldn't it more accurate to say that he has been running away from agony? he reaches for the glass of water that he usually places in his table, only to find it empty.

after what seemed like an eternity sitting in darkness, he gets up and walks toward the door. he turns the knob carefully, as if he would wake someone up if he makes even the slightest of noise. the first step he takes in the hallway is silent. with cautious footsteps, he stalks quietly towards the kitchen to refill his drink.

atsumu places the glass on the counter and picks up a pitcher of water from the refrigerator. he figures a cold drink would be enough to wake his senses up and pull him from his perturbed state. a drink became two until he felt relieved once again. he washes the glass on the sink and places it carefully on the racks to dry.

he retreats back to his room to try to return to sleep. however, he stops his tracks in the carpeted floor of the living room, catching sight of a silhouette at the balcony. the sliding door has been opened, the curtains were being swept away by the winter winds, and the faint moonlight reveals the only family he has left.

'takeru, what are you doing here,' the said boy jumps in surprise at the voice of his father. he shyly looks up at him then brings his gaze back at the skies. atsumu takes note of the way his son shivers at the harsh cold and takes off his sweater to cover him. 'have you been awake for long?'

the boy nods, tugging the sweater closer to his body for warmth. 'i dreamt of mama,' takeru confesses. suddenly, atsumu feels chills go up his body, rendering him frozen in his place as he listens to his five year-old son. 'we were in our vacation house with uncle osamu's family and mama was happy. papa was in my dream too, then,' takeru stops midway his story. he turns to atsumu, stretching his arms to reach his waist.

atsumu goes down on his knees, bringing takeru to a hug and comforting him in the best way he can. 'shh, takeru, it's okay, i'm here. you don't have to tell me your dream if you can't,' he feels the child shaking his head. his tiny fists grips his father's shirt, and atsumu feels his clothing turn wet with tears. 'no, no, buddy, don't cry.'

but his voice betrays him, almost choking on his own tears that are threatening to spill from his eyes. his mind wanders to what his wife would do in these moments. you were always the perceptive one, you knew how to brighten up the mood in the room, you understood emotions better than anyone. it always left atsumu speechless whenever you would work your magic and comfort people's dampened spirits.

it was one of the things he loved about you. atsumu believes that his marriage with you was the best thing to happen in his life. you were the greatest gift given by the gods above, every day spent with you felt like he was in heaven - as if he had his own paradise and you were his angel.

and when you got pregnant with takeru, atsumu was lifted up in cloud nine. the birth of his son was a momentous event, but truth be told, he was scared. he thought he could not perform his duties as a father, given his busy schedules and jet-setter lifestyle due to volleyball. but you assured him that you would never leave his side. it was you who gave him the confidence that he would be the best dad to takeru, and he believed that with all his heart.

he never imagined the day would come when you would no longer be by his side. the first time he heard of the tragic news, he felt the world around him lose its brightness, the colors disappeared and everything he saw was grey. to say he was heartbroken was an understatement, you were his light, and without you, he felt his life held no more meaning and purpose. he closed himself off from his friends and family, even his own son - leaving the boy to osamu's care.

for weeks, he seemed as though his soul has been sucked from him, leaving him to be a lifeless, empty vessel. but one day, he was brought to life by the tender touch and the soft whimpers of takeru. the child has crawled his way to atsumu's lap and in that moment, he broke down.

looking at takeru brought him pain and comfort. the little boy resembled his mama so much that it only hurt atsumu as it reminded him of the person he had lost. but he also came to the realization that takeru was the only person you have left behind. the little boy had no else but him to rely on, and since that day, atsumu swore to pick himself up. remembering your words, he swore to live for his son's sake, and even though he was sure he could not fill the gap your absence have left, he promised that he would become the best parent for takeru.

'i miss her too,' he hears the boy's sniffles subside. 'mama also visited me in my dreams tonight. she was telling me that you have become a big boy now,' atsumu smiles as he says these words, not knowing where they were coming from. the child lifts his head and looks at his papa, 'did you tell her that i miss her?'

atsumu's heart breaks at the thought that takeru was waking up each day, searching for you and yearning for your presence. he brings the boy to his arms, carrying him with ease as they stand to look at the clouds. he presses a kiss to takeru's temple, 'mama knows you miss her, every day. she also wants me to tell you that she is always looking over you from afar.'

the boy is puzzled, his eyebrows furrowing and atsumu remembers the way you would also do the same action whenever you confused. takeru was truly a mama's boy, he thought. 'what do you mean, papa?'

he grins and extends an arm to the skies, 'raise your head, takeru. the stars look lovely tonight, don't they?' the child excitedly nods, and atsumu remembers the moments he would go stargazing with his wife.

'hey, tsum-tsum. did you know that when a star dies, it releases all of its light and sends it out in the darkness,' you circle your arms exaggeratedly to make your point. 'and there it shines for a very long time.' you peek at atsumu who was lying down the grass by your side. he laughs at your antics, pulling you down to his chest. you can hear the erratic beating of his heart.

'you do love your astronomy, don't you?' atsumu says, amazed at your wide knowledge of the universe, the moon, and everything beyond. you chuckle, 'of course! it's always phenomenal to know that there's something greater than us and somehow, it puts me at ease, knowing that we're all under the same vast sky, staring at the same celestial bodies. it makes me feel connected with you even when we're apart.'

it was under those stars and skies that atsumu proposed to you. it was under those stars and skies that your smile shone the brightest and atsumu likened it to the twinkling of the stars on that special night. 'i'm so lucky to have the brightest star by my side,' atsumu declared before sealing your engagement with a kiss under the moonlight.

'look for the star that's shining the brightest tonight,' atsumu guides his son to locate your star. a few minutes and takeru finally spots it, 'over there, papa! it's round and white and sparkling.' he laughs at his son's vivid description.

'that's mama's star, takeru. she's watching over us from above and no matter where you look at, you can find her dazzling in the skies, as if calling out to you and telling you that she will never leave your side,' atsumu comforts his son who visibly relaxes and smiles at the thought. 'so whenever you miss mama, just look up and her star will be there.'

atsumu knows this because, for as long as he can remember, the skies has been the source of his solace and whenever he looks up, he feels your love radiating from the stars.

[alice-dont-break]

don’t mind me i.. forgot to post this on tumblr and need it for the masterlist lol

home | janthony one shot

cw: anxiety

"Are you still up?"

Jasmine sent the text with little hope of getting a response before morning. It was nearly 3am and she was sure her boyfriend would be fast asleep by now. She didn't even know why she sent it, really, but for the tiny sliver of hope it provided. The thought of his voice, so gentle and easy to listen to, soothed the burn behind her eyes, but she still needed more. She hated to admit it, but she needed him.

"Yeah, course I'm sure," she'd said bravely, when Anthony had asked if she was good to stay on her own tonight. It was really just a matter of time before the couple moved in together, as they spent nearly every single night in Jasmine's apartment, but it was a matter of convenience that day. Anthony was working late at a studio right by his own place, and had to be back first thing in the morning, so they thought it would be easier this way. At least for Jasmine, that was proving not to be the case.

About half way through the afternoon was when she started to notice the constriction in her chest. It wasn't taking over, but rather subtly lingering as she went about her day. If she dwelled on it for too long, her mind would start to scramble, so she just did her best to ignore it. When she'd finally gotten home from set around midnight, she thought maybe her adrenaline had gotten her through the brunt of it, but when she first saw her tired eyes in the mirror it all came rushing back.

Frozen in place, she couldn't help but watch herself unravel. First was the gloss of tears coating her eyes. She was simply overwhelmed, as her eyes leaked all the pent up stress that could no longer fit inside her jumbled mind. Then came the flush to her cheeks, a hot crimson from the embarrassment that such a stupid comment could set her off like this. Her director hadn't meant to upset her, it's just those words... no matter where she is when she hears them, she's transported back to a memory she can't bare to relive. And then finally came the hardening edge of her jawline, drawn rigid by the tension from her teeth grinding together.

"Fuck," she whimpered, realizing not only that she could no longer evade the situation storming her mind, but also that she'd now have to weather it alone.

She tried to splash some cool water on her face, hoping it would have the same effect as a cool cloth Anthony would always soothe her with, but that just made her feel like she she was crying more as the water mixed with her tears. The frustration made her lose her battle against the sob she'd been holding back, and she finally gasped for air through quivering lips. She couldn't bare to look at her pained face anymore, so she trudged back into the bedroom towards the drawer that Anthony had taken over as his own. After pealing off the leggings and t-shirt that clung to her sweat-glazed skin, she stepped into a pair of his boxers and un-balled one of his t-shirts. When she pulled it over her head, she paused half way so her nose was still enveloped by the familiarly-scented fabric. She let that ounce of comfort wash over her senses for just a moment before allowing the shirt to fall into place. She wrapped herself in a tight hug, using the same gentle but snug pressure he would use, so the worn out cotton would rub her skin and bring her closer to the embrace she now yearned for.

Arms still clutching their opposite sides, Jasmine shuffled over to the bed. She climbed over to Anthony's side, and leaned back against the headboard with her knees to her chest, breaking her hug with herself only to pull her legs in tighter. Her shoulder muscles were pulled taut as she tried to take up less and less space on the bed, hoping eventually she'd shrink to be so tiny that she just disappeared, along with the whirring in her mind that just wouldn't shut up. At this point she was grounded, she knew she was safe, but the feeling that her body was still in the midst of its fight or flight response was coursing through her relentlessly.

It was in that tightly bound position that she spent the next few hours picking at her nails, whimpering at the sound of every car that dove by, and wishing she could just fall the hell asleep. She found she'd reached her last straw when the ice maker started up and left her white-knuckling the sheets and gasping shallow breaths; she was too tired to fight through this alone.

Texting felt easier than calling because maybe she'd find that she wasn't waking him up. Maybe she wasn't being a nuisance, and he would just see the notification pop up so she wouldn't have to call and disturb his rest. Or maybe, it would simply buy her some time to talk herself out of doing something so annoying. The option she hadn't considered, was that just seconds later her phone would ring.

"Ant?" Her voice crackled through her tired throat, coming out barely above a whisper.

"Jas, are you okay? What's going on?"

The familiar voice that she'd been craving to hear all day put a lump in Jasmine's throat. She tried to hold it in to conceal the pathetic state she'd found herself in, but all her walls were in pieces on the floor. Her resolve was gone, and a sob fell forward to muffle the apologies she tried to string together.

"Hey, hey, Jas, you've got nothing to be sorry for, okay? D'you want me to come over?" Anthony's voice was so steady that the sounds alone began to quiet the whirring around Jasmine's mind, but she still felt ridden with guilt.

"I'm sorry for waking you," she mumbled with a little more clarity this time.

"No, uh, you didn't babe, it's totally fine," he wobbled, "I was, I just rolled over and saw your name pop up. But anyway, can I come, Jas? You don't sound too good."

"I, I'm okay, I think I just wanna..." her watery voice trailed off as she looking up to the ceiling for strength, but found her vision still obscured by tears. Finally, she relented to the pull on her chest and whimpered "please come, but please don't hang up on me."

Anthony felt his own eyes starting to sting from the fragility in the voice he heard, but regardless he had already pulled on a pair of shoes and descended the stairs to his car by the time he had to respond. "Of course, sweetheart, I'm on my way but I'll be here the whole time."

Jasmine's sigh of relief was nearly involuntary, as her chest suddenly opened just a touch at the promise of comfort. Her lungs still ached and her eyes still burned, but the cries of frustration ceased as there was an end in sight. Her qualms about whether she should have called, or whether Anthony would resent her for being an annoyance were all washed away by the reassurances he cooed through the phone. He was proud of her for calling, hates that she was suffering on her own, and would always be happy to show up for her, or so he said. Maybe Jasmine couldn't fully convince herself these were complete truths, but for now it didn't matter. For now, she'd just focus on soaking up the loving energy his tender voice conveyed. She'd consume the last of her strength by just listening, letting herself drift through the moments in a trance until her rescue would arrive.

"Hey Jas? The car you're about to hear is mine, okay? I'm just pulling up," Anthony said a little firmer than his prior musings. He knew the way she flinched at every noise, and wanted to ensure she knew she didn't have to fear this one.

"Y-you're here?"

"Yeah, babe," he smiled weakly as he turned off his ignition, "coming up the stairs right now. Got my key, so I'll come right up. I've got you now, my love."

Jasmine still clutched the sheets for a second when she heard the front door's lock click, but sighed in shame and caught her breath by the time she heard the thumping of Anthony's jog up the stairs. "It's me babe," he assured one last time through the phone, before stepping up to the threshold of her bedroom door and hanging up the phone.

His eyes found Jasmine in the same position she'd been in all night, with her knees tight to her chest on his side of the bed. She was swimming in his boxers and t-shirt as the fabric draped off her shoulder, making her look even tinier and more defenseless alone in the bed meant for two. He knew from the wavering in her voice on the phone that she'd be in bad shape, but the tear streaks down here face and splotches on her shirt told him it was worse than he'd imagined. With a quiet exhale of sympathy, he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, sweetheart," he whispered, resting his hand on her ankle. His thumb started drawing soothing circles around her skin, so he could give her a small physical assurance without overcrowding her. He was wary to give her more physical touch before he knew what they were up against, though all he wanted to do was scoop her into his arms.

Jasmine had held his worried gaze for a moment, but then dropped to hide some of the pain that her angry blood vessels would reveal. She watched her fingers mindlessly twist at the frayed hem of the t-shirt she wore while wearing the close watch of her concerned boyfriend.

"Jas, I'm here now, okay? Grabbed you a water bottle from my car.. think you could try to take a sip?"

He held out the bottle, and Jasmine reluctantly reached forward to accept it while keeping her gaze downcast. Her sweaty fingers fumbled with the plastic cap for a moment, before squeezing her eyes shut and huffing in a quiet frustration. Anthony tightened his grip on her ankle and rubbed with a little more pressure in his thumb to try to bring her back to level.

"Can I come a bit closer and give you a hand baby?" He offered softly.

"Please," she whimpered.

Anthony shuffled carefully up the bed, taking the water bottle in one hand and placing the other over her badly trembling one. After flicking off the cap, he squeezed her hand and held the bottle up to her lips, tilting it just slightly so she could take a small sip. He put the bottle aside, then cradled her jaw with his fingers so his thumb could brush away the water that had spilled down her chin. She hadn't even noticed the water on her face, as she was so deep inside her own mind, but what she did notice was Anthony taking care of every little thing. She could focus on coming back to him, because he would handle the rest.

As he held her face, their eyes met and he greeted her with an unimposing smile. Too defeated to reciprocate, her eyes fell shut as she squeezed out the tears making her eyes swell. The first drop to escape landed in her eyelashes, lodging themselves in and making them feel thick and heavy. But with Anthony's close eye, he just knew even before she did that it would drive her crazy. Before her breath could even catch, and before she could nearly poke her eye out by trying to clear it herself with her lack of stability, Anthony used the edge of his finger to wick away the droplet. He pressed the softest of kisses to that same eyelid as the crease between her brows smoothed out, and a soft trill slipped from her lips.

The sound of contentment eased a little of the tension that had built from the worry in Anthony's own chest, as he moved his lips higher on her forehead. The sheen of sweat that covered the skin there left a salty taste in his mouth, though it slowly dissipated as he just rested there, letting his lengthened kiss melt against her. His fingers weaved up through her curls to hold her secure, and began to gently comb through her tangles as he pulled back with a gentle smile.

"Jazzy, do you think I could help you to the bathroom and get you a little more comfy?" He spoke with a mellow timbre, aligned with the gentle way that the back of his hand danced over her cheek. She raised her eyes to look at him, and though she kept her lips tightly pressed together, she gave him a small nod of agreement. "Thank you, love," he said before pressing a kiss to her cheek where his hand had just been, "let's go."

He kept a hand over hers while he stood up beside the bed so she could stay grounded to his presence, then reached for her other one as well. He squeezed her hands tightly, and gave her an encouraging smile, as she shuffled towards the edge of the bed to meet him. When she pushed up on her trembling legs, he saw her eyes lose their focus as she started to buckle, but a swift hand around her back caught her and brought her into his chest.

"Hey, there you go," he cooed with his chin tucking her safely into place, "I've got you, just lean on me." With one hand holding her upright by the waist, and one tightly grasping hers, he guided them towards the bathroom before hoisting her up onto the counter. He stood between her legs, and raised both hands to brush her hair back, clearing space on her forehead to pepper a series of slow kisses.

When Anthony stepped back, he placed a hand on her thigh and kept it there while he pulled a scrunchie from a drawer to tend to her hair. He knew how she hated the way her curls would stick to the sweat on her neck, so he used his fingers to comb her hair up and back, before securing it in a bun at the top of her head. He knew exactly three loops of this scrunchie would keep her hair tightly in place without pulling so hard as to give her a headache. Now that the back of her neck was freed, he put a hand back on her thigh, and stepped aside to run a facecloth under cool water. With his most gentle touch, he swiped the cloth across the back of her neck, slipping it just under the neckline of the t-shirt she wore, to erase the last of the discomfort she felt there, and he felt her shoulders slump a little further forward.

"How's that babe? A little more comfy?" He set aside the cloth as his thumb rubbed half circles over her kneecap, and she nodded. He tried another little smile, hoping to find a little bit of life in her eyes, but all she could muster was to drop her head forward so it rested against his shoulder. His hand found its way to the nape of her neck, as he started to work on pulling her back out of her haze. "Sweetheart, can you tell me if there's anything else you need right now?"

Jasmine chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment as she scanned his eyes, searching for the homely sparkle she'd need to hold onto as she climbed out of the hole she'd buried herself in. "Can we lay down and just hold me?"

Her words were breathy and shaky, but he met them with a more assured smile as his fingers cupped her jaw and his thumb brushed over the cracks in her lips. "There's that sweet voice I've been missing," he murmured, before nodding and taking both her hands. Before he could pull her off the counter though, her hands slipped from his and she wrapped them around his neck with her legs following around his waist. He grinned against her shoulder, as his endearingly needy girlfriend seemed to be on her way back. Lifting her up without another word, he padded back to the bed and set her down in the middle, knowing there was no way she'd be staying on her own side that night.

As soon as he tried to stand up straight and step around the bed, Jasmine started to whine and reach out for his hand. "Alright alright," he chuckled softly, opting to climb over her instead and keep contact with her the whole time. She was coming back to him, but they both knew that he was her tether; if she let go, she'd fall.

As soon as he extended his legs, Jasmine was rolling over to fold herself around his middle. Her head rested on his chest, her leg was thrown over his, and her hand was tugging at his arm so he would wrap it around her back. "Babe, can you give me a sec to get us under the covers maybe?"

"Don't like the sheets right now," she whispered, "and just want you."

He smiled weakly into her curls between kisses to the top of her head, and focused on getting her settled as close as possible to his warmth. Of course he was worried about all this anxiety wreaking havoc in her mind, but for now he was just happy that she could communicate what she needed, and that he could give her all that and more. "Okay love, maybe just a blanket?"

She grumbled a little bit, but he felt her cheek nuzzling his chest with a nod, so he used his feet to kick the blanket folded at the end of the bed up to his hands. Nothing could make him unwrap Jasmine from his tight embrace, so he used just one hand to clumsily place the blanket over them, smiling as she grabbed the edge and pulled it up to her ears. She was fully enveloped in a safe space they'd created for her, and she felt certain that no one or nothing could break through the walls.

"Jas, sweetheart, we don't have to sleep yet if you're not ready, okay? Can stay up, or talk about it, or anything like that," he said softly, matching the gentle brushes of his fingers through her curls.

"I'm sorry for waking you up," she blurted out, "I don't want you to think I can't spend a single night without you when you want that because -"

"You didn't," he interjected, "couldn't sleep either. Didn't like having an empty pillow beside me."

Jasmine tilted her chin up to read for honesty across Anthony's face, and he responded with a little lopsided smile. "Really?"

"Yep, only answered so quick because I was already on my phone. Was looking at pictures of us and stuff to try to feel closer to you. Just missed you and could kinda sense something was up from your texts, I think... I dunno," he muttered, voice trailing off as the embarrassment of his words caught up with him. "Anyway, how about sleep, sweetheart?"

She tilted her chin a little further, and strained her neck up so her lips could reach his. She pressed them together in a careful, slow kiss to acknowledge everything he said, then tucked herself back into the space between his chin and shoulder as a tiny smile appeared in response to the comfort she felt sneaking back in. "M'tired, just don't know if my mind will let me sleep."

He pressed another kiss to the crown of her head, then nuzzled her closer. "Okay babe, do you wanna try one of the counting exercises your therapist gave ya? You said those help some, right?"

"No, don't wanna focus on anything that isn't you." She felt the warmth of embarrassment in her cheeks that matched his own, but she didn't care. He'd seen her at her lowest now, and all he gave her was the most gentle and careful and attentive love she could hope for. She could give him her whole heart and mind on a platter now, because she trusted him to protect them even better than she could herself.

"Well I've got an idea then," he said, muffled by her curls pressing into his lips as his kisses were continuing lazily. He shifted her up slightly, with an arm still tightly around her waist while the other secured her head close to his lips. He leaned in to press the most tender kiss to the crown of her head, not letting his lips linger for too long but making sure she felt the conviction. "Close your eyes sweetheart, and count."

Her lips parted a little bit as her eyes met his, filled with so much love she could have burst. He was just so wonderfully attentive and loving, that all she could do was smile when he leaned in for a second kiss. "Two," she murmured as her eyes fluttered shut.

