#they’re very close to making me sob uncontrollably with how gentle and loving they are with each other
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ignorant-rat-carcass · 28 days ago
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Never getting over Marta’s face here.
She needed this. The affection and reassurance from Fina. That contact and closeness to ground her again. She looks so loved, in love, and truly content.
Fina really is the pillar that anchors her every single time.
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whump-4-ever · 1 year ago
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Reformed, Part 3
TW: Seizure, cursing
Part 2 -> https://www.tumblr.com/whump-4-ever/732499030072016896/reformed-part-2?source=share
Part 1 -> https://www.tumblr.com/whump-4-ever/732109179568930816/reformed-part-1?source=share
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Caretaker ripped Villain’s front door open the second they arrived, storming inside so quickly that the noise startled Villain.
“Damn it, Caretaker! I told you to fucking knock!” Villain growled from where they were crouched beside Hero, adrenaline pulsing through their veins from the surprise of the jump scare. Sighing heavily, Villain rose to their feet and glanced over at Caretaker. “Hero’s-“
“Shut the fuck up!” Caretaker snarled as they rushed to Hero’s side. Upon reaching the couch, Caretaker dropped to their knees and very gently took Hero’s face in their palms, all traces of aggression melting away to make room for an expression of worry. “Hero?” They repeatedly stroked their thumb back and forth over Hero’s cheekbone, acid bubbling up in their throat as fear surged through them. Hero’s skin was so warm, too warm, and they were just covered in sweat, so much so that their beautiful brown curls were plastered to their forehead. “H-Hero? It’s me. It’s Caretaker. I’m here, baby.” Caretaker received no response from Hero. They just lay there, blissfully unaware of how quick and shallow their breathing was, of how dangerously high their temperature was, how seriously ill they were. “Please, baby. Please wake up,” Caretaker begged, staring down at Hero’s closed eyelids in hope. “Open your eyes for me. Let me see those beautiful brown irises.” When there was still no answer, Caretaker leaned down and slowly moved Hero’s head until it was nestled in the crook of their neck, cradling it close. “Please….” They whispered. “I love you so much.”
A pang of sympathy materialized in Villain’s gut at the scene before them. They wouldn’t dare admit it aloud, but as they watched Caretaker, picking up on the shear amount of worry in their words, the way their voice shook as if about to break, seeing how they touched Hero as if they were made of paper mache, all of Caretaker’s anger suddenly made sense. They’d never truly been mad, not during the phone call and not now. They were scared. Terrified, even. Villain understood, more than they’d like to admit, how Caretaker felt, and they wished they could do more to help. They didn’t know much about Caretaker, but they knew they didn’t deserve this. Yeah, Villain didn’t particularly like Caretaker, but that didn’t mean they wanted Caretaker to suffer. They especially didn’t want them to suffer the same way Villain had in the past.
Villain swallowed nervously before taking a step forward and laying a hand on Caretaker’s shoulder. “They’re gonna be okay,” They said softly. Caretaker flinched at the unexpected gesture but remained silent. That caused Villain’s anxiety to spike, leading them to believe they’d done the wrong thing. They drew in a shaky breath, preparing themself for the absolute worst, but it never came.
After a few moments of nothing but dead air, Caretaker sniffled and let out a choked sob. “I can’t lose you. I can’t!” They whispered to Hero.
Not quite sure what to do next, Villain went with their instincts and got on their knees beside Caretaker, their hand still resting on Caretaker’s shoulder. “Hey, they’re gonna be okay. Hero’s tough as a motherfucker. If anyone can get through this, it’s them.”
Caretaker, with as much gentleness as they could, laid Hero back down on the couch. Then, without any warning whatsoever, they whirled around and threw themself into Villain’s arms, uncontrollable sobs hiccuping their way out of their chest in waves. “Hero’s done so much for me, for you, for everyone. They can’t just die, not like this.”
Villain was in so much shock they momentarily froze. They hadn’t the slightest clue as to how they were supposed to react in a situation like this, so all they did was very loosely wrap their arms around Caretaker, hugging them awkwardly. “They won’t. I’ll make sure of that, okay?”
“But you can’t!” Caretaker cried brokenly, their voice muffled by Villain’s clothes. “We don’t even know what’s wrong, and now they’re hardly even breathing! We’re too late! We-“
A pained, deep-throated groan from Hero cut Caretaker off mid sentence. Caretaker tore themself away from Villain and scrambled back to Hero’s side, quickly wiping their tears before cupping Hero’s cheeks like they had before. “Hero?” They asked uncertainly, their heart galloping in their chest.