Between each kiss, Anthony took a deep breath, hoping she could feel the rhythm from his chest and use it to guide her own breathing. "S-six," she breathed out, with a yawn that crinkled up her nose. By "thirteen", the kisses were long enough to melt away any lingering tension in her forehead, and by "twenty", her words were just breaths. Finally, her thoughts and worries had dissolved into the calmness that washed over her with each kiss. Her only focus was the soft caress of Anthony's lips until she had no focus at all. Just peaceful rest and a chance for her mind to heal from the raid of the past few hours.

Anthony knew that she was out cold by his thirtieth kiss or so, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He too found solace and tranquility in the steady and repeating kisses, so much so that he lulled himself into his own rest. When they both lay with eyes closed, breath leaden, and minds quiet, his lips were still resting against her. This was where they belonged; returning to an apartment would never compare to the real homecoming of his lips finding her forehead.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Would you be willing to do the NSFW alphabet with Cassian?

A/N: Gladly! Just as a reminder REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! These take just as much time as drabbles to finish and the tags hate me.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Cassian is downright clingy after sex. All he wants to do is hold you close and bury his head in your neck. He’s not letting you go for anything.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves your hands. He loves how they feel against his skin whether your placing a gentle touch on his cheek or digging your nails into his back. He loves how your fingers intertwine with his. It keeps him grounded in the here and now with you.

Admittedly there isn’t much about his body that Cassian really likes. It’s more of a vessel to get his head from room to room. But you’ve been making an effort to show him how much you love his body. He is starting to grow an appreciation for his jaw line, considering how many kisses you seem to lay on it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Cassian loves nothing more than cumming in your cunt and your cunt exclusively. Even if you bring him right to the edge with your mouth, he’ll pull you away and all but beg to let him finish deep inside your pussy. He stands no chance of pulling out, he gets to lost in the feeling to pull away. And if you cum before him? He’s following you seconds after.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

You and Cassian once had sex on top of the holo table in command center.

He got back late from a mission and you were the only one still on the comms.  He hadn’t seen you in a month. So, rather than wait until your shift ended, he took you right on the table.  It was one of the most intense experience of your life. Neither of you can look at that table directly ever again.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Cassian has had a few partners over the years, but not as many as you’d think. Touch in general is borderline sacred so having enough trust in someone to sleep with them is kind of a big deal for Cassian. He’s been around enough to have experience, though.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Honestly, basically any position where he can feel your whole body pressed against his. Whether it’s your chest against his, or him bent over your back, he wants to feel every part of you. He wants to bury his face in your skin while his hands cling to you like a life line.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

That’s going to be a no in the humor department. 9/10 he’s using sex as a way to tell you things he can’t always properly put into words: I love you, I’ve missed you, I need you, I can’t lose you. You’re the one more likely to initiate playful sex and if that’s the case, he’s just there to tease you with a dry smile on his face.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s actually got a good amount of hair down below and doesn’t really trim it. He keeps everything clean if he can, but not much beyond that.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it until the end of time: CASSIAN ANDOR IS THE MOST TENDER LOVER IN THE STAR WARS FRANCHISE!!! He makes love to you every time you have sex. Whether it’s slow and sensual or fast and rough it’s all about showing you how he feels about you. It’s emotional and intense and utterly intimate.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Cassian jacks off as a form of stress release every now and then. Some times in his bunk, but most of the time in the cabin of his ship. It gives him some much needed privacy without much chance of getting interrupted. There’s some pleasure it in, but it’s almost of way to sort out his frustrations on his hand rather than you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Hair pulling.  Seriously, as soon as he’s getting anywhere near close all you have to do is rake your fingers through his hair, give it a hard tug and he’s gone.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Your bunk or his. Like I said, his goal is to make love to you every time you’re together, so having a place where he knows he can take his time is important. It’s a safe place far away from the problems of the Rebellion where he can get lost in you. A close second is his ship’s cabin.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

I’m not sure how else to phrase this except, whenever he sees you.  You guys are constantly coming and going, sometimes on missions together but often not.  It can be a few days or a few weeks between seeing each other.  But nothing really get him going like seeing you again safe and sound.  The first thing he wants to do after you give your reports is get you to his bunk as soon as possible.

A close second is anytime he sees you kick Imperial ass.  We all saw how he looked at Jyn.  You know I’m right.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Any foreplay involving you guys in Imperial uniforms.  Seriously, Cassian is fighting space Nazis, having you in a space Nazi uniform is going to do the exact opposite of turning him on.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

It really is a toss up for him between given and receiving.  He’ll never turn down a blow job and is always happy to get his mouth inbetween your legs.  

He’s also, really good at eating you out; lots of small praises and moaning vibrations on your clit.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He leans toward the slow and sensual, but it really depends on how he’s feeling.  There are times he can’t contain how much he needs you, tearing at your clothes and pulling you close to him like it’s the only thing keeping him sane.  Other times it’s like he wants to memorize every inch of your skin as he listens in reverence to the noises you make.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies usually happen if you haven’t seen each other in a long time. As soon as Cassian gives his report, he grabs you by the hand and pulls you into the first empty room or cargo hold he can find and takes you against the wall. It’s fast and messy, but lacks none of the feeling. It’s also just a taste of what you’ll get later that night.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Probably, but you guys are both going to have to do all the proper research before hand.  He’s honestly pretty happy with what you’re doing now, but if you want to try new things, it doesn’t take much convincing.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

The longer Cassian and you have been away from each other, the longer he seems able to go.  If you guys haven’t seen each other in a few days, it’s one fast one against the wall followed by a more thorough love making session involving at least two orgasms on your part.

If he hasn’t seen you in weeks to a month? Well, let’s just say you had to call in sick and nobody saw either of you for almost a full twenty-four hours.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

For himself, Cassian is more acquainted with his hand.  Time away from base added to the possibility of having to leave at a moment’s notice means buying one hasn’t been on his priority list.

For the pair of you, you have a vibrator you like to bring in on occasion, but not much else.  Same rules apply to you, being constantly on the move doesn’t give you a chance to build a collection.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Not so much in the, “I’m having fun torturing you sense”.  More in the, “I want to make this last as long as possible so I don’t have to leave the feeling of your body against mine” variety.  He teases, but it’s more desperate than playful.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Years of thin walls have taught him to be quiet; however, he can’t help but moan your name against your skin mixed in with a serious of praises and cursed grunts towards the end.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He doesn’t tell you he loves you for a really long time. 

You know he does, through his actions and all the ways he tries to make you happy.  But, it takes a while for him to find the words.  He’s truly afraid that if he says those three little words out loud, it will somehow jinx everything and the galaxy will conspire to take you away from him like everyone else in his life.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Perfectly average girth with slightly above average length (6-7 inches).   But, you don’t need anything more than that.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s not so much a yearning for sex as a yearning for you.  Sex is just a way to show you how he feels about you.  He’s not a man of words, he’s a man of action.  And sometimes the best way he knows to show you how much he misses you, or loves you, or needs you is to make love to you. So, with the knowledge that either of you can die the next time you’re out of each other’s sight, it’s pretty often.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Give him a few minutes to make sure you’re tucked against him with no plans on leaving and he’s out like a light.  Seriously, nothing get him to actually sleep faster than a night of love making followed by you snuggled up against him.  Nothing but pleasant dreams and darkness can follow that.

[chocolateheart]

My life is gone

Title: My life is gone

Word count: 2518

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader (friendship)

Summary: You lost him. Now you have to deal with pain, heartbreak and memories.

Warnings: angst, death, dead body, losing someone, losing faith and hope, suicidal thoughts, dealing with loss, a hint of depression, heartbreak, a mention of eating disorders and sleeping issues, in general - mental disorders caused by losing someone.

A/N: This is my one shot for @deanwanddamons 1k followers celebration. My prompt was "Though my heart is broken, it keeps breaking everyday." but I couldn't stop myself from using some other lyrics of the song. They are written in italics. I’m far away from being the angst queen or an amazing writer for that matter but I did my best! I hope you’ll like it :)

A/N: Thank you to my lovely beta and friend @winchest09 for taking a moment to look at this and assuring me that posting this won't be an insult on the angst. Love you, girl!

A/N: @talesmaniac89 thank you so so so much for those gorgeous dividers!

You didn’t know how long you’ve been sitting there. Maybe a few hours, maybe a few days. You didn’t really care. Nothing mattered anymore. 

Your body went numb from not moving, your chest was barely rising as you almost completely forgot that you have to breathe. Wet trails on your cheeks from streams of tears, eyes red and pinching, your eyelids heavy from a pulsing headache. You were feeling sick and you were sure that if you’d puke, it would burn your sore throat; you were screaming loud as indescribable pain was rending your chest. 

Your knees hurt after hours of being dug into the ground. Your spine was begging to be straightened, your cold skin was yelling for even a little bit of warmth. The clothes you were wearing got soaked and heavy from rain, wet hair stuck to your face and neck; thunder from another upcoming storm shook the earth. But you didn’t listen. The only sound you wanted to hear was his voice as that you would listen to; you would go to hell if this voice asked you to. 

Opening your eyes you knew what you were going to see; but it didn’t stop you. You blindly believed that it’s just some stupid nightmare and when you wake up he would smile at you and calm you down. But it didn’t happen. 

Dean’s cold body lay on the mudded ground, wet and dirty. Head limply turned to the side, eyes closed, lips parted slightly. You stared at his chest for a few agonizingly long seconds, waiting for it to rise up; for him to inhale. A pained grimace appeared on your face when you, once again, realised it wouldn’t happen; he won’t breathe. 

You lifted your head up to the dark sky and yelled from deep within your lungs as another painful wave went through your body. You punched the ground, kneeling next to him, splashing the mud; furious, mad and broken. Then you crowled to him weakly, taking his inert head in your hands, crying and whining. You brushed away his wet hair from his face, leaving dirty lines from your fingers. 

“Dean,” you choked yet again and rubbed your thumbs on his cheekbones. He felt so cold and hard, almost like it wasn’t him. “Baby, please,” you whimpered. “Talk to me…open your eyes.” You waited with stupid hope but again, nothing happened. Crying loudly you pulled him to your chest and hugged tight.

Those eyes. Those full of life, green orbs that would shimmer every time he saw you. They would shine in the sunlight, they were glistening in the evening when you sat together in front of the fireplace, darkening under the cover of the night when the two of you were making love, confessing how much you meant to each other. Green crystals which were the most valuable stones for you. Those eyes will never smile at you again.

Drowning in agony you started shaking, you felt your every cell shattering, falling into million pieces. You were bleeding inside, your heart was screaming, burning from anguish. Your hands fisted his jacket, you clawed to him like you were planning to never let go, like it was supposed to protect you from losing yourself completely. 

Protect you from darkness. 

Suddenly you got stiff. You pulled away, put his head back on the ground and touched his cheek. You tilted your head, your eyes flicking over those familiar features. Gold freckles shedded on his face, light scruff running along his jawline, long lashes you were so jealous of. He was your treasure. Your anchor, your shelter, your home and your safe harbor. He gave you strength, power, a will to wake up every morning, to fight with evil. He gave a sense to your life. 

Who were you without that?

An empty vessel ready to give up. 

Staring at his lifeless figure you turned off your brain; you turned off your whole system. You didn’t cry, scream, you closed yourself on this torture that was waiting to hit you. The only one thing you let get to you was Dean. Memories flashed in front of your eyes; every moment with him, bad or good, every time you shared your thoughts, dreams and plans, you held each other, protected the other; saving lifes, hunting things. 

You have been writing your book since you were twelve and he saved your life. Now you couldn’t save him. Was this supposed to be the last chapter?

“Y/N,” Sam’s broken voice was barely audible in the hum of a rainstorm you hadn’t noticed started. “It’s time.”

Your lower lip wobbled, you were not able to hold back tears and pained whimper as realisation of what comes next hit you. You bent down, closed your eyes and placed a small kiss on his forehead, putting your hand on his heart. For the last time you prayed to feel even the slightest beat under your fingers.

Nothing.

8 months later

"Hey…"

You jerked, detached from the dark world you had drowned in again when Sam spoke, leaning against the door frame.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to scare you,” you looked at him, noticing his worried expression. It wasn’t the first time he found you like this; sitting numbly on your bed, staring into the space. 

“That’s okay,” you said, sending him a small smile which he gave back.

“I left some pizza for you.” Just now you noticed the plate with a few pieces of italian food on it being offered to you by Sam .

Patting the bed you invited him to sit down next to you. You took the plate and stared at the food. You needed the fuel, you knew that; your stomach was sucking itself, grumbling every so often. You had lost a lot of weight, your skin was hanging on bones, your muscles were weak; but you didn’t care. Finding enough will to do something with yourself was impossible. Because, what was the point?

Your point of living was dead. And the only one reason you were still breathing, holding to this life with last strands, was this giant right in front of you. 

“Y/N, please,” Sam whispered and you looked up at him. His sad eyes were begging you to come back. “You have to eat.” You huffed a sad laugh.

“I can’t, Sam.” Putting the plate on the sheets you pulled your knees to the chest. “I can’t swallow anything.”

“It’s not good for you, Y/N/N.”

His voice was so sad and weak that for a second you felt like a bitch for doing this to him. But then you noticed the dark spots under his eyes, attenuate face, sharp cheekbones and glassy, heavy brown orbs. You weren’t the only broken person in this bunker. Not thinking much, you pulled him into a hug, wrapping your hands around his neck as he closed you in his. You both needed this as only you two understood the pain. 

“I’m worrying about you,” he murmured and you smiled.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He squeezed you harder but you pulled away. “But…” he looked at you, cupping your cheeks, checking your face; you knew it was pale and your eyes bloody. “Sam, there is no point to worry.”

“Y/N,” he started the defense, shaking his head.

“Listen to me,” you cut him off and looked in his eyes, feeling your own starting to tear up. “I’m dead, Sammy.” 

He flinched, because of both what you said and how you called him; nobody had used this nickname since that night.

“Stop talking like that,” he warned you but you just smiled.

“You miss him too, I know that. And I know that you suffer, but…” you searched for proper words. “Sam, I lost… that night took away everything from me. In two months it’ll be a year and every day I am losing another piece of what’s left inside.” You touched your chest. “I can’t sleep and when I do, I have nightmares. After I wake up, the fact that he’s not here kicks me again and again. I see him everywhere, he never leaves my mind and it hurts. So much of him is left behind. There are moments I even expect him to walk into the room. But he won’t.” You shook your head and sniffed, feeling tears on your cheeks. 

“But it doesn’t mean you have to be a zombie, Y/N.”

“It does, Sam… Because he was my life…” you felt another wave of pain slowly spreading all over you. “And my life is gone.”

There were not many reasons for you to get out of your room. Sometimes you were so hungry it was unbearable, so you would visit the kitchen, steal some fruit or some leftovers. Bathroom was a must, so was a bar full of whiskey; you were torturing yourself with its taste as it reminded you of Dean but it was also an escape.

You didn’t see the outside world for half a year, every 24 hours of the last six months you spent in the bunker. You weren’t sure if you remembered how to hunt. Sam reduced the amount of cases, he didn’t have much more strength than you. At the beginning you were going through books, papers and the internet, making calls, catching witches and every monster that could know something; just to find a way to bring Dean back. All you got was a collection of dead ends, so you quit and locked yourself in your room. You couldn’t do it anymore, not without him. 

After weeks of crying, screaming, falling apart and fighting with nightmares; yearning for him got so intense that only feeling him would stop you from suicide. So one night, in the middle of the panic attack, you rushed out of your room, stumbling and shaking. Inhaling shallowly, you hit his door before you opened it and dropped to your knees in his room. His scent surrounded you, deepening the wound in your heart but healing the longing at the same time. You struck the drawers, picked up his shirt and held it to your nose, inhaling deeply. That’s how Sam found you, clutching Dean’s shirt on the floor, crying silently. 

Since then you were doing this regularly, not sure why. You were floating around every place you ever walked and everywhere you talked. The Impala that stood unused since her owner didn’t come back. You could spend hours there, sitting in the corner of the passenger seat, staring at the place he used to sit in while you were driving down the road. His wide smile on his face while he sang along with old tapes...

The kitchen where you cooked together, the library table you occupied while cleaning weapons or doing research, or drinking. The map table you threw your bags on after coming back from hunt. Dean’s cave where hours of movies were watched and boxes of pizza were emptied. Your room, your bed where the two of you exchanged your love so many times you forgot the life before being with him. 

One day screaming and crying wasn’t enough. The burden was so heavy you needed to get this all out of you or you were sure the first bullet you’d shoot since that night will end your suffering. Finding a piece of paper and a pen you wrote down everything that what was biting you, addressing the letter to Dean. You didn’t finish it right away; from time to time you would add a new sentence or paragraph, writing letters that you’ll never send and he’ll never see. 

Every line was full of emotions, full of pain and memories. Feelings you wanted to reveal, all those words you wanted him to hear. Letters were your pain, tears were your dots. 

The agony went on and on, slowly killing you inside, leaving behind just a walking vessel. If not for Sam, you would have ended this a long time ago but he gave you this little, tiny kick to wake up the next day. But it didn’t mean the suffering was smaller. Actually, sometimes he made it worse. Watching Sam dealing with his brother's death, the death of the man who raised him, who was a home, a strength, a family - it was just another dagger stuck in your heart. Their bond was one of the most incredible, beautiful things you've seen in your life and now it was broken too. 

Finally, you even got to the point where you were laying on your bed, blankly staring at your phone. It didn’t make any sense and you knew it but you wanted to see his name on the screen so bad that your fingers started trembling. Entering any room in the bunker gave you this stupid, false hope he'd be there. You realised how this place was full of him, how wherever your eyes laid on, it reminded you of Dean. And just then you understood - no matter what you do or where you go, it will haunt you. The feeling of loss, of emptiness, of nonsense. The feeling of regret and guilt that you didn't save him, didn't bring him back. 

"I thought I was strong…" you muttered one day, sitting at the library table, bringing Sam's attention to you. He frowned and looked at you, slightly shaking his head. 

"What?" You tightened the grip on the mug with already cold tea inside and with the corner of your eye you noticed him standing up, then sitting on the chair right next to you. "Hey…" he put a hand on your thigh, assuring you it's okay to speak up.

"I thought I was strong, Sam. I thought I could deal with it, I was telling myself it's just a matter of time and it'll be okay, it'll be normal. Time heals the pain right?" you chuckled pitifully. "But…" you swallowed the lump in your throat. "But it's not better at all, Sammy," you whimpered and looked at him.

Tears in your eyes, worry and pain in his. You opened your mouth but before the right words came out, he managed to brush single drops away from your cheeks with his thumbs, giving you a sad smile. 

"Though my heart is broken… it keeps breaking everyday," you cried out and in a second Sam pulled you into his arms, closing in a tight hug. You clawed at his shirt and allowed yourself to ugly cry, wetting the material. He was shushing you, stroking your hair as you were shaking in his arms. "I can't… I can't take it anymore. I- I can't." 

"Shhh, Y/N… it's okay. We'll figure something out," he promised but you knew Sam himself had stopped believing in it. 

There was no more hope, no faith. You tried everything; there was no door left that you could try to walk through. It was the end. 

Your end. 

There was nothing left except the pain. And the only person who could take this pain away, was the one causing it.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it. Feel free to leave some feedback, every word from you is gold :) 

Tags: @deanwanddamons @katehuntington @jay-and-dean @winchest09 @talesmaniac89 @roonyxx @bunkerconfessions @akshi8278 @snffbeebee​

If you want to be on my tag list, shoot me in asks or DMs!

[poison--ivory]

Uninviting Cataclysm (Alastor x Reader) Chapter 4

Part 1: link

Part 2: link

Part 3: link

For the next few weeks of your relationship with Alastor went from being worried about your well being to having hope that your life wasn't just a masterpiece of disaster. Things were finally looking up for you. Throughout those few weeks you got closer to Al, Mimzy, and Husk. Mimzy took some time to warm up to you and gave you the occasional threat now and again. You came to the conclusion that she cared for Al in a way that an older sibling protected their younger sibling. You can kind of see from her stand point of some random bim coming about and being the object of his affection.

      You felt the same way when Issacs's girl erratically showed up one night. They both came home from hitting the town and getting liquored up. Mama was a wreck that night yelling and hitting Isaac with her small hands. Papa escorted the young lady to the guest room, deeming her not stout enough to carry herself back home. Ever since that night you saw the young couple in a dimmer light. Losing some respect for your elder twin in the process.

 Husk on the other hand warmed up to pretty fast. Every time Al brings you back to the club, Husk and yourself play a couple of card games, losers usually paid for lunch. Teaching you how to deal all the way to keeping a straight face. He's a nice guy altogether, crunchy on the exterior and soft on the interior. But, you estimated that Al didn't like you talking with Husk for too long. He even goes out of his way to break up any sort of  conversation if he sees you two getting too close.

But, the most valuable information you received these scarce weeks were from the man himself.

 Alastor, the radio man is very hands on with you especially your waist. He wraps his lanky arms around your petite waist and gives you a strong, short squeeze before cuddling next to you. The only problem is he has to initiate the touching and he gets pissed easily. Al got so irritated when you gave him a shocking hug from behind and gave you a stern lecture with a small pat on the behind. You figured he hated people touching him without permission. To prove this theory you tried holding his hand when the two of you were alone. He yanked that arm back so fast all you saw was a blur. It took you around thirty minutes to get him to calm himself down. He spent the rest of the day with his hands in his pockets whenever you came into the room.

  Your courtier would never take you to his house, but he would happily go to your home and chat with the family. You were quite perplexed that your papa liked him. He's the type of dad that gets mad if his little girl even has a crush on another boy. Yet, it didn't stop there, even your brother found him likable. You're very liberated that they all seem to get along, but you were a little disappointed that they weren't as protective as you would think. Nonetheless, you felt very fulfilled with your man that day.

  Going on small dates are pretty joyful considering Al knows how to keep the fun going. If you even look like you're bored or uninterested he makes either witted jokes or invades your personal space in an attempt to fluster you. On some nights if you're really lucky he does more than just kiss you goodnight.

      Next, you seem to notice whenever family is brought up he talks about his mother in a very bright light. But, he never talks about his father. You brought it up to him and he dismissively walked around the whole topic. So, you never brought it back up instead you got him to talk about his mom. Apparently he gets most of his personality from his mother, Abigail. She taught him how to make jambalaya, singing, his etiquette knowledge and that prize winning smile that adores his features. This guy brings up his mother with such admiration that makes you question it sometimes. It's not that you mind his banter, in fact you found it amusing to hear him talk so fondly about her. You won't lie about feeling a little jealous from their closeness.

He's definitely a Mama's Boy .

 The last details you noticed were the really late night hunting he does. That lean frame of his is covered in scratches and small bruises. He tells you that most of his scars come from deer or jagged tree branches. It didn't explain the scratch marks on his neck. He told you those marks on his neck are from your guys last intimate moment together and without questioning him you believed his word. You don't remember clawing his skin. You left it at that and took him inside to mend his sore muscles.

   Blood underneath his finger nails took you aback, when he took his gloves off. You offered to help clean them, but he was really reluctant to even let you stare at them. You just wanted to help, but he thought otherwise. He stared at you from the corner of his eye before giving you a loud laugh and a resounding 'No.'. Like everything else in your relationship you just let it go without any further question.

 You should've known better.

    Nearing the end of June, with most people trying to find efficient ways of keeping cool. You were inside a hot kitchen all day baking a whole batch of beignets for a special little boy. Joseph's last night here was today and you wanted to make it fantastic for him. So, you invited all his school friends, neighbors and some of Claire's friends. You were going to spend most of your hard earned money on his go away party, however Al stepped in to pay for most of the expenses. He even invited Mimzy and Husk for entertainment wise. That incident still gave you butterflies and a genuine smile on your face.

     The only thing you needed to do was powder the pastries and get ready for the night of fun. Sprinkling the canister of sugar powder upon the delightful treats. Setting aside the sugary French styled doughnuts with a covering, taking long strides to the staircase you made it to your room to gather a simple long sleeved dress. Then, managed to freshen up with a nice bath and some light makeup. Packing the beignets in a proper container and double checking the  security of the vessel. Alastor should be coming by to pick you up in his newly repaired car, but the person at the door was not your Al. But, your dear friend Husky. He adored a simple white button up dress shirt, black slacks with polished black dress shoes and pulled together with dark gray suspenders.

"Ya ready, doll?" Blowing the rest his gasper smoke into the night air, He leaned his arm out for you to take.

"Where's Al," Taking his arm with a worried look on your face. ",did something happen?" He waved his hand off into the distance before giving you a slightly direct answer.

"He had some last minute stuff he had to take care of." You both stepped in his dark boiler and sped off down the pathway. "Don't worry he'll make it back in time for the party. Fucker lectured me about being late and look at what he's doing now." He scoffed.

"Well, thank you. For taking me in his place, Husk. I really appreciate it." Flashing him your most sincere smiles. His cheeks flushed a modest hue of pink before he scowled. Grumbling a quiet ‘welcome’ before his gaze drifted towards the road. The path ahead grew bumpier by every turn down a lane leading through the thick woods. We scheduled for the party to be held near the bayou at mid evening. So, by the time the party starts the sun should be setting.

   Husk and you managed to keep conversation up with the occasional bits of quietness here or there. Talking to Husk is like talking to your other self. Sometimes you could say the most random shit and he’ll come back with a response that will put a smile to your face. He’s basically like your second big brother with a small(not at all) drinking problem.

“So, when are you getting this car repaired,” The boiler hitting a jagged rock before settling back in place. “Because this gal has seen better days and probably a near death in its future.” You murmured under your breath.

“Fucking inherited this piece of junk from my old man. Shitty old fucker couldn’t even buy me a new one.” A loud, deep growl came from his throat and through one arm off the wheel, “Bought himself a new car, while I’m struggling to get to work and back.” He scowled and gave a great sigh before stating he needed a drink.

“I’m pretty sure there’s going to be lots of liquor, especially from those old geezers.” You knew that Mrs. Claire and her friends would sit outside their houses at dusk drinking away on those rickety porches getting buzzed. You know this because your papa used to take you out and sat you down on the weathered wood while he got tipsy with his friends. One sundown you took a sip of a stray bottle they left unattended, you being a small child decided it would be experimental to drink the loopy juice. You took one sip and gagged, spitting saliva and finally throwing up. Mama was so pissed, and wouldn’t let him go drink for months.

“Good fucking need it.” He seemed to ease up a bit just by the mention of booze.

“Why are you so wound up tonight anyway.” Raising an eyebrow over in his direction.

“Alastor didn’t tell me until last minute that I had to pick you up and I was already three-fourths of the way to the party.” His fingers gripped his hair, then slowly combed through it. “ Fucking asshole wasn’t even remorseful.” Adding in a quiet jackass in his blur of curses.

“What exactly did he say he was doing tonight, if you don’t mind me asking.” Conscious of his body language you observed his hands tighten on the steering wheel, his posture straighten for just a  second then went back to hunching. Husk’s Adams apple bobbed down and up, you wanted to chalk it up to him yearning for his alcohol. “It’s not something dangerous right?”

“Nah, it’s nothing dangerous he just had to run some errands and I guess he had more on his platter than expected.” He reassured you, his hand rubbed the top of your hands.

“I know he’s spontaneous, but this is kind of unexpected of him. He seems to love get-togethers or any social event with music.” You did have hopes for the two of you spending the night together. Maybe lay down on the grass and star gaze and probably watch Husk get drunk. “We do have time before the party, we could go and help him finish what he needs done.”

“No!” He groaned, slightly pulling on his face. “He already has Mimzy helpin’ him, and he would get pissed if I just brought you by.”

You really didn’t understand why you couldn’t drop by to help.

   If it was a work matter you would have noticed or heard about the situation, but nothing eventful really happened this week. The victims of the Bayou Killer reduced their number of murdered victims these past handful of weeks. Which makes you feel somewhat safe tonight and that’s sort of why you're throwing this party.

Maybe you're just reading too far into the situation and Al’s going to be just a few minutes late.

“It’s fine I know first hand how Al can get a little irked when people don’t follow his instruction.” Managing a small smile to your lips. “I was just a little curious about the whole ordeal.”

Inhaling a deep breath Husk created a deep groan that emitted from his throat. “Don’t beat yourself up, (y/n). Being curious about your lover is perfectly fine.” Taking another puff from his gasper and letting the smoke trail out the window. “ And to be clear here, he’s an asshole and you're just the clueless moth flying towards his flame.”

 Furrowing your eyebrows, “What’s that supposed to mean?”, you demanded.

   Husk made another groan emit from his throat, he’s been doing that a lot tonight. But, you never really see Husk worried, he’s usually either angry, smug or on the occasion vulnerable. He gets you overwhelmed with fear when he talks so lowly about himself, the whole scene of him with bottles on bottles lying next to his passed out body makes your chest clench.

“I’m not insulting ya it’s just,” He twirled his wrist in a small circle, “Al’s not some dandy who needs your concern. To be completely honest you deserve a fellow who would settle down and have a nice family one day.”

“What makes you think Alastor doesn’t want to have a family with me.” You tightly crossed your arms over your chest, “Did he mention any of this to you?”

“No, no when you have been with Al as long as I have you tend to pick up all of his quirks.” Another deep puff and that stick was gone. The smoke came out in rings carried off by the wind. “And his motives.”

    Opening your mouth to counter his claim, the upcoming lights flashed in your eyes. The lanterns strung up on steel poles lined along the large land area. You could already see a large portion of people starting in on their fun evening.

      Husk pulled over to the side where a small portion of boilers settled at. He stepped out and walked over to your side, wrapping his arm around your frame leading you down the path of bright lights. Prior to leaving you snatched the beignets from dash nearly pushing them out your mind beforehand.

      Joseph seemed like he’s having a despairing time with his friends. While they all played together, he sat himself down on one of the benches. Face cast away from them and back hunched over to rest his head on his arms. His little head turned towards your way, eyes closed, brows furrowed and crunching his nose up.

His gaze met yours and that little cannon rammed right into your gut. The air nearly left your lungs, but you deliberately gained your stance. “How’s the going away boy doing?” Returning his tight squeeze with an equally suffocating grasp. Little hands pulled on dress and a small face nuzzled into your side, Joseph’s petite face stared up at you, whites of the eyes turned pinkish. “Oh, honey, I know moving is really isolated, but look on the bright side. You can spend time with your cousins and experience new places.”

“It’s not the same.” His little voice raised a very squeaky octave. “They all make fun of me whenever I visit. They call me a baby for still sleepin’ in the same room as granny, they even called me daisy.” Shoving his face back into your hip, a large shiver went throughout his small body.

        You know from great experience about family troubles, but comparing your situation to Joseph’s would be like comparing a gator to a croc. They may look the same on the outside, but they have major differences. His family was more docile like a gator, while your biological parents were more like crocodiles, very aggressive and annoyed by others in their space. But, this isn’t your family, thank god, this is about your favorite little guy right now.

I should stop doing this to myself.

“I know this is hard for you and we can’t really change your granny mind any time soon.” Ushering him back over to the bench sitting him down next to you. “But, you still mail and call to us everyday if you want to. It might just make you feel better about being so far away from all the wondrous folk down here.”

“You really think that’ll work.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Well, yes I do think that’ll work just fine.” Stroking his hair out his face in the process rubbing the stray tears. “So, how does that sound.”

He slothfully nodded, looking up at the night sky. “I could have Aunt Shirley write my letters though. My penmanship is dreadful.” he quietly added, giving a small smirk direct at you.

    Shooting straight up, with a small bounce you pulled Joseph to his feet. “Now I made this party happen and got you to stay up late, just for you to pout and cry.” Flicking his nose you gave a soft smile. “How about we make this night better with a sweet treat.” You showcased the container and popped the lid off. The aroma of powder sugar met Joseph and your noses. His eyes shined a tad bit and that tiny smile that hung from the corner of his lips gave way of his joy. He sure did love these sugary confections.

“Thank you, (y/n). You made this night a whole lot better.” He gratefully took a beignet and practically shoved the pastry in his mouth. Humming that the French doughnut was indeed good.

     Walking off and setting the plate down you pinpointed Husk Downing himself with silly juice with some of the older guests. Deciding not being surrounded by drunk people was a good idea you made the decision of mingling with Floyd. He was probably the most reasonable person to approach. Upon seeing you he gestured to the empty seat next to him you gratefully took the offer.

“So, how has the night been faring you, Floyd.” Giving him a kind smile and gestured towards the party. “ Having fun?”

  He gave a noticeable shrug before answering, “I kind of wanted to stay home. But, you know how Clay can be.” He took another swig of punch. “Not that I don’t want to be here. I’m just tired from this week, ya know.”

“It’s fine to be tired. I’m pretty sure we're all tired from the month with the past killings.” A small groan came from your throat. “Why do you think the killings stopped all a sudden?”

“I feel like the fucker wants to put everyone on the edge of their seats and while we’re all nice and happy they’ll find another body.” Floyd’s outlook was depressing, but you won’t lie about thinking that way, too.

“You really think they’ll find one.” You questioned. All you got in return was a short and assertive nod.

“Mrs.Claire has a smart idea of sending her grandkid to Arkansas, especially in the condition she’s in. Barely can afford to feed one person on her salary.”

     Nodding you agreed with Floyd, Mrs.Claire does need help and sending Joseph to Arkansas would be her first step. You spent about the next hour talking to Floyd, Clay and his dame, Mama and Papa, your brother, Mrs. Claire and a surprising still standing upright husk. You grew worried about Al once you knew how much time flew by. Husk reassuring you that he’ll come later or in a few minutes. By the second hour it was already eleven o’ clock and by now you were more furious than worried. You decide to cool your mind with a few drinks and maybe a little liquor to ease your troubles. By your fourth drink you were a little tipsy and hanging off of Husk to keep yourself standing. You weren’t drunk. But you felt that if you let go you would fall straight into the dirt below.

       Suddenly, hands blocked your view. “Guess who, darling.” In your inebriated state you uncontrollably giggled. The anger is still there ;like a grain of stubborn sand in a bag. But, not so much as before. Turning around you pulled him into your chest.

“You said a couple minutes late, liar.” You huffed.

“I’m sorry, love, but something came up and I couldn’t leave it hastily finished.” A huge smile plastered his face, teeth and all. “ Do you think you could forgive me?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Liquid courage gave you the confidence of trailing your fingers along his chest. “ Maybe if I get something to ease my anger.”

Al’s eyes widened and that sharp smile turned into a smirk. “My little bearcat is getting handsy this evening.” He maneuvered his arm around your waist pulling you into his side. “Maybe I should take you home. Come here now chere.” He strolled back to his car with you in tow.

Maybe I should’ve been more cautious back then.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Ten Sides (Part 20)

She finds that it is more or less a matter of sorting out her feelings. It is quieter in her mind now. Less chaotic. She has a lot to think about, a lot to process. But at least it is organized. At least it feels authentic.

This semi-clarity comes as a relief especially with the palace in view. She can’t imagine returning with anything less than a clear head. She sits cross legged on the deck and watches as it looms closer. Admittedly, even with a wholly unclouded mind, she is apprehensive about returning.

Fully aware or not, Zuko had left her to get re-shaped and reformed beyond recognition. Fully aware or not, he hadn’t bothered to check in on her. Perhaps if he had she wouldn’t have fallen so far.

Azula inhales deeply and looks at her palm. She hasn’t yet gotten around to firebending yet, hasn’t mustered up the willpower to do so. She braces herself to see lapping and licking orange, but doesn’t think that she will be ready at all if that is what she finds. She closes her eyes and closes her fist. With the opening of her hand, comes fire. She waits for just another moment or two before opening her eyes. She just about cries with relief when she sees a gentle dance of blue. It is her fire.

“You must feel a lot better now.” Aang remarks, taking a seat next to her.

She manages a nod. Truly she does; the sun on her skin feels that much warmer and the breeze keeping it’s head at bay feels kinder as it rushes around her. Her tummy flutters with a feeling of exhilaration that she hasn’t felt in a very long time. A feeling that is perhaps optimism. Hope.

She watches the flame dance on her palm for a very long while before finally letting it sputter out and putting her hand down.

“Feel more like yourself?”

Azula nods again. At the very least she feels strong again. At the very least, she is better able to start picking up the bits of her confidence and piecing them back together again.

“We should arrive at the palace a little after nightfall. That’s what the captain told me.”

“That will do just fine.”

She never actually turns to face him. At last he takes the hint and mumbles something akin to, “alright, great, glad you’re feeling better.”

.oOo.

She is in better spirts and yet he is still reluctant to approach the princess. She is still dwelling on the deck and he isn’t sure if it is because she simply enjoys the fresh air or because she is trying to avoid being below deck with him.

Based solely on the way she has herself laid out with the sun warming her back, he would guess that it is a pretty solid mix of both. She does seem rather relaxed for a change and he isn’t sure that he wants to ruin this for her. But at the same time he has to know…

He takes a deep breath and, once again, takes a seat next to her. He waits for her to crack an eyelid and acknowledge his presence before stating,  “you’re still mad at me, aren’t you?”

With a sigh, the princess sits up. “Not particularly.”

“You haven’t talked to me since we balanced your chakras.” Evidently, he feels used. And maybe he deserves it. “I guess I can’t blame you if you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Avatar.” She says softly. “I just can’t think about you right now.” She pauses. He isn’t exactly sure what emotion flickers across her face, but is something very close to desperation. Conflict, he realizes. Azula seems to wear the two emotions the same way. “I don’t want to...I don’t want to lose you. I don’t have many friends. But there are other things that I need to focus on.”

“Like your bending?”

“Correct.”

“And how you’re going to confront Zuko?”

Another affirmative nod.

“You do realize that you can do all of those things and be social, right?”

This time her nod is disagreeing. “Not with you.”

He leaves her to herself and she leaves him contemplating the implications of that. He thinks that at least a part of him knows exactly what she is trying to tell him. Another part crave denial and yearns for him to stop thinking about it. It could be that he has it all wrong anyhow. He isn’t sure if he’d prefer that he were wrong or if he is secretly thrilled at the prospect of being correct.

Somewhere, somehow, he has grown quite fond of Azula; she has an admirable amount of determination, a resilience that he doesn’t come by often. In her own stern and stand offish way she is good for conversation. And beneath all of that hurt and fear, he has felt nothing but love and a protectiveness. He knows that he would not have been able to coax those emotions from her were they not already there.

And yet, she so stubbornly refuses to truly let people in.

.oOo.

Zuko is waiting at the docks when the ship pulls into port. The stars have just risen, they reflect tantalizingly on the water’s surface. He hears the hasty clinging of hammers as dock workers make their final repairs for the night.

The sea splashes him with a light spray as the vessel in front of him drops its anchor. Late traders and buyers bid each other hurried goodbyes and scramble back to their dwellings. Every now and then he hears a coin ping against the wood and roll away.

He watches one gain momentum and come to settle at someone’s feet. Her hair is shorter now and she isn’t as well groomed and pampered as he remembers, but he recognizes her immediately.

He has an impulsive urge to rush over and embrace her the way an older brother ought to, but her temperament keeps him at bay. After days at sea and a significantly longer period cooped up in an institution, he isn’t sure what mood she is in. He imagines that it is somewhere between exhausted and furious. Certainly, he can’t imagine that Azula is in any manner of a pleasant mood.

He keeps his distance, only offering a small wave, until Aang comes to stand next to her. “Hi, Zuko!” He greets with a smile.

Zuko come closer and slings his arm over Aang’s shoulder, “good to see you again.”

“Yeah, I’ve missed talking with you and the others.” Aang agrees. “Has Appa been good?”

“You’ll have to ask Sokka and TyLee, they’ve been watching he and Momo.”

With Aang’s nod, Zuko turns to Azula. He grits his teeth and tries to come up with some sort of greeting. She offers him no help. He wonders how much energy she is investing into not frying him on the spot. But the more he looks, the less likely this seems to him. The more he looks, the more tired she seems. And for what it is worth, he can’t particularly sense any hostility.

At last she speaks, “aren’t you going to welcome me home?” Her tone is caught between a jest and a genuine inquiry. But she doesn’t seem particularly resentful.

Somehow this is more pertubing than the notion of having to fight her. His stomach grows queasy; have they successfully shaped her into someone else entirely. Is that why she is home?

He knew that they would be utilizing spirit energy as part of her recovery process, but would they really go so far as to have twisted her spirit into something it was never meant to be.

He forces a smile, “yeah. Welcome home, Azula. You’re probably looking forward to sleeping in your own bed again.”

“Among other things.” She confirms.

Some of his unease subsides; she, at the very least, still sounds and talks like Azula.

“Was Sangyul able to help you at all?”

Azula cuts Aang a glare, “just how vague was your letter?”

Aang shrugs, “I just told him that we were on our way back to the mainland and needed a boat.”

Azula sighs, “let’s head back, I’ll tell you along the way.”

The reach the palace before she finishes her recap. For a good while they linger on the steps as she covers the last stretch of her journey and boasts about how she has balanced her chakras so she can give him the ass kicking he deserves for leaving her in such a miserable facility.

And by the end of her story, Zuko still isn’t certain that he has all of the details. He has a sneaking suspicion that she has left a lot out; whether it is because she doesn’t want him to know or because she simply can’t bring herself to talk about it, he doesn’t know. But he is decently disturbed all the same.

He looks between Aang and Azula as it all settles in. “I...I didn't realize…”

“Why didn’t you come by to visit, Zuzu?” She asks, tone simmering in accusation. At last he feeling the resentment he had been expecting at the harbor.

“I thought that seeing me would upset you.”

Azula shakes her head. “It wouldn’t have. They would have had me nice and happy and sub…” she trails off, “relaxed, just for you.”

His stomach lurches.

.oOo.

Where Zuko’s stomach sinks, Aang feels bizarre pangs of relief. Azula is angry. She is all fire and icy fierceness. He hasn’t seen this from her in quite a while. Perhaps he should have just brought her right to Zuko; he seems to have a very special way of bringing out her lashing tongue and her merciless wit and sarcasm.

Aang puts a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” She snaps. She shakes his hand off before he can retract it on his own. “Sorry.” He grumbles. “I was just hoping that the two of you would give each other a chance.” Granted Zuko has given her a chance--he vocalizes as much--it is Azula who has thrown up her walls. Even so he doesn’t want to aggravate her more. “I think that it would make things easier if you two weren’t arguing.”

“He left me with him.” Azula snarls. “With you.”

Aang swallows, he thinks that Azula’s eyes betray at least a little regret.

“I’m due for a bath.” She grumbles, with an almost sheepish folding of her arms.

“Azula! Calm down.”

“Grab your spirit vines and make me.” She hisses. It is equally devastating and reassuring. Doubly so when she ignores his requests that she stays and finishes talking things out. He very nearly goes after her but Zuko holds him in place at the shoulder. “Let her have her bath, she might be less cranky after

Aang nods.

“And besides, I was hoping you could tell me things from your side. Without side commentary.”

Aang allows himself to chuckle.

.oOo.

Where Azula had left blank spaces, Aang fills him in. He goes quiet when she reappears, smelling freshly of jasmine shampoo. She spares him a glance before disappearing into her room. This time Aang lets her have her way quietly.

“She didn’t tell you, but she lost her fire for a while--I mean I did take it but even after I gave it back she was having trouble. Zuko, it was bad. Really bad.” He steals a glance at her bedroom door. “I’m still kind of worried about her.”