Hero peeled sticky eyelids apart and gazed up at Caretaker, revealing exhausted, bloodshot eyes. Their cracked, dry lips were parted slightly, and their tongue was sticking out just the tiniest bit. “C’ret’k’r…?” They slurred.
“Hey, baby, hey. Yeah, it’s me. I’m right here, baby.” Caretaker took one hand and laid it on Hero’s forehead, unsticking their curls from their sweat-covered skin and then starting to massage their scalp with the tips of their fingers. “It’s okay.”
Hero only hummed quietly in response, their eyes slowly rolling upwards as their head started to loll to the side, going heavy in Caretaker’s palm.
“Hey. No, no, no, no,” Caretaker took Hero’s face in both hands for the third time and very gently jostled their head in an attempt to get their attention. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Stay with me.”
“…’s not….” Hero murmured. Only the whites of their eyes were showing now, and it was just seconds later when their whole body went ridged, their back going ramrod straight.
“Hero!” Caretaker cried out. They felt sick to their stomach as they took in the sight before them, panic threatening to overwhelm them because they knew. They knew what was about to happen, and they were terrified. Being the team’s assistant medic, Caretaker had quite a bit of medical knowledge, and they, very easily, recognized the signs of an oncoming tonic clonic (grand mal) seizure when they saw them. They’d just never seen it happen to Hero. “Shit!” Caretaker hissed under their breath as Hero started convulsing violently. “S-Stay with me, Hero. I-I’ve got you. Just stay with me.”
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@morning-star-whump @whatwhumpcomments
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yminie · 4 years ago
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nine one one | tres | fin | pjm (m)
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pairing: Jimin x reader genre/warnings: angst, fluff, oldflame!pairing, detective!jimin, firstresponder!reader, mentions of death, mentions of murder, mentions of mental health problems, mentions of weapons, explicit language, implied stalking, physical assault, fight scenes, mentions of blood, implied attempt at sexual assault, smut, brief oral sex (female recieving), unprotected penetrative sex. words: 15.3k summary: Your living nightmare has found its way into your home, and you’re all alone.
a/n: it only took me a year (sobs), but it’s finally here!! Thank you so much for all your support over the past two years with this storyline, and I hope you’ve all loved detective Jimin as much as I have! I love you guys so much, and I hope you enjoy it! Lemme know what your think <3
**********
Prev. on Nine-One-One;
Warmth grows in your chest at Jimin’s return, and you stretch out your legs from where they’d been tucked up close to your body as you await the call of your name or perhaps the familiar clicking of his shoes as he crosses your entryway to return to where he’d left you.
But like the night shadows drown the sun’s light, the warmth quickly freezes over into chilling terror as a dark silhouette moves across the room silently, not a sound following his gentle footsteps as he passes between you and the only light in the room. The blue glow of the charger dock sitting on the table against the far wall casting an eerie glow over his form, and just as terrifyingly outlining the fact that his height is a good head taller, and his shoulders are a decent few inches wider than they should be.
And as he makes his way far too confidently towards the hallway leading to your room, and that eerie blue light glints off a large silver shape in his hand, you come to the tearful conclusion that you’re right.
Jimin did not just enter your apartment.
And you have no idea who did.
**********
Fear has you stuck in place, lungs burning as you hold your breath, and only the hushed sound of his feet brushing across the carpet is to be heard. The shape of him gets fuzzier by the second until he’s too far down the hallway to clearly make out his silhouette, and finally your instincts kick in as you carefully slip from the couch and down onto your hands and knees on the floor, heart racing as you crawl as fast as you can behind the couch.
Back flat against the surface, you hear him again as he returns from what you assume to be looking in your room, but his footsteps this time are more stilted, each brush just a few milliseconds off to the last to seem like a normal pace, and it has your panic levels rising even further. You already know for a fact that your phone is up on the breakfast bar just a few metres in front of you, but you can’t bring yourself to move at the risk of him spotting you.
When he comes to a stop across the room, you can’t help but to risk a lean over to the right side of the couch and carefully peer past the corner. Your heart batters harder against the base of your throat at the dark shape of his body stood directly in front of the charging dock, the light bright in the absence of the city’s glow, and you can clearly see the shape of a rounded nose and sharp jaw. Eyes keen on soaking up every detail, you watch with a sense of disturbance as he gently plucks a photo from the stand before him and tilts it towards the light in an effort to see better.
He doesn’t grab your belongings with the aura of someone touching a stranger's things, but with the attitude of a person in their own apartment, merely giving a moment's attention to something they own, and the sight has bile creeping up the back of your tongue.
It feels like forever, the time that passes as you merely sit in eerie silence and watch with burning eyes as he slowly makes his way around the room, stopping at every shelf and surface to touch and hold even the smallest of trinkets that decorate your living room. Filling you with such discomfort and sadness that, you know already, you’ll never be able to look at any of the mementos and photo frames the same way after he’s gone.
You flinch when he turns suddenly, his left side to you now, and the dread swirling in your abdomen even seems to freeze as his features are once more sent into shadows, and he walks confidently to the curtains lining the majority of your apartment, hiding you both away from the world.
It’s barely possible to hold in the cry of shock that chokes its way up your throat when he reaches up and, with two hands, rips the curtains away from the wall with a loud crash.
Back hitting the couch again with a thud, you press a closed fist to your lips to hold all of the panic inside as your eyes squeeze shut against the sudden onslaught of light, and the beginning of the weekend nightlife is bustling away beneath the two of you, oblivious to the happenings right above their heads.
It’s sickening to imagine how many times you’ve been just as unaware as them.
Your whole body tenses up as his feet slide closer to where you’re hidden, and he paces a few steps before spinning on his heel and doing the same in the other direction, moving back and forth in front of the window as you shut your eyes tight and ignore the ache of your muscles. Distantly, you register the muted sound of a dial tone behind the crackle of his shoes over broken plastic and fabric, but it’s the shock of a fuzzy, familiar voice suddenly filling the space around you that has the fear truly setting in your bones.
“Hello, what is your emergency?”
**********
“Ah, yeah, hello?” Taehyung stands in his apartment, back stiff straight as he stares hard at the wall of his kitchen as if he could see through it into your apartment. “I’d like to request an ambulance, and possibly police too.”
“What seems to be the problem, sir?” The first responder on the other end of the line sounds tired, just as Taehyung imagines he would be this time of the night, but it’s even more so in comparison to the way his own body is hyped up with anxiety, ears keen as they listen out for any other crashes coming from your apartment next door. The sound hadn’t been too loud, but it was clashing enough to tell him it hadn’t come from his side of your place, but rather the other end, where he knew your kitchen was located.
The thought of you falling or dropping a plate crossed his mind, but it just didn’t seem to compare to the way the noise had truly made him feel.
“It’s-I heard a loud crashing noise from my neighbours apartment.” The clicking of the responders fingers are fast on the keys of the computer he’s imaging in front of him, and he pauses before speaking again. “And she’s all alone in there most of the time.”
“And she’s not someone prone to making noise? What was the address?”
“No.” Taehyung steps closer to the wall as he lists off the location, so close now to the front door. So close to just going over to check on you himself. “She makes none at all. She’s very quiet usually, I-” He pauses again, deaf to the sound of the general noise coming through the phone as he loses himself to his thoughts. “I’m scared something is really wrong. It just feels really off.”
“I’ll have the closest officer inbound and you’re on the list for the next available medical response, but I apologise since there’s no guarantee of injury or crime,” a few seconds tick by and Taehyung’s heart pounds with worry for you, “our response unit is done by priority so it could take some time as nights like these can be very busy, okay? Be sure to ring back should the situation escalate.”
“Okay.” His throat is dry. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t look away from the wall, merely places his phone down on the counter.
The waiting is almost worse than the fear.
***********
“Hello, what is your emergency?” The loudspeaker on the strangers phone is entirely too loud in the tense silence of your dark apartment, and you shiver uncontrollably at the sound of Taemin’s voice. There’s a tickle in your throat that itches for you to speak up, to yell for help from your friend, but you know it would be useless.
They’re nowhere near you, and lord only knows all the possibilities of things that could happen to you before anyone reaches you.
“I want to speak to the detective.” Head pressed to the back of the couch and body tight with stress, your eyes press shut as the voice of your nightmares echoes in your head, and you ignore the tears as they start to bud on your lashes.
“I’m sorry, you can’t be using this call line for non-emergency calls. We have the office number you can find on our website between the hours of–”
“What if it is an emergency.” His voice is colder than you remember, more than a little empty, and the complete 180 degree turn his attitude had taken from the last time you’d spoken was almost haunting. “What if it’s the worst emergency he could ever face.”