Zuko doesn’t particularly need him to elaborate. He has a hard time picturing his sister without her fire, even if it is only for a span of time.

“And then for a while, when it came back, it wasn’t even blue.”

And the implications of that are jarring. “Is there anything else I should know about.” Exactly what could break her to the point where her fire faded.

Aang grimaces and seems to contemplate whether or not he should share. “He--Sangyul made her cut her hair. She called him, ‘father’. And he...he did things to her. Humiliated her. He would make it seem like she had choices and then he would make these little remarks until she changed her mind.” He takes swallows hard. “And for a while after our escape she wasn’t making decisions on her own…”

“What the fuck, Aang!?” The Avatar flinches at his outburst. “How could you let that happen? I told you to work with her spirit energy to help her not...do that!”

“I know.” Aang replies quietly. “I don’t know how I let it happen. I guess...I guess that Sangyul is good at what he does. He convinced me that I was helping her and by the time I realized what was going on…” He makes a vague gesture. “She says that she isn’t angry with me but I think that she is.”

“I am.” Comes a declaration from behind a closed door. Zuko can vividly picture her laying on her side, arms folded, face fixed in a pout.

.oOo.

Quieter, Aang mutters, “I’m not sure if she’s angry that I just told you all of the details or because of everything that’s happened.  Happened.” He has a feeling that it is a blend of both, perhaps with a more heavy lean on him blabbing away.

He imagines that her resentment had been carefully put aside while he helped her through everything. And now that it has come up, it is coming out. And maybe that is a good thing, maybe he needs to let her work through it.

“Let her sleep it off.” Zuko confirms. “She hates long boat rides, she complained almost the whole time when we went on family trips to Ember Island.” He laughs to himself.

Aang nods. “I just don’t want to lose her as a friend. I know that you two don’t get along but she’s…”

“I know that she’s not a bad person. She sure as Roku’s beard isn’t friendly, but she’s not a bad person.”

Aang smiles. At least that’s some progress. “She’s actually kind of nice when she’s in a good mood.”

.oOo.

Azula stares up at the ceiling, head spinning with frustration and unease. Aang had told Zuzu much more than she wanted him to know and now she has an extra helping of shame and indignity to work around on top of all else. Likely he sees weakness where he used to see strength.

She inhales sharply. He’d already seen her thrashing about, tethered to a grate, he can’t possibly view her anymore pitifully than he does already. She inhales again and tries to focus on what she’d learned from her meditation.

There is depth in shame. Pride in shame. She rolls onto her side and rests her head on her hands. And maybe they see strength in her ability to overcome and carry on. Maybe they see dignity in the reclaiming of her autonomy.

At the very least, she can see the dignity and strength in it.

[arigatouiris]

my present, my future // steve rogers

Author’s Note: This was such a cute request omggg. Hope you like it, nonnie! 

Word count: 2206

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, Endgame Spoilers

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Your hands were sweating, and your mouth was dry. First time in weeks, to be precise. You knew the day your period was late that something was wrong, something was off, and that didn’t fit in line with regularity. You hadn’t told Steve anything, and he almost never finds out. It wasn’t as if he never cared for you, he did; you knew he did. But, ever since the snap, things haven’t been the same.

You could never tell whether it was you or him who was distant. Your conversations never lasted for more than a few minutes and it was never too deeply personal. Sex felt like a mechanic task on most days, and on others, there was nothing at all. Cuddling and affection took a backseat, things were gloomy now. The world had lost half its population, and with it went Steve’s happiness.

However, it was one day before the great battle with Thanos did you figure out what was wrong with you from the past few weeks. You were having the usual period symptoms; cramps, back pain, bloating and nausea. However, when morning sickness kicked in, you knew right away what it was. You told Steve it was something you ate, and he nodded and left it at that. He never prodded on to know more, he never questioned you more than what you told him. On most days, you didn’t even realize why you were still with him.

Oh right. It was because you loved him. More than you could ever imagine.

A day before the great battle, you found out you were pregnant with Steve Roger’s child. A day after the great battle, you found out that Steve wanted to go back to Peggy using the Pym particles. You weren’t supposed to know yet, but Wanda warned you. It was gossip, you knew that with the ability she had, she could find out what a person was thinking. But, it was unethical to tell people.

However, Wanda cared for you with all her heart. You were the sole replacement for her brother when she lost Pietro, and she would come to you with everything that she wanted to talk about. Losing her to the snap took away a part of you that never came back until she returned. When Wanda told you what Steve was considering, everything suddenly stopped.

It was like you were paying a price for loving him. As if there was a time limit written for your love for Steve; he was always in love with Peggy, she always came first to him—this shouldn’t have come as a surprise at all.

And yet, there was some part of you that hoped. A part of you that held on to a belief that maybe, Steve Rogers could move on.

He hadn’t, you thought, letting the tears fall. You were currently standing outside Tony’s cabin. Having lost Tony and Natasha, everyone was in their own version of grief. Turning to your side, you noticed Bucky, Steve and Sam standing near the machine they had built, discussing something. Wanda, who was beside you, placed a caring hand on your shoulder and brought your attention away.

Her eyes widened as she met your gaze; she now knew what you did.

    “When…?” She gasped, her eyes filling with tears.

You chuckled darkly, “I think it’s been four weeks, I think? I don’t know for sure, maybe I should go to the doctor some time today.”

    “I’ll come with you.” Wanda promised, and you smiled.

You were glad you had at least her by your side. Sniffing, you took the redhead's hand in yours and squeezed tight. Wanda smiled back at you, giving you her strength.

    “You’ll be okay.” She said, but you weren’t sure.

What you were sure of was that you never loved anyone as much as you love Steve.

*

Steve walked in to an empty home. You weren’t there, something that shocked him since it was way past 10 p.m. He walked in and looked around, and for some reason, the atmosphere was so thick he thought he could cut through it with a knife.

    “(y/n)?” He called out, walking to the room the both of you shared.

The bed was neat, blankets folded and kept aside. Steve checked the bathroom and there was no sign of you. Heading to the kitchen, Steve noticed the vessels were all clean and none of it was even used all day. This only meant that you hadn’t returned from Tony’s cabin to the house, which means you were still out.

He knew he could call you on your mobile phone; he knew he could call you and ask where you were. However, you weren’t the only one who was feeling odd since the snap. Now that everyone else was back, things were supposed to be fine. However, ever since discovering that he could go back in time and be with Peggy, even as a theory, Steve wanted to take it.

Or did he?

He loved you, he knew this for sure. However, he loved Peggy too. The love he had for Peggy was ever strong, something he could never get over. But, then there you were. Bright and effortlessly beautiful from the inside and out, you blew him away as quickly as you entered his life. When Steve believed he could never be interested in someone else other than Peggy, you proved him wrong.

The fact that he was even considering going back to Peggy was breaking his heart and yet, he could not stop the yearning that came for a ‘what if’.

Putting his phone back inside his pocket, Steve let go of the only chance he had to find out where you were.

*

He noticed. He noticed how empty the house was when you were not home. He wanted to tell you himself that he was planning on leaving, but he noticed that you knew. It had been three days since you had left the house, three days since you hadn’t returned; Steve was no fool. Steve knew you knew he was leaving and it broke his heart.

He knew he could be happy with you, he knew that if he tried, it wouldn’t even be hard to stay and be happy.

Suddenly, when his phone rang, Steve jerked up with a fright. It was an unknown number, he wondered who it could be.

    “Hello? This is Steve Rogers—”

    “Right, this is Dr. Susan Geoffrey, I was only wondering when Miss (y/n) would be coming over for her appointment. She wasn’t picking her call, and you were her emergency contact so I thought I could ask you.”

Steve was confused. Scrunching his eyes together, he cleared his throat.

    “I’m sorry for asking but… What appointment?”

    “For an ultrasound, Mr. Rogers. Surely she’s told you she’s pregnant.”

It was as if time stopped moving. His eyes were suddenly wide and your face was all he could see, in flashes. Tears filled his eyes and his heart fell to the ground, and his stomach flipped three times and it was now hurting him. His hand flew to his mouth and he gasped, understanding where you were, now understanding what had happened.

    “Mr. Rogers?”

He gulped and felt like he was swallowing fire.

    “Y-Yes, uh, I’ll get back to you, doctor. Sorry for the trouble.”

Sometimes life has a cruel sense of humour, giving you the thing you always wanted at the worst time possible. Steve couldn’t believe what was happening and yet, what he couldn’t believe was how insensitive he had been to you. You were someone who would tell him everything; anything and everything, no secrets. That was what you would tell him. You had accepted that Steve’s love for Peggy would never fade, and even with that in mind, you loved him with your all.

Ever since the snap, Steve had been nothing but terrible to you. He wanted some space, but now he realized he had built a wall around himself and had completely forgotten what that could have done to you.

You, someone who trusted him so much, didn’t even tell him you were pregnant with his child. You were driven away because of Steve’s callousness and he wasn’t even sure if he could salvage what he had broken.

He called your mobile immediately, only to have it go to voicemail. He assumed you were at Wanda’s, and he knew it wasn’t too far, so Steve merely just ran out.

You had been compromising ever since you fell for him. Steve’s eyes were filled with tears when he thought about how unfair he had been to you, how unfair he had treated you. Sam was right when he said it was time to keep looking ahead. He had said the same thing to Bucky! And here he was.

Pining after something that just didn’t happen.

Wanda opened the door to Steve’s knocking and gave him a deadpan. However, once realizing what Steve was feeling, she let out a sigh.

    “She’s not here.”

Steve’s heart jumped.

    “Where—”

    “Steve?”

A voice came from behind him. He froze before turning to face you, his eyes wide and his heart beating rapidly against his rib cage. It was as if he was looking at you for the first time, it was as if everything he had thought about you didn’t compare to this one moment. He walked a step closer and held your hands in his before breaking down in tears. Your eyes widened before placing a calm hand on his shoulder, before shooting Wanda a look.

She ushered you both inside and headed upstairs to give you two some space. You weren’t angry, just disappointed, but there was nothing else you could say. There was no way in your heart that you could hate Steve, it was impossible.

    “I have been an absolute ass.” Steve said, sniffing.

You two were sitting on Wanda’s couch, your knees touching.

    “I haven’t been very vocal—”

    “I know. I know about the baby.”

Your eyes widened before turning to look at him.

    “How—”

    “Your doctor called me because you weren’t picking your calls. I was saved as an emergency contact. She told me you had an ultrasound scheduled for today.”

You were quiet. You didn’t want him to find out just yet. You wanted him to come to you about Peggy first. You wanted him to open up about Peggy, and you would have kept it a secret from him if he ever did. Because, if he wanted to go back to Peggy and you told him you were pregnant, this would always be the only reason he’d stay.

He wouldn’t stay just for you.

    “Steve.” You said, not knowing how to begin.

    “You could have told me—” He came to place a hand on yours, before you pulled away.

    “I know you want to go back,” You said, tears filling your eyes. “To Peggy. You want to go back to her, and I won’t stop you. I can take care of myself—”

    “Do you know how selfish that is?” Steve said, looking directly at you.

Your eyes widened, “Selfish? Who’s—”

    “To leave you and head back to Peggy. Do you know how selfish that is?”

You stopped in your tracks. Your eyes were wide.

    “Even if you didn’t tell me about the baby, I… I was only considering it because I loved her for that long, (y/n). And God, it makes me such a jerk for even expecting you to understand because sometimes I don’t understand it, myself! I could never leave you for her. Never. I could never leave you for anyone, (y/n). I haven’t noticed it, I haven’t voiced it, I’ve been a terrible lover for the past five years, but I do know this. If I had gone back to Peggy, there wouldn’t be a single day that would go by that I wouldn’t regret.”

You felt like he had stolen your words. Steve took your hands in his and leaned forward, your faces merely inches apart.

    “I know you were close to Tony and Nat. I know how much you must be grieving right now. So am I. And I made a big mistake by not being there for you all these years. I know it won’t mean anything, but take my word for it. I love you, (y/n). I love you more than I can love anyone, and in a way I can never love again. You’re all I want, and all I need. Peggy is a bittersweet memory now. You’re my present and future. Our baby,” He placed his hand on your stomach, “Is our present and our future.”

Your lips were now quivering. You slowly embraced Steve, before crying on his shoulder, feeling the same familiarity return to you; one that you thought you had lost five years ago. You cried for minutes together, and Steve merely just held you, rubbing your back, cradling you, kissing your tears away.

    “I love you so much, Steve. You have no idea—”

He kissed you on the lips before smiling brightly at you. He was your sun.

    “I love you, too.”

[nat-roman0ff]

iv. sex & candy, among other things

 series of blurbs // a certain time and place (read full series in my masterlist!)

 iv. sex & candy, among other things

the one where they almost say ‘i love you’.

wc: 3,214

warnings: cursing (but in a good way), smut (see title), & melted chocolate (gross).

---

She always does this, thing. Despite however many times he’s seen her naked (which Shawn counts at about 285 at this point) she still hides herself. He isn’t sure if it’s like, a confidence thing. Because he’s pretty sure she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. And not in that, facetune Instagram kind of way either. She doesn’t obsess over her hair or having the perfect winged eyeliner. She’s beautiful in the way her face lights up when she sees someone walking their dog, or seeing a cute baby despite absolutely hating children, or when she’s reaching for his belt (okay that last one was a bit of a stretch, but they’re both naked and who are we kidding, he’s hoping round two will happen once she wakes up). 

 Shawn begins by tracing her shoulder; he’s basically obsessed with the way that her skin prickles when he touches her, even when she’s asleep. His cheeks heat up when he reaches her neck, his fingers trailing over the purple marks from the night before. He’s sure he’s got a few on him as well. Neither of them had been exactly gentle last night. 

 “Stop doing that, it makes my nips get all hard,” she says, not bothering to open her eyes as a chill shivers down her spine. 

She feels the breath of Shawn’s laugh graze her neck, “maybe that was my intention,” he smirks, she can feel it against her skin when he kisses her there.

 She rolls closer to face him, “you’re gross,” she says, poking at the divet in his cheek.

 “You seem to like me enough.” 

 Her eyes roll, “only sometimes.” 

 Shawn cuts her off by giving her a kiss. It’s soft but so goddamn yearning, as if he hadn’t gone to town on her for hours and hours just a short time ago. It doesn’t take long for his mouth to open and their tongues to mingle. She hitches her leg over his hip and rolls him onto his back, straddling him. She breaks the kiss and sits back, allowing him to take in her full bare upper torso, her bottom half covered only by a tiny pair of lace underwear that sits dangerously low on her hips. 

 He resists the urge to fucking rip them off of her.

 She blushes while his hands take inventory of her body, starting at their resting point on her hips and moving slowly up her sides and back, moving to the front to give her breasts a firm squeeze then roaming the front of her soft stomach. She won’t make eye contact and he notices. Her hands do this weird thing where he can’t tell if she’s trying to stifle a cough or hide her face. She lets him see all of her but she won’t watch. 

 Shawn notices and he hates it. It’s the thing. He grabs the side of her face firmly and forces her to look at him.

 “Do you not feel good about yourself?” Shawn asks while the fingers of his free hand ghost her hip. 

 She scoffs, pushing away his hand from her face, “why would you fucking ask me that?”

 “You don’t have to be perfect,” He starts, and he already hates what he’s saying, “not that I think you aren’t or are. Fuck, this is all coming out so wrong,” he pulls at his curls “I’m just trying to say that if you’re insecure that’s okay. I’m not here to fix that but I want to know why and I want you to want to feel better about yourself. Regardless of what me or anyone else says or how we feel about you.” 

 She wasn’t insecure about her body - at least, not insecure more than the average girl. She had her bad hair days, or the zit from Hell that just doesn’t go away but she rarely felt unhappy with her looks. And she supposes she’s a very lucky person in that sense. She understood that her body was hers and hers alone, a vessel that gets you up and puts you down to sleep every day. That not all of them looked the same and she was never going to be the flawless model on the cover pages of the magazines she stole from her mother’s nightstand as a girl. She understood that her curves were her own, that her stomach rolled when she sat down and that was okay. It didn’t make her any more or less of a woman. 

 What she was insecure about were her feelings for Shawn. She knew if she had to watch the look in his eyes every time his hands covered her body in the most delicious way that she would absolutely lose it. Probably cry a little, scream, even. The two of them were so caught up in this not being a thing that it became a thing and the lack of answers and knowledge about the future was beginning to drive her batshit crazy.

 He looks for answers in her eyes but she won’t look at him. He’s thankful they’re in her bed instead of his, it’s smaller, so it forces them closer together when they cuddle at night. In fact, he can’t really remember the last time he spent a night in his own bed. At least a night in his own bed without her by his side.

 “You don’t have to be my anti-hero, Shawn. I know I’m not what you’re used to. I know this just is what it is for you. Just be you and don’t fucking complicate it by telling me I’m beautiful-” 

 “But you are,” he cuts off, sitting up, his chest flush with hers, “and you deserve to be told that you are.”

 She rolls her eyes again, “just shut up and fuck me already.”

 Shawn’s hands smooth up the side of her, “really fucking eloquent for someone who can’t look at me when I touch her.” 

 She tries to get off of him but he plants her across his lap, “we’re not doing this right now.” 

 “Then when are we?” He pleads, “when are we finally going to do this? Whatever the fuck this is in your mind.” 

 She doesn’t say anything and instead leans down slowly, letting her pert nipples skim across his chest, “I will literally fuck you until you shut up,” she whispers in his ear before biting and tugging on the lobe. 

 Shawn puts his hands behind his head, “go for it. You know how hard it is for me to shut up.” 

 She raises an eyebrow and crawls backwards a smidge, kissing his chest and working her way down his stomach, tongue swiping at the V that disappears under his boxers. Shawn prides himself on having an excellent poker face, and watches her with a cocky smirk. 

 “So what are your thoughts on this Communist Manifesto?” Shawn starts. 

 She’s not gentle when she rips Shawn’s boxers down his thighs. He’s only half hard, so she licks her palm and wraps her fingers gently around him. He twitches in her hand and she can see the heat rise in his cheeks and flow to his chest. 

 She pumps him slowly at first, getting her wrist into a rhythm that she knows will both torture Shawn, and also get him hard in like, thirty seconds flat. He takes in a deep breath and holds it when her lips slip over the tip of his cock.

 “When did you first figure out Albus Dumbledore was gay? For me, it was-” 

 He grunts and clears his throat, his voice a little higher pitched now, “ittttt-it-it,” he struggles, “was in Goblet of Fire.” 

 “That’s easy, knew it from Chamber of Secrets,” She licks the underside of his cock, tongue tracing the prominent vein that protrudes from it.

 Shawn’s a little uneasy now and she’s winning, but Shawn also isn’t a quitter. She lays out flat now between his legs, massaging his thigh with one hand as she uses the other to edge him. She’ll start and stop; twist, lick, anything unpredictable. Finally, she takes him fully in her mouth, gagging a little when he hits the back of her throat and Shawn swears he goes full stupid for a second. She’s so wet and warm around him he’s finding it hard to concentrate on anything else except maybe what her pussy is going to feel like later. 

 “You ever see a bat before? They’re really hideous. My sister got one stuck in her hair once when it was flying around the backyard.” 

 She pulls back up, releasing him with a pop. He’s fully hard know, his cock a pretty pink and wet with her spit. She can already feel her own wetness pooling between her thighs and she kisses soft little pecks into his thighs and back up his body.

 “You want my ass or my pussy?” 

 Shawn chokes. 

 “P-pussy?” He isn’t sure why he says it like a question. 

 She reaches over him and into the nightstand for a condom, “are we already out again?” 

 He just nods.

 She shrugs, “I’ll just let you finish on my face then.” 

 “You kiss your mother with that mouth?!?”

 She kisses the side of his face, “only on major holidays.” 

 Shawn grabs her hips, squeezing at the bare flesh and situates her back on top of him. She rubs her clothed center against his cock and it’s just the perfect fucking amount of friction that he’s pretty sure he’s going to bust if he doesn’t get inside of her right now. 

 He wraps his whole hand around the dainty fabric of her underwear and rips it completely off, tossing the fabric aside. 

 “Hey!” She slaps his arm, “Those were one of my favorite pairs!” 

 Shawn lines himself up with her, “you’ll get over it,” he says before slamming into her. 

 All the breath is knocked from her lungs and it takes her a moment to adjust to his size. She places her hands on his broad chest and starts to rock herself. Shawn loves the way she feels around him, so tight like she was made just for him, their bodies the perfect fit for one another. He’s felt that ever since the first night in the bathtub.

 “Fuck, Shawn,” She gasps, “I can’t tell, are we in a fight?” 

 He fucks up into her, loving the way his length disappears entirely inside of her, “now who’s the one who won’t shut up?” 

 “Fuck you.” 

 He grasps her hips so tightly she’s positive there will be marks in the morning, “already am.” 

 They find their pacing eventually, her on top and Shawn’s hands guiding her movements. She feels that familiar feeling start to sprout in her belly. It warms her veins and spreads so quickly she thinks she might pass out.

 Shawn swears he’s never seen something so brilliant in his life; her hair a mess, cheeks pink, body shining with sweat and her breasts bouncing with each thrust. She throws her head back, and he allows one of his hands to slide up her body and around her throat. He gives a gentle squeeze and she nods.

 “If you’re horNAY let’s do it, ride it, my pony,” Shawn sings at the top of his lungs. 

 She stops all movement, “are you really singing Pony while you’re inside me?”

 “I couldn’t think of anything to talk about and it’s too soon to cum.” 

 She rolls her eyes and she can feel him twitch inside her when she does, “so I win?”

 He sits up and nips her chin, “you’ll never win, Baby.”

 “You wanna bet?” 

 She pushes his chest and he falls back down onto the pillows, she leans forward with force, probably a little too much, and her hand goes straight through the wall behind the bed. 

 Shawn snorts, and she pulls her hand out of the wall, “well, I hope I get my security deposit back now.” 

 He plucks the pieces of drywall from his hair and tries to pull himself from her but she grabs his wrist in protest, “oh, we aren’t stopping!” She states. 

 “There’s nothing sexy about asbestos,” Shawn deadpans.

 She gets off of him and winces at the feeling of losing him between her thighs. It’s then that she notices the blood between her knuckles. It’s warm and falls down her wrist, mixing with the dusty powder from the drywall on her hand. 

 “Shit,” she mutters to herself, “I’ll be right back.” 

 She grabs a shirt from the floor and throws it over her head before scurrying to the bathroom, clenching her bleeding hand to her chest. She locks the door behind her and isn’t quite sure why. It doesn’t take long to clean up, it’s just a couple of minor cuts and she bandages them quickly. It isn’t until she looks up at herself in the bathroom mirror and sees the fading fingerprints of where Shawn’s hand was around her neck that she begins to cry. 

 It starts as sort of a bubbling, like a pot of water that foams and spits onto the burner just before spilling all the way over. She’s not always like this, but it happens most of the time after she’s with Shawn. The intimacy is the hardest part. She can be friends and banter with him until the cows come home, but it’s not until it’s three in the morning and they’re naked in her full size bed that he barely fits on that she just can’t fucking handle it. 

 Some days she thinks she should end it, to just be friends, whatever that meant to them at this point. She knows herself better than that though, she knows how badly her body, mind and soul crave him until the point where it physically hurts not to be around him, holding him, fucking him. She’s addicted, in a way. It’s exhilarating in some ways to never have an answer. It means it’s never quite tangible, there’s always something to chase after.

 She lets the tears fall and she knows Shawn will see right through her the second she gets back to him. It’s a feeble attempt, but she washes her face and dries her eyes and works up the courage to back back to the boy she wants to scream I love you to at the top of her lungs. 

 Something strikes her then; she could say it to him. There’s plenty of different types of love that exists in human existence. 

 “I love you, Shawn,” she says to herself in the mirror, her hands white knuckling the edge of the sink, “I. Love. You.” 

 Bile rises in her throat at the thought of his reaction. She doesn’t think she could stand it if he rejected her, which she knows is a very reasonable outcome. She just doesn’t fit into the big picture of his life, she was the friend with an empty bed and open arms every time he came home. She’s sure there were plenty of other girls in between her that Shawn didn’t talk about.

 When she returns from the bathroom, Shawn’s got his boxers back on he’s eating a chocolate bar. 

 “I have many questions for you. First, where’d your boner go?” She asks. 

 Shawn’s eyes pan to a discarded towel on the floor, “...don’t touch that.” 

 She grimaces, “you’re gross.” 

 “You were in the bathroom for like twenty minutes! It hurt!” 

 She rolls her eyes and his heart skips two beats in a row, “second question, where’d you get that chocolate?” 

 He takes a bite, “it was in the back pocket of my jeans, it’s a little melted though. Want some?” 

 She clears the room and jumps on the bed, taking a bite from his hand. He’s sitting up against the wall behind the bed, his feet still dangling off the bottom edge of the mattress. She curls into him and he wraps an arm around her, “why were you crying?” He asks, kissing the top of her head.

 She hides her face in his shirt, “my hand hurts.”

 “I once watched you literally get hit by a moving car and you got up and said ‘all good mate’, a bloody hand doesn’t make you cry. What’s wrong? Did I do something?” 

 She shakes her head.

 His fingers trace where his fingers held her throat, “was it the choking? We don’t have to do that next time, I just thought-” 

 “No you can choke me anytime.” 

 Shawn snorts and she side eyes him, “I’m just thinking too much lately.” 

 He raises an eye, “oh? About what?” 

 She shrugs, “I don’t know...maybe getting in a relationship would be nice. Maybe it’d be nice to be choked by only one person in my life.” 

 “Who the fuck else is choking you?” 

 She glares, “no one, Shawn. That’s the point.” 

 His mind is blanking. Shawn always thought he was good at reading people. The two of them had always been blunt to each other about everything; there were no lines to read between, no double meanings. This was the first time in the entirety of their friendship that Shawn didn’t know what she was talking about. 

 “What do you mean?” 

 She pulls away from him and rolls over to face away from him, “nothing, never mind.” 

 “Do you - do you not want to do this anymore?” He asks, “if there’s someone and you want to be with them I want that for you. I just want you happiest.” 

 With me, he thinks. 

 She rolls over, “no, there’s no one, Shawn. It was just a stray thought in my stupid after sex girl brain. It’s called hormones.” 

 Her heart races, and she thinks that now is the perfect time. The perfect time to grab his big stupid face and look him in those honey eyes and tell him everything she’s wanted to tell him since the first time they met. 

 Shawn’s heart breaks a little thinking of her with someone else. He’s sure that comment had a second meaning and gets a surge of jealousy that weakens his bones at that thought of someone else holding her like he does. 

 She’s here though, in bed with him, fucking him, wearing his teeshirt. That has to mean something for now, that for now she’s his but not really. That whoever this mystery person is, is just a fleeting thought in the here and now and he is the here and now. 

 This is his chance, he thinks. This is that moment when the walls are down and it’s time to lay it all out on the table. Shawn tugs at the sleeve of her teeshirt and rolls her over onto her back so he can get a look at her. 

 “What?” She asks, pinching his chin between her thumb and forefinger. 

 He moves her hand to his chest, his heart beating beneath it so rapidly and harshly he can hear the way the blood surges through his veins. His breath comes in short gasps. It’s her turn to take his hand and press it to her chest. 

 Their misguided hearts beat in synchrony beneath each other’s palms, but neither have the gall to say the words that are on the tips of both their tongues. 

[tanjamikaelson]

LOVE FOR ETERNITY - PART 55

MASTERLIST

PART 55: | BURN THE WITCH |

- “Hello, is anyone here?” Sonia yelled as she, Eric and Megan entered empty Fangtasia.

The lights were turned on just where the bar was, the rest of the club was dark so they assumed that no one was there.

 - “I can bet they are upstairs.” Megan told them.

 - “Wanna check out?” Eric asked.

 - “If you want to piss them off, be my guest.” Sonia told him.

Eric just smiled at her and went upstairs, but Natali and Kol weren’t there either. The three if them stayed at the club until they didn’t show up.

An hour later Kol and Natali were entering Fangtasia and just as they stepped in they’ve smelled fresh blood, a lot of fresh blood. They’ve looked alerted not knowing who came into their club, but they were revealed when they spotted their friends in the dark corner of the club.

 - “Hey guys, what are you doing here?” Natali asked as they approached them.

 - “We got tired of traveling so we decided to stop by.” Sonia replied and smiled at her, “Where have you two been?”

 - “We were with the witches.” Natali told her.

 - “So Kol, you are seducing New Orleans witches again?” Sonia says and glances at him.

 - Kol smirks, “Something like that.”

 - “But I think he lost his charm.” Natali stated.

 - “Ha. Ha.” Kol says, “ I’ll never lose my charm.”

 - “If you say so.” Natali tells him.

⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡

As they’ve promised to the witches Kol and Natali went to Dowager Fauline mansion that was now an asylum for witches. Some witches that they were working with them a few months ago were trapped there because they've used very dark magic that Natali taught them.

A boundary spell was put on the mansion in 1914 by one of the witches that had an alliance with Klaus. Any witches who would enter the house would be trapped there for eternity. The spell was cast by chanting over the head of porcelain doll, which was propped on the post of the fence in front of the mansion. The only thing Natali needed to do is to siphon the magic from it and the spell would be broken.

Coven of witches that were called The Kindred put themselves in charge inside of the Fauline’s asylum. They were alerted when the boundary spell was down and knew that something’s up. Before they’ve prepared themselves to fight Natali burst open the front door giving everyone a chance to escape. The two of them didn’t cared who will escape and who they kill. They just came for the witches that they knew were still on their side. The Kindred tried to fight, but they were easily killed by Kol while Natali searched for the witches. The witches were under the influence of Lobelia pills and because of them they were unable to focus and concentrate in order to practice magic.

After every last one of their witches were rescued from the asylum they came back to Fangtasia where others were waiting for them. The witches were happy to see their friends again.

Sometime later Rebekah came into Fangtasia, seeing as she walked in that the witches were practicing magic and when she looked towards the booth where Kol and Natali are usually sitting at she saw Eric with them.

 - She walked towards them and asked, “Eric what are you doing here?”

 - They all looked towards her when they noticed her, “Well this is awkward.” Natali remarked.

 - “I know we said we won’t see each other anytime soon but I couldn’t resist coming back here.” Eric told her.

 - “You came alone?” Rebekah asked.

 - “No. Megan and Sonia came with me.” Eric replied.

 - Rebekah nodded, “Oh, okay.” then she looked at her brother and Natali saying, “I just came to tell you that mother is going to put me into another body.”

 - “I should have known that you’ll be the one who would take her offer.” Kol told her.

 - “That's the only way I can be human again.” Rebekah told him in defence.

 - “You will regret it.” Natali says.

 - Rebekah rolls her eyes, already knowing why Natali thinks she will regret it, “When I'm old and wrinkly, you can dump me back into my old body. Nik already has a coffin he can store me in.”

 - “So who’s body is she gonna put you in?” Natali asked.

 - “I don’t know. I’m going to see her now and I have a plan to stop her.” Rebekah tells then.

 - “What plan is that?” Kol asked.

 - “I’m gonna give her my blood and when we kill her she will become a vampire, so that means she won’t be able to body jump again.” Rebekah explained.

 - “That’s actually a smart plan.” Natali stated.

 - “And I don’t want you two to try and stop me from doing it. I’ve also convinced Elijah and Nik to let me do what I want. That won’t mean I’m on our mothers side.” Rebekah tells them, when she saw that the two of them glanced at each other she added, “Promise me.”

 - “Okay. We promise we won’t stop you.” Natali told her.

 - “Thank you.” Rebekah smiles.

⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡

Esther is getting ready to pour herself and Rebekah some tea while they discuss Esther's offer, but Rebekah just quips, “You can't possibly expect me to discuss giving up eternal life over tea!” before gesturing to the nearby shelf and instructing her to break out the red wine instead, “Give me some of that red over there.” Esther just laughs in amusement and does what she's told as Rebekah asks her to give her the sales pitch.

 - “I only offer what you already want.” Esther begins.

 - “And how do you presume to know that?” Rebekah asks.

 - Esther breaks down what she knows best about her children, “Elijah's happiest when there's order and music. Klaus, when he's the center of attention and in control. But you are my only child capable of unfettered joy.” She hands Rebekah a glass of wine and adds, “And, you're happiest amongst humans. I've seen you yearn for that life. For love.”

Esther then conveniently takes her eyes off of Rebekah and as she does so she continues speaking, “Our wishes are aligned in this, my daughter. Mine, to free you from this curse, and yours, to be human.”

 - “I'd be giving up everything I've ever known for a memory of something I once was.” Rebekah replies, since Esther would know something is up if she didn't at least argue a little, “Power for weakness. Strength for frailty. Eternal life for a brief human existence.”

 - Esther squeezes Rebekah's arms affectionately and makes her own closing argument, “The choice is simple - another thousand years of never having what you want, or a handful of years when you do.”

Rebekah looks nervous. She glances to the side, before turning back to her mother and taking a deep breath.

 - “Well, then. To the end of an era. I'm in.” Rebekah says.

Esther was visibly happy, she smiles and places her glass of wine on the table before turning towards a table where she was preparing a spell. Rebekah uses that time to quickly puts a few drops of blood into her mother’s glass, before Esther again turned towards her.

 - She and Rebekah toast their wine glasses before Esther saying, “Let us begin!” 

Rebekah looks into her mother’s eyes as she takes a long sip, but Esther just brought her glass closer to her mouth before saying loud and clear, “You think you can fool me?”

Rebekah furrows her eyebrows and looks confused at her, then Esther places her glass back on the table and continue speaking while looking at Rebekah, “I know there was your blood in my wine, you want to turn me into a vampire so you can kill me.”

⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡

Meanwhile, Kol and Natali went to the compound where Klaus and Elijah were and saw that with them there were Davina, Cami and Marcel. The moment they came they’ve found out that Esther prepared Cami’s body to be a vessel for Rebekah. No one liked that, especially Klaus and Natali offered to help them break the spell.

- “Why would you help? You don’t care about Cami.” Davina says.

- “But I care about Rebekah and I’m sure she wouldn't want to possess a body of Klaus’ potential lover and Marcel’s ex-lover.” Natali tells her, glancing between the three of them and they couldn’t say she wasn’t right.

- “Unless Marcel would like that, but I think it would be a bit-” Kol spoke and Cami finished, “Awkward?”

- Kol looks at her with a smirk, “I was gonna say kinky.”

- Natali chuckles, “Well, let’s get started.” she says before starting to prepare for the spell she is about to do in order to break Esther spell that made Cami’s body a vessel.

REBEKAH’S AND ESTHER’S P.O.V:

Rebekah looks surprised that her mother knew about her plan since she only told her brothers and Natali. She took a step backwards and Esther stepped towards her.

 - “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rebekah says.

 - “You’re well aware of what I’m talking. It was your plan.” Esther tells her.

When Rebekah saw that this isn't going to go as they’ve planned she tried to run away, but Esther didn't let her, so she snapped her neck.

Esther prepared everything for a spell as well as Natali. But when she started chanting nothing was happening. Her spell was broken and she had no way to put Rebekah into another body, it was too late to find another one that suits her.

NATALI’S AND KOL’S P.O.V:

After she made sure that the spell was broken both of them left to the cemetery to find Rebekah and to see if she managed to get rid of Esther. On a halfway to the tomb where Esther’s was suppose to be they stumbled upon Rebekah. She was using a vampire speed to run, but stopped when she saw them.

- “I.. my plan didn’t worked out.” Rebekah quickly told them.

- “You didn’t killed Esther?” Natali asked.

- “No. She somehow knew about the plan.” Rebekah told them.

- “I somehow feared that this would happen.” Natali stated, “I’ll get rid of her don’t worry.”

- “How?” Rebekah asked.

- Natali turns to Kol and tells him, “Remember those big crystals we have at our play house?” Kol nods and she continues, “Bring them here and place them around her tomb.”

When Kol and Rebekah left for the crystals Natali walked into Esther’s tomb seeing that she was preparing some kind of spell again.

 - “You’re the one who reversed my spell.” Esther remarked as she felt her presence.

 - “Yes, I did.” Natali tells her stepping closer, “How did you know about Rebekah’s plan?”

 - Esther turns around to looks at her with a small smile, “I have eyes and ears everywhere.”

 - “Really?” Natali says, “Maybe you were ready for Rebekah’s plan, but you’re not ready for mine.”

 - I’m always a step ahead.” Esther assures her.

 - Natali shakes her head, “Not this time.”

- Esther narrowed her eyes at her, trying to figure out what Natali means by that, “Aren’t you tired of living like this for a thousand years?” she asks.

 - Natali laughs under her breath, “I know what you’re trying to do, but the only person desperate enough to fall for your crap is Rebekah.”

 - “It’s done.” Kol says entering the tomb.

 - “Kol, what’s done?” Esther questions him.

 - “We’re done with you.” Natali says and simply flicks her wrist and snaps Esther’s neck with her powers.

The crystals that Kol placed around the tomb were enchanted to block every spirit from leaving that room. So when Natali killed Esther she couldn’t jump into another body and later they’ve returned her soul back to the ancestors world.

⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡

Knowing that the only way for Esther to know about their plan is if one of the witches that were in Fangtasia when Rebekah was speaking about it must be a spy, Kol and Natali headed back there to find out who.

They’ve called all of them to come on a meeting, but of course they didn’t told why they were calling them. When all of the witches came Natali secretly used a spell to seal all doors and windows, so no one can try to escape.

  - Natali and Kol were standing on the podium and witches were in front of them, “We called you here because we have a spy in this room.” Natali spoke looking over every witch, “Who ever was working for Esther know that she’s dead now and no one will help you.”

  - “So who’s the traitor?” Kol questioned.

  - “They won’t tell even if they know.” Natali stated, “But because we weren’t that loud while we were talking about our plans, only one of the few witches that were sitting in the booths next to us could be a traitor.”

Natali watched how witches that were sitting in two booths next to them were acting, she was looking for the one who seemed the most nervous.

 - Natali took a step towards them, “One of you told Esther out plans.” she stopped in front of the witches and held her hand out, then blew a truth dust in their faces, “So which one of you is it?”

 - “It was me.” A witch said against her will.

 - Natali smiles at her, “This was easy.” she then grabbed a witch by her throat and pulled her onto the podium, so that everyone could see what happens to the traitors.

 - “I knew that this day would come, but I would suggest to everyone else, do not make the same mistakes.” Natali told other witches, before she began siphoning magic from witches body and witch gasped loudly. Natali’s wrist turned red hot and in the matter of seconds the witch was dead.

⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡

MASTERLIST

Tags: @mikaelsonsmagic   @p3nny4urth0ught5   @cute-freak27   @ias-born  @superhalsteads  @characterobsessed   @hinata7346   @luiza-4-ever  @huntress1428  

[seltzerforever]

Molly Rae, 

I’ve been avoiding this for quite some time now. I think I’ve known that its what i have to do, and have found myself holding on so desperately, that I haven’t been able to. With this, it will all become too real, which is exactly the last thing that I want this to be. I can’t write about you anymore. I actually can barely do much of anything at all anymore. Everything I’ve been asked to write has been pushed away or prolonged because the second any assignment gets to you, or the you that I remember, I freeze. I don’t know how to begin this... I don’t want to begin this. There is a part of me that enjoys the sadness because it just makes sense...With the moments I’m not sad, I struggle to understand how that could possibly be, because if you’re not a part of me, how on earth can everything feel alright? There are bits of me that tell me I need to hurt, that I need to mourn the loss of us for the both of us since you are unable to. I am holding on the hope for two because I feel if I don’t, its an insult to what we were. If I let go, I’m disregarding all that you’ve done for me and all that I’ve done for you. 

If I let go, our memories and laughter begin to blur, and my stability no longer is sure anymore. If I say goodbye, I’m losing all hope, all inside jokes, all the touching, teaching, and exploring. If I let go, I’m abandoning the most enjoyable memories of my life, the best person in my life and the one being who taught me and aided me in becoming who I truly am. There is too much tied to you to let go. I don’t know how to and I really don’t want to, because then it really means its all done. It really means that I have to say goodbye to the most genuine, loving, beautiful, hilarious, and caring person I’ve ever met. I’ll have to cut off a piece of me in the process, and actually see what the world without you looks like for the first time in 4 years. 

If I say goodbye all of our vacations slip away. All of the tearful love making and continuous whispers about the rest of our lives together were all false, and Molly and Max will never be. If I say goodbye, I’ll no longer have the right to daydream about you coming back. I won’t be able to take you to France and propose to you. I won’t be able to get you sewing lessons and interlock our fingers together as you walk me through all of the art galleries. If I say goodbye to you, the thought of you walking down the aisle of your old backyard in Cherry Valley will shrivel up, and the smile that comes to my face when I think about those big treeth, and never-ending pits of eyes you have will go away. If I say goodbye, the future that I’d envisioned for the past 4 years will become skewed and I won’t get to ever spend a Christmas at your moms with our two children. I won’t get to watch you become all that you’re meant to, or get to see the goofy face you make when you’re feeling funny. I won’t get to hold you so tightly ever again and feel in utter disbelief as to how I get to spend my time with the most wonderful thing this world has to offer. If I say goodbye, I’m saying goodbye to the thousands of exploding suns in my heart as I simply sit next to you, and your smell. If I say goodbye, I will no longer get to see the dried up orange paint lodged under your fingernails, or graze my lips over the delicate faint scar on your lower stomach. If I say goodbye, the thought of your wiggling happy toes in the morning will no longer send me into space, and the visions of you in all the wonderfulness that you are will no longer be. If I say goodbye this will all become too real, and that is why I have to say goodbye. Because this is real. What we were is what we were, and not who we are anymore. All of these things happened and overflowed me with feelings I am incapable of verbalizing because they were just that unbelievably enjoyable. Everything that happened - all the good and all of the bad happened. You and I put us to rest and it was and still is necessary regardless of the pain that inflicts me completely from head to toe, inside and out. Nothing is regretted, not a single smidge of what we’ve done. We are exactly where we are supposed to be at this current moment in time whether its what I’d like or not. 

The void of you is unimaginable, and it can never be stuffed back and stitched up whole again. It can never be replaced, but it can be healed. It can offer space for something else, and make room for all that is left to come into my life in the years to come. I will forever miss my best friend regardless of this chapters closing. My hand will still search for yours in the middle of the night and my eyes will still yearn to see the dimples of your lower back. My fingertips won’t forget the dips of your hips or the crease of your chin. My tongue will miss yours as they dance together, and the warmth of your neck. I will never forget how I couldn’t bear washing my sheets because the thought of your dead skin left behind put my mind at ease. The wave of you will forever collide into me. Sometimes I’m sure only grazing my toes, and others swallowing me whole. I will remember who you were then, and smile, and know that the you that you’ve become now is entirely different. I want to be here for you forever, and never let another person or yourself cause you harm, but I can no longer continue to sit here and wait as I dissolve into nothingness. I am so much more than what I’ve been recently, and we both confidently know it. I don’t want to say goodbye and that is why I need to say goodbye. I need to say goodbye so happiness no longer registers to me as a disappointment under construction. I need to say goodbye so I can remember the good and understand the bad. I can accept all that has happened and be aware of the change that has occurred inside of you and inside of us. By saying goodbye, I can finally allow myself to stop romanticizing what we were, and remember the sickness that drove me to terminate this relationship back in July. By saying goodbye, I can stop blaming the hurt you doused me in on your bipolar disorder alone, and realize that unhealthy or not, your physical vessel of a body caused me unimaginable pain. Sick or not, it was still you that tortured me emotionally in the weeks following our demise. 