That sickening, burning feeling is back in your stomach, the same as the night you’d woken up in Jimin’s arms on the couch, and you fight against your tongue when you try to swallow. The semi-conscious part of your mind is fighting to remind you that he hasn’t seen you, he doesn’t know where you are. But you can’t seem to beat the way your body is growing evermore repulsed purely at his presence in your apartment.
More than a few seconds tick by, Taemin’s side of the call quiet all but the clicking of his keyboard as he types in a rush. Before they pause.
“It’s you, isn’t it?”
The heavy clang and thundering rattle of your window vibrating in its frame bashes around in your head when the stranger lashes out at it with a tightly closed fist, and you can see the shadow on the floor between the breaking blur of tears as he presses his hand flat against the surface with a snarl.
“I know he’s there, you’d better get him or else I’ll–”
There’s the clatter of the phone being transferred from one person to another, and you can faintly hear the indistinct noise of Taemin frantically speaking to someone on the other end before being hushed.
“Hello?” Hoseok’s voice comes over the line and you tense up even further, mind running wild with the possibility of where Jimin could be. “This is Detective Jung, you’re looking to talk to my partner?”
“Don’t want to talk to you. Don’t fucking–” The strangers head whips to the side, and you can see the silhouette of his features distorted and stretched in his shadow, and a lonely tear drips from your chin to the carpet with a noise far too loud for how sensitive your ears are. “Where is he?”
“You want Jimin right?” The stranger's feet drag as he takes a step to the side, shoulder coming into your peripheral view as he staggers a little, body looking off kilter as he hunches over before straightening once more. The way his body moves is unnerving, something not quite right in the way he seems to tense and relax repeatedly, hand fisting at his side sporadically. “I can get him for you. Can you wait just one minute?”
“Don’t like to wait.” He sounds distracted as he grunts, crushing a piece of plastic further under his foot as he peers down at the streets below. “Waited long enough.”
“I’ll get him for you.” There’s a rattle as the discarded earpiece hits the desk, and as the crunching beneath the strangers feet gets louder, the hushed whispering on Taemin’s end gets louder. The more frantic they get, the more agitated he becomes, vein in his neck throbbing as his head jerks to one side, muscles coiled and ready to pounce. A lot like your own, legs aching from being so tightly wound with stress.
There’s an abrupt break in the dull noise and chatter before the gentle chime of hold music cuts through, and then the hiss of white noise and the rev of a car's engine. And Jimin.
“This is Detective Park.” His voice sounds guarded from the moment he speaks, and you assume Hoseok had spoken to him quickly before handing the call over. “What is it that I can do for you?”
“Wanted to say–” His head jerks again, swallowing as though the words are hard to get out. “Thank you, hyung.”
“Huh?” Jimin’s front disappears, clearly caught too off guard to keep his usual composure.
“All the years of being so selfish, you finally did something for me.” The stranger's tone is awfully bittersweet, and it sends chills down your spine. “I’m happy. Things can be much more simple this way.”
“And what way is that?” There’s the blare of a car horn cutting through Jimin’s words, and you hear his car rev even harder as he drives as fast as he can during no doubt lots of peak hour traffic.
“You left her alone.” Your heart feels hollow, heaviness sinking into your stomach like that’s where it decided to fall, and your lower lip shakes before you hold it tight between your teeth, enough for an iron tang to coat your tongue. “I can...finally take care of her. The way she deserves.”
“Listen to me.” You’ve never heard Jimin’s voice sound so dark and thunderous, and it makes goosebumps pimple the skin of your exposed arms. “I’m only going to say this once, Jungkook.”
‘Jungkook’ stiffens, breath pushing through his nose in a huff before he starts to breathe roughly, a grating in his lungs like he can’t quite get enough air in. And it’s then you register just who you’ve been looking at, the person you recognized in the elevator, the boy behind the desk in the lobby of your apartment building…
The same boy who’d been so young and timid when he’d approached you in the lunchroom at the station, stammering and shaking as he’d confessed how pretty you were, and how he’d like to know if you wanted to come to the cafe across the street for lunch.
The same boy Jimin had laughed at, ruffled the hair of, and teasingly told that you weren’t free real estate. That he had kissed you right in front of; Jungkook’s expression tight, embarrassed, and whispered in your ear how ‘cute’ it was that you’d gained an admirer. Not seeing the way the young cadet's face had pinched and the way his frame had caved in to make himself seem smaller.