It was you, Molly, that had unprotected sex only three days after we broke up. It was you, Molly, that looked me in the eyes and exclaimed that there hadn’t been a time that you’d been happier with hickeys covering your neck entirely. It was you, Molly, that told me in order to have sex with you again, that I would have to force myself to engage physically with others first. it was you, Molly, who went back on your word and told me you could handle having sex with me regardless. It was you, Molly, that told me the sore on your lips that you’d received from the girl you had been with only days after me was not transferable. It was you, Molly, who gave me genital herpes, covered my gums and throat entirely in sores and left me unable to walk for a week straight with a 103 fever. It was you, Molly, that when told what you had given me, exclaimed that it was closure for you. That upon hearing what I had contracted, you were finally able to eat again, because it was the first conversation that wasn’t about us and solely about me since our breakup. It was you, Molly, that told me not to talk to you for two weeks after, to give you space to actually see if you’d miss me at all. It was you, Molly, who came back home from Ohio and said you didn’t want to see me. It was you, Molly, that made countless advances on me and only called me baby the entirety of Liz’s birthday party. It was you, Molly, who continuously rubbed my leg and inched closer to me no matter the number of times I moved further away. It was you, Molly, that did not respect my blatant and very clear boundaries when I told you I didn’t want you touching me. It was you, Molly, that after consuming an entire bottle of champagne, two gin and tonics, a shot of rum, a shot of whiskey, and cocaine you’d found in the trash continued to ask me to make out with you. It was you, Molly, that disregarded all of my attempts to not engage with you, and it was you, Molly, that I took home and let you sleep in my bed due to the state you were in after you’d topped off your recklessness with a Xanax that night. It was you, Molly, that no longer had any sign of the Molly that I used to know when I awoke to those hollow black eyes the following morning. It was you, Molly, that continued to tell me in such detail about the many, many sexual relations you’d had in the two weeks after our relationship. It was you, Molly, that lacked a filter and regardless of my begging, regardless of the many topic changes I attempted, then proceeded to show me texts of those you’d asked to come fuck you in the house I’d just moved out of. It was you, Molly, that told me you liked someone else that morning, and that you were so relieved that we could now just be friends that fucked. It was you, Molly, who continued commenting inappropriate things on all of my pictures, marking a territory that was no longer yours to mark. It was you, Molly, that made me entirely sure that my decision to leave us behind had been the right one. It was you, Molly, who made me remember what it felt like to be worthless and unwanted. It was you, Molly, that due to your sickness or not, became completely unrecognizable. It is you, Molly, who is sick beyond my repair. It is you, Molly, that now has to figure out how to fix yourself, because I’ve done all that I could’ve. It is you, Molly, who I am leaving behind now. It is you, Molly, who I am saying goodbye to. 

I’ve rolled through the many stages of grief numerous times thus far. So much so that I’ve accepted that this now is what is now. I’m disappointed for sure. I’m let down and pretty bruised up. But I am okay. My ears don’t emit steam when I think about the month of August, and my stomach no longer caves in on itself to imagine all of the others that get to experience what was once so safe, and sacred to me. I am thankful that you were a part of my life, and that I got to experience what it felt like to have somebody run through my veins. I was lucky enough to witness a love I’d never imagined possible, and the bad does not negate the things that you have helped me overcome and become throughout our journey together. I’ve always said that you were the love of all of my lives, and I’m not taking it back. You were without a doubt a love of this life of mine, but that doesn’t mean the only or the last. Saying goodbye will not put a halt to my love, but I can only hope that it dims it down. I have accepted that this is necessary, and can confidently say that I no longer want you nor need you in the ways I once did. I genuinely and completely want for you to find the control that you’ve misplaced, for you to wear the smile that I met you with – the one bursting with confidence, independence, and joy. And most importantly, I want you to work through any and all troubles, and surround yourself with those that are worth your time and respect you as you should be respected. I love you, I love you, I love you and I don’t want to say goodbye, but I am ready to. Because loving you has grown unhealthy for me. Loving you has become too tiring and I need to come first. You will find goodness, as will I, and if we’re lucky, our paths might cross in the far future. 

Thank you for teaching me to no longer run away. Thank you for teaching me how to stick up for myself. Thank you for showing me how important and special communication can be. Thank you for allowing me to become a part of your family. Thank you for showing me a different outlook on life and all of the amazing colors that it is filled with.  Thank you for showing me how to love my body and to appreciate it for all that it has done thus far. Thank you for being so understanding, and listening when my mind made it hard for me to understand myself. You made it possible for Max to emerge from the ashes and aided me in evolving with your protection, acceptance, and support. Thank you for the laughter, thank you for the tears, and thank you for allowing me the time I was able to experience by your side. You, if anyone, were placed into my life with reason and a purpose. We’ve grown so much together, and all of the pain and aftermath that I endured could never make me regretful. I lived 3 beautiful years with you before we both went through such monumental things of our own. things that no one could have prepared us for. Three insanely bright years before neither of us held any more capacity to focus on “us” and only separately on ourselves. 

I do not regret parting ways with you any longer or hold blame and responsibility for it all alone. We each had involvement and did our absolute best. We tried so hard and got to explore so much. You are the best friend I’ve ever had. 

I wish you all of the clementines, hues of yellow, and mismatching patterns you can get your hands on. I wish you perogies galore, books from Brooklyn’s stoops, and trinkets upon trinkets from all of the yard sales. I wish you all of the goodness and out-of-control beauty that this world has in stock for you. I loved you then, and I love you now. Until our next lives where we can embrace our love once again...

Goodbye

Max

[goldenscript]

touch of silver

↳ prompt: witch!seokjin 

pairing: kim seokjin | reader genre: witch au / fluff word count: 1,715 description: Kim Seokjin only wants the best for you — little does he know that it’s all part of fate’s grand design.

He was like you once.

Magic is like wine—made divine by the greater powers and just as dangerous in excess. Still, there is freedom in the craft.

The mundane world does not understand the camaraderie that takes place between the ground they stand on and their very presence. How easily the elements can be coerced into doing their bidding, how the mind is nothing more than just another portal to explore, and how their bodies are vessels are more than just spaces on Mother Earth. It is nothing more than just self-actualization.

But, for people like you and him, where the very act of listening to the Earth’s calling and coaxing the world around you to listen, it is simple to comprehend. And not everyone can complete such a feat. Some are still learning, some may never know, and some can be stripped of their abilities.

Seokjin remembers what it’s like to materialize simple things in front of him, because he refused to go to the closet for his broom. He remembers the very wisps of cyan that would take him to places he never would’ve spent more than twenty dollars to get to. Pressed even deeper to his memory are the clouds of viridescent hues, sometimes scarlet, and most definitely chartreuse that permeated from the steel caulderon passed on from his grandmother. He could feel the power of each ingredient as a potion or a charm came out of the concoction, and his pride swelled knowing that he could create miracles.

He was on top of the world, knowing everything that he did and doing what he could, but then came exam season, where knowledge and effort overpowers natural genius. His own natural talents were nothing compared to what Fate had planned for him. And a part of him knew that he wasn’t destined for more than just running his family shop, that his life was entwined and engraved with the testament of his family, but he sure as hell tried to defy it all. He wanted more. He wanted freedom.

Instead of moving on toward Elder training, he was stuck with a frivolous store to his name; his pride having died out somewhere along the way. And born in the ashes of those burnt dreams came a vehemence for recklessness and carelessness, because he knows what it’s like to be so close, yet still be so far from a dream that might’ve been his if he had only tried harder or if someone had pushed in the right direction.

He sees so much of that in you. From that day you stumbled into his shop with wide, curious eyes, nothing so much as a caulderon to your name before you were spouting out more questions than that damn exam his way. You thirsted for knowledge and for control of these abilities you hadn’t realized were yours up until a few months ago. You weren’t much younger than him, but he saw potential encasing you from the very start. He didn’t know why he was helping you or what made him accept this mentorship, but the universe coerced him through his conscious with memories of him lost at eighteen, seeking for guidance and coming up short because his families could only offer up so much before they fell short, and his heart thrumming with the sound of your voice and clenched at the dejection that threatened your visage. He had to help you—he knew that much.

And he pities his parents who once watched his journey, though they could only do so much as humans, he sees how much they fretted over his recklessness. All those nights they pleaded with him to be careful and to do the best that he could but not to lose sight on what he was striving for. He thought they were being silly to gray their hairs over him, but now he knows with you. he has to pray that you're not off gallivanting with the shapeshifters because you mastered one spell at how to do it or blowing off your studies just to master more of those advanced spells that were way out of your league. 

“What were you thinking?”

The sharp octave is enough to elicit a wince, but it isn’t anything he hasn’t seen from you. Although this isn’t the first time, the two of you both seem to wish it were the last scolding. Today just isn’t that day.

There’s a cut on your cheek with remnants of dried blood smeared toward your ear, your clothes are crumpled and frayed so much that it has his heart beating more out of anxiety than actual anger, because he doesn’t know what happened but he can’t bear to stomach any of the possibilities. He knows the lycans of the shapeshifters are harmless, a little rough but for the most part they aren’t horrendous creatures like modern-day media likes to paint them. Really, it just looks like you had a small altercation with one but just that thought makes his stomach flip around in ways that would put a gymnast to shame.

“Jin, l-look,” you try, looking at him with upturned brows. The look he gives you makes a small frown form on the corners of your lips. Another thing that has his heart feeling a little despondent. “I’m sorry. I was getting something from one of my friends and we were roughhousing a little.”

He lets out a deep sigh, patting the cushioned stool by the counter. Instead of saying anything else, he disappears behind the lavender strands of beads for an old-fashioned first-aid kit from beneath the sink. It’s old, but his mother always said they would be useful even if a simple spell could fix any bruise, cut, or broken bone.

He sets the clear plastic container onto the marble counter, standing in front of you. Your eyes flicker to the antiseptic and the cotton ball in his hands before your brows furrow.

“You’re not going to use magic?”

He shakes his head, meeting your eyes with a soft look in his eyes and a much softer voice than earlier, “No. It’s just a cut, so some of this and band-aid won’t hurt you.”

You nod slowly, fiddling with something in hand but he still can’t find himself to ask about it. Instead, he asks as soon as you release a sharp hiss of pain, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you smile a little. “I know that stuff hurts, and that thing with the lycan was literally just a scratch. You know how pups can get.”

He hums an affirmation as he sets down the burgundy-stained cotton ball, unwrapping a small rectangular band-aid before smoothing it over your minor wound.

“There, good as new.” He adds, “Try to be careful next time you go and neglect your studies.”

He knows that this is that sort of phase that’ll die out with time. You’ve grown more than he’s probably given you credit for, and now that his head has cleared up he does wonder what it was that you fought with a pup for.

You open your mouth before he can ask, with a devilish grin now perched on your elated visage, “Congrats.”

You open up your hand, pressing the small, unmistakably steel ring into the palm of his open hand and his heart flares not only because of the contact but because this can’t be what he thinks it is—!

“You passed!” You meet his wide eyes, drinking in the way his lips have probably fallen open and the shock rolling off his body in waves.

“H-how?” He manages to say, staring at the dark steel that he’s yearned for God only seems to know how long. “I failed though.”

You shake your head, “It was a test. Elders have to be resilient, and in the face of what you thought was failure was just another opportunity to redeem yourself—”

“—Teaching you?”

“And the first-aid kit.”

Seokjin lets out a breathy laugh, leaning his back against the counter for support. He never would’ve imagined that’s how the process went, and when he looks back up to you, he doesn’t regret it either.

“Thank you,” he says softly. “And I’m sorry for being so hard on you.”

You wave him off, “I’m sorry for being such a tough student to deal with.”

He blinks, “Are you…?”

“Getting there, but my test won’t be like yours I don’t think. We’ll see.” As he nods, you watch him expectantly, “Well, aren’t you gonna put it on?”

“Oh—uh, yeah, I should huh?” You laugh, rising from your spot to stand in front of him. The back of his foot hits one of the cabinets, but you pretend not to notice in favor of slipping the small token of his hard work onto his ring finger. It’s lighter than it was in his hand, but he feels content that maybe he was fated to more than just this shop after all.

You rise onto your tiptoes to give his cheek a peck, smiling up at him as you remain standing before him. A different air washes over you as the world around him seems to get a little clearer and a little calmer. Though the pounding in his chest might beg to differ, because those feelings haven’t changed. Not even a little bit.  

“Tomorrow, usual time?” You ask, taking a step back and clipping your thigh against the corner of the stool.

He laughs, “Yeah, try not to be late.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply with a small wink. It’s an unsaid fondness, the sort that is patient and forgiving, the kind that warms the two of you with hope for tomorrow and for days to come.

Just as you’re about to walk through the velvet curtains, he calls out to you and watches you turn, tilting your head at him. “Thank you, seriously. You helped me learn a lot.”

“I’m glad, because you helped me too, Jin. Have a good night, okay?”

“Okay, good night.”

His heart is full even as you walk out, because there’s hope for the two of you, for the late bloomers, for the geniuses, for the strugglers, for everyone. And with that small ring, he can help out more than just you now.

[hellionkat-star-wars-edition]

Bright Lights Cast Tall Shadows (Rey/Kylo Ren)

  So…here’s a little something that’s been sitting in my WIP binder for waaaay too long and needs to be shared…Thanks so much to betaingbyme for helping me edit this incomplete fic of mine. She was a real pleasure to work with and if ever you need help beta-ing your star wars fic you should def’n go to her.

Summary:

There’s been a distrubance in the Force.

It’s Kylo Ren.

He’s dying.

Two-hundred and thirty-four breaths.

The young Jedi gobbled down another. At such high altitudes, Ach-To’s rolling mists tickled down her respiratory organs like a strong shot of Knockback Nectar. 

Rey exhaled quickly blowing sticky hair tendrils off her face.

Two hundred and thirty-five breaths down and thousands more to go. If she succeeded, her body would numb and her consciousness blur with the will of the Force. She might even levitate a little. Rey thrilled at such a prospect. Luke meditated in this way, believing that contact with the ground could prove distracting. She doubted she’d miss the cold sting of volcanic rock beneath her rump.

R'iia take her–the chill dancing down her spine was exasperating. It almost made her miss the dry heat of Niima.

Almost.

Rey would not allow Ach-To’s foreign mists to sabotage her focus this time. She was no stranger to the overtly meticulous. She’d shimmied down Imperial wrecks and scrubbed minute specks off scrap for less payoff.

Luke had called her a fighter. A survivor. Claimed her desert-dwelling resilience would put even the most disciplined Jedi Knight to shame. But Rey knew her master’s kind words were a hollow reward for all her sleepless nights spent yearning for a family.

Cruel Jakku might have been Rey’s teacher in resilience, but to be self-reliant a Jedi must have no desires. And in Rey’s short lifespan, ache and want and unfulfillment were all she’d ever known.  

Luke said when they first met her inner turmoil was so loud it was audible. It resonated like the shrill cry of a lost child trapped within an infinite feedback loop.

Force meditation was the only remedy.

Luke worried if she did not heal her internal scars soon her new Force powers could spiral out of her control, and leave her open to attack. If that happened, then she’d become lost to the chaos within herself forever. Just like another of Luke’s students, and Rey wanted nothing in common with him.

He was the whole reason her Master made her sit hours on end in solitude when they could be practicing battle forms instead. She knew Luke didn’t want to lose her as he had lost his nephew. Why the legendary Jedi kept her at a distance with forlorn smiles and seldom eye contact. Surely, he hadn’t meant to make her feel like an unwanted burden. But the possibility that she might succumb to the Darkside like his former apprentice always lingered in the air between them. It stung like being punished for a crime she had yet to commit.

Rey stiffened.

Just when she thought she was making some leeway with her Master, Kylo Ren had managed yet again to take another important person away from her.

Venomous monster. Remorseless creature. Father killer.

An unfamiliar wave of fury crept into Rey, a heat.  Unbidden, it bubbled and surged like a Steelpecker egg trapped in a Neutrino radiator. Panicked by its suddenness, her breathing wavered as did her connection to the Force.

Open palms clenched into fists.

This had been her twelfth attempt today to maintain a steady connection, and it’d taken her countless attempts throughout the week just to get to where she was now.

Rey wanted to scream.

She had failed. And she only had herself to blame for allowing Kylo Ren to once again creep into her mind and occupy her meditation.

Why did her thoughts always stray back to him like the curious pull of Ach-To’s tides?

She hated it.

Hated how her kind Master’s voice trembled whenever he uttered that monster’s given name. Hated how much his sorrowful tone parroted Han’s. Kylo Ren didn’t deserve their remorse, their pity, their forgiveness. She didn’t want to hear another cautionary tale of a boy who had everything only to lose it all, who hadn’t always been a monster. As if innocence in a past life could ever make up for his current crimes. Could ever make up for how tiny and helpless he’d made her feel on Starkiller. The humiliation. The rage.

Rey loathed the way his fears and his aches and his longings had clawed into her like a greedy beast. How closely they reflected her trepidations in twisted mirror image.

Don’t be afraid I feel it, too.

Brow marred in sweat, the young padawan tried with all her might to recapture her hold over the Force.

But it was like grasping at frayed wires.

It was gone.

Rey hung her head in defeat. Luke was wrong about her. Jakku hadn’t geared her towards the Jedi way. She was too fueled by fury, too starry-eyed and too ignorant of the galaxy and all its perils – too much like him.

A hot tear trickled down her face.

At this rate, she’d never become a Jedi.

Burning adrenaline ripped through Rey’s esophagus as tremors ransacked her muscles and robbed her of breath.

She bristled. It was the same hateful sensations she’d been struggling with all week. Ashamed, Rey had kept them hidden fearing Luke’s disdain. But this time, this time they were far worse.

Rey doubled over in confusion.

What the kriff is happening to me? So much anger and despair. I feel so empty, so helpless and alone.

Let go, Rey commanded as she whispered the Jedi code through gritted teeth, but her attempts at peace were fruitless. It was difficult to concentrate when it felt like your whole world was being flipped upside down.

Let go of anger. Let go of hate. Let go of it.

But she couldn’t.  

Not this time.

Anxiety pummeled through Rey’s chest in perverse locomotion, and her eyes widened as it dawned on her that she hadn’t lost her connection to the Force. This was the Force. She was still somehow connected. Whatever these disturbing feelings were, they were coming from an outside source. Her Master had once told her a Force user could be so in tune to the Force they could sense horrible tragedies many trajectories away.

Had some disaster been fueling her pain and muddling her concentration the past few weeks?

Rey’s breath hitched.

Had another planetary system been obliterated by the First Order? An attack on the Resistance, perhaps?

Rey let out a swift prayer for Finn’s safety as her heart rate accelerated and her stomach recoiled from the pinprick-like shocks. Every particle in her body was on fire and vibrating with a tension so thick it could rival Ach-to’s fog. She couldn’t stop shaking. Her hair stood on end from all the generated static.

She tried to hold onto the ground for balance but… there was no ground.

This should not be happening!  

She hadn’t nearly reached her master’s tipping point for when consciousness melded into Force.

This was all too new. Not that long ago, the Force had merely been an abstract idea to Rey. A word the Teedos used in vain like their goddess R’iia.

She closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to remember her Master’s teachings on Force meditation, anything to get her through this. What if she was having another Force vision? Rey baulked. She wasn’t prepared for that. She wasn’t prepared for any of this.

Not yet.

“We are all empty vessels awaiting the Force’s guidance, Rey,” Luke had told her one starless night, illuminated by the glow of a dying campfire.

“When you least expect it, the Force will reveal itself to you as it did on Takodana. It manifests itself to all Force users in time, albeit differently.”

“What’s it like for you, Master?”

“Where to even begin?” Luke laughed. “That’s like trying to have me explain a new colour.”

Luke stroked his beard as if seeming to search his mind for the right words of description.

“For me, when I’m out there–it’s like returning home. I can taste the whipping tails of dust whistle by and feel the dry crunch of desert crust sift through my fingertips. All is endless dunes, limitless it runs on forever like slithering sand snakes into a red cloudless horizon as bright as a Tatooine sunset.”

Rey scrunched her nose attempting to picture the two orbiting suns her Master often spoke of, and Luke laughed.

“The force means different things to different people, Rey.”

“Leia once told me she first saw the Force as muted colours like pastel ribbons on an Alderaanian tapestry.

Luke’s temperament softened as he spoke of Leia.

“When I last saw my sister, she had the ability to make out the impression of our mother’s face, even though they’ve never met.”

Luke stared long and hard into his hands. Finally he rose to tend the flame. An unnecessary act, considering the fire had long died out.  

“Ben never could stand Force meditation,” he whispered.

“There was always this shadow hovering about Ben, a chaos. A temperamental whirlwind just like his mother and father, and the Force only magnified it tenfold and Snoke-” Luke rested for a moment, breathing deeply. “-I do not wish the same for you, Rey.”

Luke took both her hands in his and shook them, “One day you will know peace, you will know belonging, and you will reconcile your past. Trust in the Force, Rey. It might seem scary at first, but I beg you to listen to what it tells you. Its song led you to me. Its melody protected your friend Finn from my nephew, and if you allow its will to be done, the Force will set you free from anger, loneliness, hate-” Luke smiled stiffly, “-just as it did for my father before me.”

But has it done the same for you, Luke? Rey had wished to ask her Master on that somber night. Are you free from all the hollow pain of your past?  