The same boy you’d defended with a gentle push and a light giggle against Jimin’s chest, telling him not to tease. Jungkook hadn’t looked at you when you thanked him for the compliment, or apologised for Jimin’s well-intended need to poke fun. In fact he didn’t look at you much after that...and you didn’t care enough to notice. You couldn’t even pinpoint the last time you’d seen him and recognized him, remembered his name or said hello. He’d merely faded into the background of your life along with the crowd. And the guilt feels nauseating as it creeps like thorny tendrils up your throat, choking the air from your lungs.
“If you even think for one second that you’re going to get as close to her as you did today ever again, you have another thing coming.” The more Jimin speaks the colder your blood runs, and you can’t help but note the irony of his words. “I’m not going to leave her side, not even once you’re gone. I’m going to catch you, Jungkook, and when I do, you’d better hope karma doesn’t catch up to you with me.”
Jungkook starts to shudder in front of you, and it takes you a tense second to realise he’s laughing. Chuckles wracking his chest until he wheezes for breath, and you can barely hear Jimin still talking over the sound of his husky coughing.
“Locking you in a psych ward would be a mercy for you, Jungkook. You’ll be lucky if Hoseok gets to you before I do.”
“Oh, hyung.” Jungkook giggles but Jimin isn’t done.
“You’ve gotten messy Jungkook, and today is the end of your little game.” Jimin grunts, the car revving again, and you pray he’s on his way to you. Unsure how long this can be dragged out before Jungkook snaps and rips your apartment apart, no doubt finding you in the process and carrying out whatever god-awful plans he’d had in mind tonight. “Your plan is over, she’s not going to be one of your victims. But you’ll be one of mine, that I can guarantee you.”
“It’s all mine, hyung.” Jungkook stops giggling, going so still and stone-faced it’s almost too haunting to witness. “This life. Being here with her. It was always meant to be me.” Jungkook's head hits the glass of your window with a heavy thud, and you jump in shock. Your eyes are still leaking slowly with tears, growing more blurry and stinging the longer you stare, and through your muddled thoughts, you’ve forgotten yourself.
So when he finally turns, the glow of the city haloing his face as he drops the phone in his hand to the floor with a clatter, his eyes lock onto yours instantly, where you’ve leant too far out of the safety of your hiding spot. And Jungkook’s lips twist in a shaky smile as he raises his voice. “She’s tried so hard to hide for you, hyung.”
Jimin doesn’t reply, and you’d almost think the line was cut could you not hear the struggle of him trying to speed through unseen traffic. Your eyes slips from Jungkook’s face to the phone discarded at his feet, tears dripping to the carpet once again, and it takes the crackle of debris under his shoe to note he’s turning further toward you, and its then you see the glint of the large dagger reappearing in his hand
“I ‘can’t get near her’?” Jungkook’s words have your eyes quickly lifting to meet his again, and you can’t even tell how badly you’re shaking, nails painfully dug into the carpet as he twists his neck to the side with a dull crack. “I don’t think your car is that fast, Jimin-hyung.”
Torn from your throat is the scream that shatters the silence, numb legs scrambling underneath you as he takes his first step in your direction, and you stumble over your own feet before picking up speed and shooting as fast as you can down the hallway. Your heart thunders in your ears as you feel the vibrations of Jungkook’s feet slapping even harder against the floor behind you, and it’s by sheer miracle that you manage to tear through the door to your bedroom seconds before he can catch up.
The slam of the door behind you hurts your arms with the force with which you push it, back pressed flat against it as you pray to whatever god might hear you for help. The sobs that are escaping you go without your notice, heaving pulls for air as you desperately try to blink the tears from your eyes and you cry out loud as the door is almost pushed out from behind you, wood creaking as Jungkook slams against with an almost inhumane sound of anger.
“_____... let me in before I have to hurt you.” You’re frozen against the door, heels pressed painfully into the floor as you hold the door in place with all the strength you can muster. And for a few seconds you almost believe it's working, hope creeping up your spine that you can hold him off long enough for someone to come to your aid.
The door shakes with a loud clunking noise right beside your head, before all attempts of penetration stop, and your head whips to the side as you listen to his footsteps start to retreat, heart thrashing in your hollow chest.