Instead, she had bit her blasphemous tongue and stared up at the starless sky, her mind wandering back once again to the taboo subject of Kylo Ren.

How did he experience the Force?

Listen to the Force, Rey. Luke’s voice reverberated, breaking her reverie. Listen to its song.

Listen. Listen. Listen.

But how could she possibly listen when she was being torn apart?

Disintegrated. Her mind was literally being disintegrated. Her thoughts and ideas and memories scattered and wrinkled. From nowhere, invisible hands tugged and pulled and collided into Rey as if she were in a crowded Niima marketplace. Beings that wanted to shove and push her down a million different paths at once. And they wouldn’t stop talking. The noise was unbearable. They were just incessantly talking to her in a symphony of terrible crescendos. Voices of beings she didn’t even recognize in languages she had never heard before.

And then silence.  

Rey’s eyes shot open.

The Light. It was blinding, ethereal, detached.

She’d been sucked into the Force, and all she could see for miles on end was nothing. Nothing made nowhere, only stretched wider and made more infinite.

Rey had to admit she had hoped for more than this, perhaps not Luke’s sand snakes, but something.

And then she felt it.

Beacons of green and blue effervescent light poured out of Rey like a holoprojector. At first, the signals flittered like fuzzy bits of static until finally pictures swam into view.

Rey blinked back her surprise.

She was onboard the Millennium Falcon. Or at least, it appeared that way. Entangled in wires, the Falcon blinked in and out of reality like rotating galaxies mimicking the ship’s circuitry. On closer inspection, Rey found the stars to actually be holes with long luminescent cords pulled through them. And there were piles of said wires scattered everywhere. Some of them even lead to… to her. Like umbilical cords they clung to her center.

Puzzled by this new discovery, Rey itched to wrap her fingers around the pulsing conglomeration and find their source. Two cords in particular grabbed her attention. The first a sad, pallid cord that no longer looked functional, while the second behaved as an exposed copper wire, ready to spark and burst into flames.

“Well, you’re in luck,” Rey told the hanging cords, “I happen to know a thing or two about mending broken things.”

Without a second thought, Rey tugged on the first connection and watched as it hummed in broken transmission.

Leave…Come home…Still light…

Like an echo lost in time the faraway voice resonated in static pleas, like it belonged to-

Rey’s eyes widened.

“Han?”

…There’s still light in…

“Han?” Rey cried again but there was no reply.

Spooked, she dropped the broken wire.

It couldn’t be; Han was dead. Her mind was playing tricks on her in this Force created nowhere land. She should head back to her body, back to the real Rey who sat cross-legged and out of breath somewhere on Ach-to’s rolling hills.

Rey twitched as a familiar sensation pulsated directly into her core.

Anger. Despair. Alone… so alone.

The all-consuming heat had returned in full force and it had come from the volatile second wire. Sparking out of control, it cut her deeper than any vibroblade ever could. Whatever was connected to her on the other side was tugging back, hurtling her towards its trajectory at light speed

Rey’s surroundings blurred and fizzled out of view.

No longer in the vortex of space and time she found herself staring down empty corridors with walls that zigzagged between obsidian and metallic supports. The ambiance of it made her head reel.

Where am I?

As if in answer, two figures strolled head on towards her. One Rey recognized as a state of the art 2-1B surgical droid and the other a red-headed man in a First Order overcoat.

Oblivious to Rey’s presence, the man paced around the medical droid with a perpetual frown.

“Status report,” he insisted.

“All attempts at recovery have been a failure, sir.”

Arms crossed the red-headed man wavered between rage and worry and gratifying smugness.

“Should I inform the Supreme Leader then?”

The droid whipped its head around, “No need, General. He’s already been made aware.”

“Pity,” sniffed the General, “Looks like I’ll have to forgo the pleasure of informing him myself.”

Rey strained to hear more, but it grew difficult to listen when she was seeing double when she was seeing red. The copper wire connected to her core pounded out an erratic rhythm of hard and fast, hard and fast, drawing her closer to synthetic strands and flashing filaments that clung and pumped into-

Rey gasped.

No.No. No. It couldn’t be.

There—in the corner of the cold, chrome facility lied the very naked form of Kylo Ren hooked to a bacta tank breathing apparatus. His body was bent and brooding over the same bundle of glistening cords that blinked in and out of reality to intertwine with her.

Rey wanted to weep.

How could the Force be so cruel?

Like gears set in motion, it all clicked together now for the young Jedi.

There’d been a disturbance in the Force.

It was Kylo Ren.

She’d felt him.

Though the man made no motion towards her, Rey instantly recoiled. Gooseflesh running up and down her arms as if the angry red crackle of a phantom saber dangled at the nape of her neck.

But the underdressed Darksider was no threat to her: he floated about listlessly, almost lifeless. Kylo Ren was a half shadow– every muscle on his torso flowing from the light into the dark, his body a topographic map of craterlike gashes. Rey sucked in a sharp breath at the one she gifted him on Starkiller. The angry scar wrapped his prominent jaw and curved dramatically across the length of his shoulder until it shrank into the twining cords of muscles leading lower still to bold thighs and calves-

Rey flushed at what came next, restricting herself to only looking above his torso, feeling very much the voyeur. She should not be gawking at her naked mortal enemy; instead, she should be asking the Force why it brought her to him.

Why would it bind her to such a monster?

Listen. Listen. Listen.

“I’m trying.”

But all she could hear was Kylo Ren’s erratic heart-rate monitor bleat out a sad melody no service droid bothered to remedy. In fact, it didn’t seem like anyone was concerned with his wellbeing. This was a med bay after all, a place of healing, but many of his wounds looked fresh and newly infected, the glass of his tank cracked and smeared with bloody fingerprints.  

Something was not right with this picture.

Cautious, Rey drew closer to her slumbering counterpart to circle his desolate enclosure. Behind Ren’s container lay a shady gaggle of gadgetry. Discarded torture devices she recognized from her scavenging days, some that hadn’t been used since the Empire. The one connected behind Kylo Ren’s tank was the most barbaric, the T-26G – an electric shock device set to a timer–known to inflict madness in its victim with unconditional jolts and spasms.

Kylo Ren was slowly being driven insane.

How cruel, Rey thought with a shudder, but why would the First Order torture one of their own?

Why should you care? The padawan clenched her fists.

It wasn’t as if he deserved her pity. In fact, he didn’t deserve her anything. He was a killer and in turn karma had finally come for him. Kylo Ren was an unsolved puzzle best left unsolved.

And yet.

Looking at him now—defeated and vulnerable; something faltered within Rey. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to call it pity, but it was a familiar ache nonetheless, a stirring, a sense of misplaced kinship, perhaps. After all, she’d unknowingly been privy to his thoughts and feelings for weeks. Trapped within his private world of pain and suffering; a world they now had in common.

Rey shook her head.

Perhaps, she was weak for feeling thus.

A chime went off inside the T-26G startling her.

Small electric shockwaves bubbled and foamed inside the murky bacta tank. Like a marionette Kylo Ren’s bulking body twitched to life under clouds of pressure.

Red flooded Rey’s vision. She had to clutch the tank just to steady herself; it was as if the floor underneath her would crumble – crushing her with feelings of overwhelming failure and abandonment that were not her own, but very well could have been.

A faint cry filled her ears.

Among the wires the broken grey cord wailed under the assault.

…there’s still light…

Han.

No, Rey corrected, not Han.

Han Solo had gone to join the living Force.

This was the severed link that once connected them, begging her with empty whispers and remnants of the past.

…we can still save him… I know it…

No, never. Monster, her mind screamed back.

“You ask too much of me.”

She was done with listening to the Force she was heading back.

Delirious, Rey tried with all her might to break apart the glimmering gradients of cables and cords jutting out from her belly. But determination soon dwindled to despair; the chains were just too strong. For each pull away, Rey was pulled closer to Kylo Ren as if they were binary stars set to collide. Her cries intermingled with his; their tears running together as one.  

Now the crimson wire radiated with a red hot fury, and shadows oozed like tentacles. They spoke in rhythmic clicks and howls and strangled mists thick enough to choke. Visions swarmed her, drowning her in memories not her own. Her entire consciousness was being torn out of place and put back together. It felt like dying. She was dying. She was inside him.  

Was this how Kylo Ren experienced the Force?

And then there was nothing. All was crippling darkness.

Rey’s eyes adjusted to her bleak surroundings until an inky hand gripped her face and purred.

“Kill her. You said it yourself she has too much light.”

Two glowing orbs and a saccharine grin gripped Rey in petrified thrall. It made her think of a sand cat toying with its food. Red filled her vision until she heard herself respond.

“No!”

It was the pleading voice of Kylo Ren.

“Her light may be strong but bright light casts tall shadows, Master. I’ve witnessed it myself in her mind and in battle. For all her bright, childish hope, there is a deep and lovely void- a rot not unlike my own- that if left to fester could-”  

The spectral figure snorted and dizziness consumed both Rey and Ren.

“I am confident I can turn her, master.”

“I know you are my apprentice,” The creature soothed, “-and it disappoints me.”

Anger. Despair. Alone… so alone.

Grief gripped Rey’s chest like it had back on Ach-to, but now it was as though an invisible hand had coiled itself directly into her gut and was digging for whatever it could find.

“Master, please! I do not understand. Why?”

“Your pathetic hope of turning her to our cause will be your folly.”

Hope?

“No, never…I-”

“Liar!” The creature cursed and clawed deeper still into Kylo Ren’s fractured psyche.

“You, you see an island. You long to be there with her. The scavenger!” The shrill voice gleefully accused.

“No, no I have not veered from your teachings, Supreme Leader. I am stronger now more tha-”

“You are weak. You cannot hide it from me, boy. I can smell her on you. She permeates in the air around you. At night you dream of possessing her, yearn for her companionship like a teenaged fool, a vapid obsession.”

The more this Supreme Leader continued his assault, the more Rey felt like she was the closest she’d ever been to dying.  

“Worst of all-” The monster seethed, “you see a future with her.”

“No, she’s no one.” Ren weakly coughed through choked sobs.  

“Not to you.”

The phantasm gave a knowing smile and Rey’s heart stopped.

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

Welp, that’s as far as I got with this. I think after watching TLJ I might be able to go back and retcon some things if I do decide to keep going and post it on A03. 

Be a dear and tell me what you think! :) 

[erstwhile25]

Skin of the Teeth Part 3: Danger Lurks

“I’ll tell you this Gerrad…” said the minute Lalafel called Laloquer “...wherever you go, you have the distinct habit of picking up strays.  Mangy ones at that.”

“I seem t’remember a rather mangy bunch haulin themselves from the sea once, they didn't do too bad fer themselves.” Kail gently laid the last of the wounded in the hold. A small girl no heavier than a sack of potatoes, her blonde hair tinged a dirty scarlet by a head wound, and the remnant of someone’s shirt bound tightly about her left eye and the back of her skull.  By some small mercy she was unconscious and elicited only the occasional whimper, but that seemed to be where the world’s mercy ended.  If Kail was any judge, she'd lose the eye before the day was out.

Laloquer gave a disdainful sniff as he walked among the other wounded, scribbling down notes for triage in chalk on a piece of slate. “I don't remember much of them to be honest, I find it best to look ever towards the future, leave the past where it belongs...in the past.”

“How very practical of ye.” Said Kail, dry as the Thanland sands “While yer peeking at the future, think ye could make sure this lot has one?”

Kail hadn't met many folks that could twirl their mustache and not look like utter fools, but Lalo was among their number.  The Lalafel’s pomp was rivaled only by the care that he lavished upon his immaculately waxed and trimmed facial hair. “Put your worries at ease, under my care their survival is all but assured.”

Norah nudged the small doctor aside none too gently as she bustled past with a bucket of sea water and a rag. “A little less talk perhaps and a little more action then?  They will applaud for you when they are standing upright I'm sure.”

If Norah noticed Lalo’s scathing look of reproach, she didn't let onto it, rather she knelt by the girl to begin the business of cleaning and redressing her wounds.  Kail watched Lalo stalk off to begin his work, then crouched next to Norah, remaining tactfully silent as she mopped dried blood from the child’s forehead.

“I'm not apologizing to him, these people need help.”  She uttered under her breath.  Kail gave a small smile, slipping a folded sack under the girl’s head for support,  

“He likes Gridania rosés, I'll introduce ye t’my supplier...ye don't have t’apologize, jest pour.”  

Norah nodded, her face a stony mask of a duty unfinished, Kail could see she was forcing herself to keep looking at the girl.  He laid his hand on hers, despite the blood and filthy water, giving it a slight squeeze.  She looked up and though there was no smile on her face she seemed to come out of whatever torturous spiral she had been putting herself through.  “We’re getting them out of here.” She said horsely, it was a deceleration of fact, and there was no moving her on the matter.

“Aye.” Said Kail, he took a breath preparing himself for the argument coming. “Ye sure ye want t’go with Baroth and the others?  No one would call ye a coward iffin ye stayed.”

Norah frowned at him, and yanked her hand from his, flinging the rag forcefully in the bucket.  “They wouldn't have to, I would damn myself as a coward if I didn't.  They are my countrymen, and I won't abandon them.”

“We wouldn't be abandoning them, we’re coming back fer them.”

“Would you trust Baroth to get them to those islands?”

He threw his hands wide, and his voice took on a sharper edge “Funny ye should mention that, I don't trust him, not with their lives, nor yers fer that matter.”

“I can handle him, so trust me.”  She gently reached out and brought his hands together and between them  “Please.”

He didn't answer right away, he didn't particularly care to, some part of him rankled that these weak, dirty, frightened people had more of a hold on her than he did.  It told him it would be easier to simply slit the throats of Baroth and company then leave without a glance behind them. They would still be saving the wounded, those on the beach could take care of themselves.  They would be finishing the job within their contractual obligation.  Who was to judge them for not being able to stretch further?

“Kail?” Norah’s voice dragged him out of that small corner of his mind.  He was made aware of a pain in his cheek, where he had bitten the inside.  The iron taste of blood was on his tongue.  Norah’s face was knit both in concern and discernment. “You...went somewhere else on me.”

“I'm fine, I'll see how they’re doing on gettin the boats ready fer the trip back.”

He released her hands, and made for the stairs to the deck before he could change his mind on the matter.  All the way up he could feel her eyes on him.  

A few of Baroth’s men were huffing away in a fireman’s line to get goods from the hold onto the first of the boats.  They were struggling to keep up with Noyra, who tossed barrels and packages from below with the steady and inevitable chug of a steam engine.  Baroth leaned against the railing off to the side, his eyes were fixed upon those back on the shores.  Kail perched himself off to the side of the man, producing his flask, and finally giving in to the yearning of his guts for a drink.  

The sweet burn was a welcome one, and while it didn't drown out all the noise within and without, it dulled them to a low buzz he could manage.

“That...is the look of a man who’s been fighting with the wife.” Kail took another sip to try and drown out the smug undertones in Baroth’s voice.  He kept his eyes to the shore, and let a hefty silence roll though before he trusted himself enough to answer the man.

“Yer half right, which is about yer speed.”

“...Fuck you.”

Kail found himself smirking, clearing the air tended to have that effect.  He didn't have to look at the gruff highlander to feel the man’s pale blue eyes on him, scrutinizing him like a rider would a bought horse.  “Why are you here Limsan?”

First paramour, then pirate, then Limsan, Kail was starting to wonder if the man actually knew his damned name.  Finally glancing over to eye Baroth in return, Kail said “Came out t’make sure ye left my ship like ye got on it, quickly, painlessly, and quietly.”

Baroth shook his head, waving a hand towards the shore. “No.  I mean why are you here, helping us?  I've given it some thought...and Taltov wasn't paying you much, at least not enough to warrant all this trouble.  Clearly you’re not a supporter of the cause.”

“Ye’ve a roundabout way of asking why I ent twisted the knife in yer guts yet.”

Baroth winced as if he had been slapped, and in the instant of his embarrassment Kail could see he wasn't as old or as experienced as he made out to others.  His scowling bearded face was a front, a sham, a glamour he enacted so that those who followed him wouldn't be let on to the inconvenient fact that he wasn't cut out for command.  Kail accidentally found himself respecting the man a little for it, and wondered if he would have done anything different in the Mhigan’s position.

“ That was spoken in haste...and unfair of me.” Baroth finally said.  

Reminding himself that it had also been an attempt to steal the Rook, Kail offered the man his flask nonetheless.  Everyone had their turn playing the fool after all.  Baroth frowned for a moment, looking like the flask might bite him, then after consideration finally took the old and dented vessel.  As he sipped from it, Kail finally spoke up.

“This ent a ship oh fools, and we know how t’read more than the tides.  Varis is fresh to the throne, and it don't matter iffin yer a captain or emperor, first thing ye do is make sure those under ye know who’s in charge.  Fer Varis?  That means puttin down the rebellions in Ala Mhigo and Doma, an returnin the Empire t’the expansion days.  It suits me fine t’help ye stick pins in his royal Nibs’ arse, cause I don't like our prospects in a Garlean controlled Eorzea.”

“So that’s all this is…” said a very stony faced Baroth, as he took another sip from the flask. “Looking after your prospects.”

“No…” Said Kail as he reached over and snatched his flask back “But that’s all yer gettin.”

He capped the flask and stowed it back into his vest, ignoring the souring look from Baroth.  The first boat was almost finished loading, Noyra was climbing her way up the hold netting with the last barrel on her shoulder.  Kail made his way over, and while the Roe towered over him and outweighed him by well over a two hundred stone, he leaned over and made the mummery of helping her back onto the deck.  Noyra gave him a wide grin once she was back on her feet, then gave him a thump on the shoulder that would have brought him to his knees if he wasn't ready for it.  

It was during this exchange, with the eyes of the deck upon them, that they talked.  They spoke without voice.

It had started after Noyra’s throat injury, by some twisted blessing, a stroke meant to end her life had only taken her voice.  She had recovered well enough, she had always been a strong healer, but never again would Noyra be able to utter another word.  It was Laloquer who had come up with the solution.  Working together he and Noyra came up with a system of speech that used the entire body, not just the mouth and tongue.  After all, he had argued, the mouth and the tounge were the most superfical parts of language anyhow.  The most profound signals came from the eyes, the set of your feet, and the cant of your head.

It wasn't perfect, the more complex the word or concept, the more movements it needed, and there were still yet more words that Lalo and Noyra needed to assign.  Still, it was quick, efficient, and it allowed the survivors of the Howling Sin to do something few knew how to do.  To have a private conversation while the rest of the world looked on.

What's your measure of his men? Said Kail with a flick of his fingers, his eyes cautiously flicking towards the handful of armed fellows they had allowed Baroth.

They are strong, hardy, and tested. She replied with a sweep of her hand down the front of her clothes, that to anyone else, looked like she was dusting herself off.  But they don't respect him, and hardly know one another.

He nodded, and hooked his thumbs into his belt. I think they’ll leave peacefully, but be ready for the worst.

With a slight nod of her head she brushed past him to the long boat.  

He joined Baroth again at the railing, offering the man a brief smile.  “That’s the last of what we can offer ye lot.  Wish it could be more but…”

“Wish in one hand..” muttered Baroth.

“That's the long and short oh it aye…”  Kail reached over, offering the man his tattooed hand.  For a moment it looked like Baroth would shake it, but then everything went to hell.  

There was a sudden pop that echoed out over the bay from the beach, for a moment Kail was worried someone had been shot, but when he looked back to the forest line he saw what it was.  In the beginning grey of the dawn horizon, a lone red flare was arcing into the sky.  The kind of flare used to signal airships.  Kail flicked his eyes towards Baroth, and there must have been some sort of accusation burning there, because the highlander quickly rose both his hands in the air.

“That...that’s not us, none of my boys brought flares….why would they?”

Kail gave it a moment’s thought before nodding and placing a hand on Baroth’s shoulder.  “I believe ye.”

Then, quick as blinking, Kail sank a fist right into the middle of the man.  Baroth sank to his knees with a wheezing hiss, the air driven from his lungs as surely as if sucked away by a bellows.  Kail didn't give him a chance to recover, hooking an arm under the man chest and twisting, he hurled him neatly over his hip, and into the waiting waters below.

To their credit, the two of Baroth’s men nearest to the scuffle already had their swords out by the time he hit the water, but it took less time than that for Noyra to walk right up behind them and smash their skulls together.  As she deposited their unconscious forms into the loaded longboat, what remained of the Resistance on the Rook looked at each other, unsure as to their next course of action.  When the rest of the Rook’s crew simultaneously drew their weapons and pointed the mass of blades and barrels towards the Resistance members, their confusion dried up.

“Get off my ship.” Said Kail plainly and without malice.  “Get yer people t’safety best ye can.  We’ll take care oh our end.”

One of the Resistance apparently hadn't made the line the day they were handing out smarts, he sputtered as a cutlass nudged him towards the long boat  “What about the other boats?  There’s only one ready to launch.”

“Best ye get on it then, cause it ain’t stayin long.”  Said Kail as he drew one of his long curved daggers and began sawing at one of the securing lines.  Those on the long boat grasped his meaning and scrambled to grab for purchase.  With a whip crack snap the securing line parted and the long boat, cargo and all, plunged for the waters below.  There was a terrific splash as it hit the water, and miraculously didn't shatter upon impact, a testament to Limsan ship building.

Two of the Resistance members hadn't been quick enough and were thrown into the waters during the landing, when they surfaced coughing and sputtering, they had Baroth in between them.  As soon as Baroth had enough air in his lungs, he began hurling curses about treacherous pirates and the woman slattern enough to bare them.  Kail was only half listening however, there was a sudden dull whine in the air, distorted by the sea water and the echoing qualities of the bay.  

Shoving aside confused crew he forced his way across the deck to the bowsprit, where he began scanning the horizon with his spy glass.  It didn't take long to spot it, nothing had an outline quite like a Garlean gunship.  From the sound of her cerulean engines she was still a ways off, but she was faster than any sea bound ship to be sure, and now she had the scent of the Rook.  Kail spat a curse as he snapped his spyglass shut, glancing behind him to see the entirety of the crew looking at him.

Isral spoke up from among their number “R’haji?  What do we do?”

Kail looked about at the expectant multitude of faces, among their number was Norah, and he wondered how much of that exchange she had seen.  He supposed he should have been glad she hadn't dove over the side after the Resistance, yet there was something in her expression of shock...was it blame?  Resentment?  He didn't have time to discern, the others were still waiting for an answer.  So he gave it.

“Get this ship turned about ye scabrous currs! We’re runnin!”

[snowbellewells]

“It’s the Thought That Counts”

Okay, so this is nearly two weeks belated, but it’s my CS Secret Santa 2016 gift to @swanandapirate that I truly hope she will enjoy!  Now I can finally tell you I’m your Secret Santa and thank you profusely for being patient as this story fought me every bit of the way in finally getting completed.  It draws a bit from O. Henry’s “The Gift of the Magi”, but it can be enjoyed without knowing that.  It’s a modern AU, and Killian and Emma are twenty something platonic roommates, though both may want more if they ever get up the courage to admit it.  I truly do hope it’s worth the wait, that your holidays were happy and that 2017 is a wonderful New Year for you!   ~Marta (snowbellewells)

“It’s the Thought that Counts”

For @swanandapirate my CS Secret Santa giftee 2016

By: snowbellewells (TutorGirlml on ff.net)

             Seventy-seven dollars and forty-eight cents…that was all.  Emma blew out a frustrated breath and scrubbed a weary hand over her face, sighing and wondering if maybe she should count again.  Surely she had missed some of it; she must have made a mistake. After taking on all those extra shifts at Granny’s, after all of the pinching and scraping she’d done – it still wouldn’t be enough.  Seventy-seven dollars and forty-eight cents it was, and that wouldn’t buy the perfect present…the gift she’d decided he had to have.

           Not knowing what else to do, Emma Swan shoved the blond strands that had escaped her braid out of her face in exasperation and tucked the bills and assorted coins back into the beat up leather wallet she carried, perusing the people rushing back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the row of shops through the windshield of her VW Bug. She’d parked outside the music store right after getting off her latest shift at the little 24-hour diner, hoping that with the week’s wages Granny had kindly given her a day early and the night’s tips, she would finally be able to get the gift she had earmarked for her best friend.

           Though she had been putting back every spare penny for weeks, there hadn’t been very many of them. She was often lucky if ten to twenty dollars every week or so made it in the fund she had begun in September for Killian’s present.  On a waitress’ salary (yeah, those big dreams of what she would do with her fancy degree had yet to come to any kind of fruition) rent, utilities, groceries and gas for the Bug were almost more than she could handle, even splitting some of those bills with her best friend for their two bedroom apartment; there simply wasn’t much extra.

           Regardless, Killian was special to her, and she wanted him to have the items she’d set her heart on giving him.  Wistfully, she rested her arms on the steering wheel and gazed once more at the front of the music shop, admiring again the tooled-leather strap and perfect case, butter soft material all on the inside, the ideal cushion for his beloved instrument, the guitar that had once been his brother Liam’s.  Knowing she couldn’t afford the price she had been quoted, despite all her effort, Emma let her mind wander back instead, not yet willing to leave empty-handed, back to the early days when she and Killian had first met.

           It had been only her second day at college in Boston; she had forgotten to get a shower curtain for the suite and was running out in a huff to the nearest Target when she had plowed into a guy entering the dorm with a stack of boxes high enough to obscure his view, and knocked both of them off their feet. Rather than bawling her out for not watching where she was going or picking himself up and beating a hasty retreat from the disastrous whirlwind she had been in those days, he’d begun to laugh, helped her up, introduced himself, and they had been best friends ever since.  From studying for midterms together for years, to bringing each other meals and keeping one another company in the wee hours at their numerous respective part-time jobs, to prepping each other as they got ready for interviews at their post-college ventures, Killian Jones was the first person in Emma’s life who had always been there for her when she needed him, who would drop anything to come when she called. It had taken him time to break through her reserve and skepticism completely – growing up shuffled through the foster system, abandoned and forgotten, had left her waiting for the same sort of betrayal from anyone in her life.  However, as months of barbed comments, testing behavior, and sharp comebacks failed to scare him off or push him away, Emma had begun to let Killian in – to try something new as he urged and trust him – just a little at first, and then more openly than she had ever allowed herself to trust  anyone before.  Now, she truly could not imagine what her life would be like without her confidante, her partner-in-crime, and her number one supporter.  Killian had opened her eyes, made her stop to enjoy, to laugh, to appreciate her days, and at least occasionally…believe.  The world looked brighter through his vision.

           Emma knew she wasn’t the easiest person, and she had wanted for some time to do something for Killian to say thank you in a way more clear than words, which often failed her. She wanted him to know what his friendship had come to mean to her, and give him something he would really love. It was hard for her to fully express how glad she was that he had persisted until he helped her lower the walls around her heart, and when she had finally discovered the perfect gesture – the very thing her dearest friend needed, no deserved, to have, she couldn’t make herself settle for anything else.

           Once more, she glanced into the music shop’s large front window.  She could see the handcrafted, genuine leather, artistically beautiful guitar case even from where she sat.  Of course it was displayed prominently.  She knew nothing about instruments or their care and storage; in general, she paid very little attention to music at all, other than to know that the old, traditional shanties Killian’s calloused fingers coaxed from the strings with his gentle touch were the most soothing and peaceful sounds she had ever heard, and his husky, warmly accented voice made shivers run up and down her spine with an intensity that she was hard-pressed to ignore and which made her clench her hands on her thighs not to delve them into his dark, unruly hair and pull him close.

           Shaking her head, Emma turned the key in the VW’s ignition, wondering at the disconcerting rush of attraction which swept over her from time-to-time.  She didn’t know where it came from or why she couldn’t rid herself of it as she had always been able to with guys before, but she wouldn’t risk anything else; no matter how devastatingly handsome Killian was, not if it meant she could stand to lose the most loving, steadfast person to ever walk into her life.  She simply forced herself to ride the moments out when they appeared and kept herself together until the hot yearning subsided and she could look at him and simply see her friend once more.  Regretfully clutching the worn-soft steering wheel in her hands, Emma knew she should back out of the parking space; she needed to give up and find something else for Killian that she could afford.  She had almost done so, already moved the stick to reverse, when the solution came to her in a blast of inspiration. Her eyes lit up, and her fingers danced over the dashboard, only the tiniest bit of lingering hesitation left.  She knew just what to do, but she had to be quick.  She had to get back here before closing time. It was a miracle the case and strap had not already been bought as someone else’s gift.  Excitement that she had not felt in a very long time thrummed through her veins as Emma told herself she just might manage to give Killian Jones a Christmas gift worthy of him after all.

~~CS~~CS~~CS~~CS~~CS~~CS~~CS~~CS~~

           Across town, Killian Jones was pondering similar obstacles as he paced the auto body shop where he and Emma’s friend Graham had helped him find some extra work when he wasn’t pounding the pavement trying to seek an opening in his chosen field.  While the opportunities to get a foot in the door at one of the city’s various law firms had proven to be few and far between, he picked up what income he could in the meantime.  Occasionally when the place was swamped, he helped Graham in the repairs, and Graham’s friendly boss, an older gentleman named Marco who had been a skilled craftsman in his day but now had hands too arthritic to do any of the actual work himself, had Killian into his office, his keen eyes twinkling as he took in what he called “a sharp young pup’s” financial and legal advice and paid him well for the consultation, even if it was not officially licensed.

           Though Killian enjoyed action and doing, a bit of adventure and an honest day’s labor, this help he could be to Marco and others like him – Emma’s old-fashioned diner owning boss whom everyone simply called “Granny” Lucas, when she was stymied by paperwork and tax forms was another – reminded him of why he had chosen law in the first place; nearly broke though he might be from the effort and not yet having been able to right any great wrongs.  Six long years have gone by since the accident that took his beloved older brother’s life, and the legal wrangling pulled off by the defendant’s lawyer, keeping the man responsible for Liam’s ship being broadsided and then left stranded in the harbor, taking on water and going down in under ten minutes, her captain’s body having never been found but almost certainly going down with the doomed vessel, from facing anything more than what seemed a mere slap on the wrist for his gross negligence.  Killian had been just nineteen at the time, barely into his sophomore year of college, and when all was said and done, he had been left with no settlement, no compensation, no income, and most devastating of all: no anchor. The man who had always been there for him, the only dependable father figure in his life since their sire had walked out one day when Killian was eight and never returned, who had cared for him, looked out for him, made sure he had food to eat, told him stories when they were young and the nights were dark, who had given up his own coat so Killian didn’t go to school without, who had stood in front of his little brother as a shield, both physically when their father lashed out in misguided anger and grief, and emotionally with plausible excuses until Killian had been old enough to understand and bear the truth of their papa’s abandonment; that man was suddenly and irrevocably gone.

           Killian hadn’t been able to keep their little apartment or most of their appliances, furniture, and other possessions, such as they had been.  Their sale had allowed him to scrape together enough to stay in school that year.  The scholarships, loans, and much hard work, as well as various friends’ kindly lent couches and spare rooms over breaks had allowed him to continue until he had his degree, but his initial bent toward marine biology was no more. In his mind, law was now his own way of seeking justice and retribution for wrongs.  He would do all in his power to keep others who had already lost their loved ones from losing everything else as well, the way that he had.

           Liam’s battered acoustic guitar was the one thing he had not been able to part with, though it sat propped up in the front seat beside him now.  He could remember Liam sitting by the dwindling fire in the hearth, strumming the instrument and clearly finding some sort of immeasurable solace after a long, soul-grinding day of hard physical toil at the docks, the sound of some sailor’s lament in the plucked chords and Liam’s softly off-key voice often lulling him to sleep on his cot in the corner of their cramped but warm dinette room.

           Though it appears a bit weathered, Killian knows the instrument is of solid, impressive quality and materials.  It had belonged to their mother, who’d had a bit of minor amateur notice as a singer and musician before meeting their father and giving up her craft, and before that, her father’s – once upon a time.  Killian had never met this grandfather who was a noted folk singer in Ireland, but his mother had often told him as a boy while sifting gentle fingers through his dark mop of hair that he looked like her “papa” with his dark brows and “eyes blue as the sea”.  

           No, he had always been unwilling to sacrifice the instrument, despite the price it might fetch, but now – now things were different.  There was someone in his life again; someone he loved and admired with the devotion and fervor his brother had inspired.  She needed to know what she meant to him.  Yes, as his best friend, but also as the only woman in the world he’d had eyes for since she literally knocked him off his feet on move-in day all those years ago.  Liam’s guitar would allow him the ability to give Emma a gift that expressed his true regard, rather than relying on words which she understandably tends to mistrust.

           If he could just part with the family keepsake, he would have enough to carry out his Christmas plan. He knew that her bright yellow car, the only remnant of the first relationship she’d ever felt secure or needed within, though it had eventually imploded and nearly destroyed her, was incredibly dear to her.  Garish eyesore it might seem to most, but he knew Emma would never part with it.  It was a symbol of where she’d come from, who she’d been, and a reminder to her of just how far she had come.  He also knew it desperately needed several repairs that she’d had to try to keep the vehicle limping along without for some time.  It actually hurt his heart to see how hard Emma worked.  Leaving the apartment most mornings before sunrise and often coming home well past supper, dead on her feet from working all day and not much more he could do than feed her the leftovers of whatever he had made that evening and offer to rub her feet as they watched some tv before turning in for the night.  If he could give her beloved Bug some of the work it required and make things easier for her, even for just a time, he was determined to do so.

           With a firm nod of decision, Killian’s hand closed around the neck of the old guitar and he got out of his truck, almost cradling the instrument one last time.  He knew the old man recognized the piece’s fine artistry, and that he would care for the guitar he had expressed interest in buying numerous times before.  Killian expected it was meant to be a gift for the man’s son, August, who played in some cover band on the weekends as a hobby.  Still, it would at least be used and appreciated, and the sacrifice – once he saw the surprise at her present on his Swan’s face – would be worth it.

~~CS~~CS~~CS~~CS~~CS~~CS~~CS~~CS~~CS~~

           That night, Christmas Eve, when Emma and Killian met back at her apartment over the diner, both were almost vibrating with excitement to share their gifts, ridiculously anxious for the other to see the fruits of their labor.  Emma opened the door at his first gentle rap, a pleased smirk on her face, both at the sweet, unassuming way he knocked so as not to startle her, even though he lived there too and could come right on in, and at the look she imagined seeing on his face soon when he got a look at the case and strap and realized he wouldn’t have to keep his prized possession behind their recliner in the corner of the living room anymore, nor would he have to play the guitar sitting down because he had never gotten himself a strap.  Now that she had finally bitten the bullet and made the trade, she didn’t even miss her old clunker of a car that much; what she had gotten in exchange was going to be more than worth it with how happy it would make him.  Tiana, her fellow waitress at the diner, was always saying Emma didn’t need the expense of gas and insurance and repairs anyway, what with how close the bus stop was to both Emma’s home and the diner.  As usual, the practical, no-nonsense woman had been right, Emma now conceded. This was going to work out well, and she had achieved her goal for the last few months as well instead of having to admit defeat.

           Pulling Killian into the apartment with an eager grip on his wrist, Emma led her friend past the kitchen island where they usually gathered to talk over their day and find some supper to eat, gestured for him to sit on the couch, and began speaking in an enthusiastic rush quite unlike her usual reserve.  It pinked her cheeks and made him chuckle, finding her utterly adorable and wanting to pull her down onto his lap and wrap her in a hug, hold her close in his arms for as long as she would allow.  The impulse only grew when he thought about the little squeal of delight he could almost hear her making when she realized she could drop a few of those extra shifts she was pulling trying to get the Bug new brakes and snow chains for the tires before winter really set in, because it was already taken care of.  He could only hope the twinkle in her eyes that never failed to enchant him might appear as well at the realization that she could afford to take a Saturday off, stay in her pajamas all day and drink her beloved hot cocoa and cinnamon curled up in the window seat.

           The moment they both settled on the couch, Emma snapped him back to the present, still clutching his hand in both of hers, almost bouncing on the couch cushions. The unbridled delight in her face was almost childlike glee. Though very few people were privy to such displays from her, Killian adored seeing the true depth of Emma’s good heart and boundless affection for those who proved worthy and managed to reach behind her walls.  “So, it’s time to exchange our presents for each other, right?” she prodded excitedly.  “Wait until you see what I got you!”

           He nodded gamely, a chuckle rumbling through his chest despite suddenly feeling almost nervous at what he had gotten in return.  Gesturing to her, he offered, “Of course, but why don’t you start, Swan?  We’ll have to go outside to get a look at your gift.”

           “Ooh…a mystery…I like it!” she intoned playfully, nudging him with her elbow before reaching under their couch to pull out a large, long, rather flat box and laying it across his lap. “But first,” here she gave a little clap, “let’s see what you think of this!”

           If he lived a hundred years, Killian would never be quite sure he could forget the way his breath caught in his chest at the sight which greeted him when he tore through the heavy, metallic green and gold wrapping and discovered what Emma had gotten him. There before him was a hand tooled case, a pricey one he’d yearned for more than once through the local music shop’s window and which would be the perfect resting place for Liam’s guitar…if only he hadn’t sold it to pay for Emma’s present.  

           Tears pricked his eyes, touched beyond belief even if the present is no longer of any practical use to him.  He can only imagine what this must have cost her, and he couldn’t quite fathom how she had procured it, but when he looked up to see her tense, eager face anticipating his reaction, none of that mattered, he only needed to find the words to express the swell of genuine love he felt for her.  Reaching forward to clasp her hand now, he brushed his thumb over her skin lightly, making himself speak even if it came out a husky croak, “It’s beautiful, Swan.  Truly. I have never seen another its equal.”

           She beamed, her eyes lighting up just as he had hoped that they would, and flung her arms around him, hugging him tightly.  “Oh, I’m so glad you like it!” she breathed, then pulled back excitedly once more, urging him forward.  “Well, go on, get your guitar.  I didn’t see it, so I figured you must have put it in your room last night!  There’s a strap for it in there too.  Let’s see how it looks with the guitar!”

           Killian blinked, stunned in that moment by her beauty and her unselfish joy, and he didn’t want to tell her, didn’t want to ruin her surprise, or perhaps make her feel bad when she had given him something so lovely.  Clearing his throat, he tried for playful flirtation with a wink, hoping to put her off, and stalled nervously, “We can do that soon enough. It’s time for your present now I believe, Lass.  We’ll need to get the Bug though.  Where did you park this evening?  I didn’t see it when I came in.”

           He had gotten up and started to move toward the door where their coats, hats, and scarves were hung before he realized her reluctance. It wasn’t until he turned, hat on head, to see that she had only followed him a couple of steps, and was now avoiding his eyes, studying the toes of her tennis shoes instead.  

           “What is it?” he asked, concern and nerves trickling through him once again.  “Emma?”

           “We – well, we can’t, Killian.  Okay?” She shook her head and tried to move past him into the kitchen.  “Let’s have our Christmas dinner before it gets cold.  After, you can play me a couple of songs.  I think I’d rather wait for open my gift tomorrow…Christmas morning and all, you know?”

           “Wait, what are you on about, Swan?” he pressed, sure now that something was troubling her, and also knowing he could not do what she asked – not when Liam’s beloved treasure was no longer with him.

           “The Bug isn’t here,” she finally admitted, so softly he had to lean into her space.

           “Did it break down?” he asked gently, not sure what exactly she meant.  It wouldn’t be the first time the old Volkswagen had stranded her somewhere and she’d found another way home.  “You know Marco will let Graham tow it for us without all the ridiculous upcharges.  It’s okay. We’ll eat and then go fetch it.”

           She sighed, shoulders slumping as if to admit defeat.  “No, that’s not it.  It isn’t mine anymore.  I sold the Bug.”

           “You – you sold it?” he stuttered disbelievingly.  She loved that car; had always vowed she wouldn’t part with it until it literally fell to pieces.

           “I had to,” she finally explained, sniffling a bit and still not meeting his gaze.  “I couldn’t save up as much as I’d hoped.  And you had to have that case.  I wanted you to have it so badly.  I don’t really need a car.  The bus easily takes me everywhere I really go in this city.  And I’ll save on gas and auto insurance.  I sold it to get your Christmas gift, okay?  But it’s fine…really.  I just didn’t want to tell you and have you feel bad…”  

          She trailed off, and Killian knew he should say something, but once again, she had stolen all the air he needed to speak. He darted forward impulsively, cupping her chin in his palm and tilting her pretty face up to his.  He let his thumb caress the little dimple in her chin affectionately, and then he shook his head in awe.  “You didn’t have to do that for me, Swan.  Your friendship, honestly, is gift enough.  But I thank you…truly.  Just don’t look like that.  It was a beautiful thing you did, and I wish that my gift would be the expression of appreciation I had hoped for...”

          Her brow furrowed adorably, finding herself the one confused now, and he wanted to lean forward to kiss the little crease so badly he had to bite his bottom lip to avoid it.  “Now you’re the one not making sense,” she accused.

          “I bought snow chains for the Bug and a prepaid coupon to have the brakes replaced as well.  It isn’t a very romantic gift, I’m well aware, but I know you’ve been worried about paying for the work before the ice and snow really fly.  Now, though…”

           She shook her head, reaching up a finger to press to his lips and stop his apologetic confession.  “I really appreciate that, Killian.  It would have been perfect, and a real relief if the care were still mine to worry over.  The thought’s what counts anyway, right?  Come on, play me one carol before we eat.  Please?”

         Gathering his courage, Killian wet his lips and gazed down at her, holding her in his view for as long as possible, wondering how he ever came to be so close to such a perfectly unassuming angel.  “I hope you still feel that way in a moment, Love,” he whispered.  “I’ll treasure your gift.  It’s wonderful I assure you, but I can’t play you a song at present.”

         “And why not?” Emma asked, but something about the way tears seemed to instantly well in her eyes, told him she had put the puzzle together at last.

         “How do you think I procured your gifts?” he finally asked softly, a wry smile lifting one corner of his lips as he stared down at her.

         “Killian…you didn’t…your brother’s guitar?  Oh no, I would have never asked you to give that up for me.”

         “I know that, Emma.  Of course you wouldn’t.  But you are the first person who has meant as much to me as Liam did. You’ve brought me back to life in some ways.  I wanted to show you how necessary, how vital, you are in my life. Pretty words don’t show what actions can, you’ve taught me that.  I was attempting to express my feelings with action.”

        She blinked up at him, one solitary tear trekking silently down her cheek even as a wobbly smile bloomed to accompany it. Her voice was nearly breathless when she asked him, hopefully, “What feelings are talking about, Killian?”

         “That I,” he swallowed, words failing him as surely as they often did her in this weighted moment.  “That I…. Oh, bloody hell!”  He finally gave up speaking and swept her into his arms desperately.  His relief and the warmth flooding through him when she responded by opening to him and pulling him close just as tightly were enough to make them both sway on their feet.  Their gifts to each other may have been ill-chosen, or perhaps they had been the best gifts possible, finally making what they really wanted from each other clear, but he could only be grateful as he lifted her off her feet and delved deeper into the kiss.  Emma hummed happily, warm and welcoming, and now sifting her fingers through his hair and sending shivers down his spine.  

         “I love you too,” she murmured against his lips, a quiet, secretive little grin on her own.

         “Good,” he responded before moving in once again, content to keeping kissing her right on into the New Year.