And then movement catches your eye across the room, and you compute the creeping of his shadow coming from your adjoining bathroom with a shriek as you scramble for the doorknob beside you.
Only for the knob to loosely rattle in the frame, mechanism broken from the outside, and you then realise your mistake. The reality of how trapped you are sinking in as he steps out into your line of sight, bloody knuckles and fingers red from his efforts. And you shrink into yourself in the corner of your room, eyes sliding shut as you begin to sob in fear once more.
His footsteps are deafening in the silence, the heavy sigh he releases as his feet come into your blurred vision humidly warm on the back of your necks as he leans down, bent at the waist. A cold chill runs down your spine when you feel his fingers on your hair, nails slipping in close to your scalp and filling your mouth with bile at the feeling of stickiness on his skin dragging through the strands.
Slowly, he crouches down, filling your nose with a sharp combination of fresh sweat, blood and an almost alarmingly clean scent. Disinfected. Citrus. Bleach. The way one may smell after visiting a hospital. And it burns. Singes through your noise and has every last inch of your body cringing in discomfort.
“Look at me.” His voice is alarmingly soft, almost sickly in its sweetness, and your skin crawls as he strokes through your hair again, playing with it with that same air of familiarity that he’d portrayed in the living room. Moving naturally as though he’d done so a million times over, his hand slips down to the back of your neck, cupping a cold chill around your nape with freezing fingers that has you shrinking even further into yourself. Every nerve ending in your body screaming at you to get away from him. “_____.”
The next few beats of silence are shattered as he rips his hand from your hair, stinging pains of tangled strands being pulled from the tender area of skin pulling another sob from your throat as his now free hand cracks against the wall beside you with force. You straighten up instantly, eyes clenched tight, not having to look to know the plaster is caved in around his fist and only able to feel slightly thankful the lash of anger hadn’t been directed at your body.
“Look at me!” You can feel the drops of spittle hitting your face and he screams hoarsely, voice cracking on the last word as the now even more injured hand returns to your chin to pull your attention. And with a shuddering breath that feels void of oxygen, your head spinning too much to focus properly as the adrenaline and fear spikes in your blood, you force your eyes open to land on his hallowed face.
Jungkook is far from the way he had lived in your memory. Bigger, yet more hollow. Stronger, but with a weakness floating just beneath the surface waiting to be broken. Older, and somehow still seeming so young behind the pain in his eyes. The Jungkook sat before you had physically grown, but mentally his pain is real, raw, as though it were just yesterday you’d managed to tear his heart apart and leave him cracked and broken at the seams. The only solace he’d found to hold himself together being the anger that lives now in his core, the expression being that of someone that loves you, but the energy of someone that has nothing but hatred in his being for you.
So many emotions are conveyed in his eyes, it’s hard to look at, but the terror you feel has you unable to look away, as though watching a hundred cars crash together at once.
“Don’t cry, I’m gonna take care of you.” Gut wrenching, you flinch as his hand lifts to brush stickiness over the tear tracks under your eyes, and you can feel the thickness of blood now streaking your face and suffocating your pores. He leans in close, breath washing over your cheeks, and you can feel the cool of the wet spots his fingers had left behind.
“Please don’t kill me.” The whisper is ripped from your raw throat before you can stop it, the chill in your hands and feet reaching all the way through your arms, legs and torso, as though he’d reached right through your ribs and grabbed a hold of your heart.
“He can’t have you.” The venom is back in his voice as he twitches, hand shaking under your chin before he moves it down to brush his fingers over your exposed clavicle, running a careful thumb right over your carotid artery, and you flinch away again as his fingers stray even further down towards your breasts, his breathing starting to come in pants before he groans. “Can’t.”
Crowding into your space, Jungkook leaves no room for you to dodge his advance as his grip returns bruisingly on your jaw and he pushes forward to press his lips against yours. His kiss is hard, painful and wet, with the moisture on your face. His tongue slips in around the cry of shock that escapes you, and for a few nauseating seconds you’re subjected to what you can only think he imagines to be a passionate kiss.
You turn your face in an attempt to break the kiss, but he follows you, hand pushing back across the left side of your face to curve around your ear and pull your lips back to his, leaving an agonising spike of pain behind as he jarr’s your neck in the process. Your hands are trapped against his chest, pressing futilely, unable to gather enough strength in your arms to push him away.
In one last desperate attempt, you open your mouth into his kiss and as his tongue slides across your lip and back into your mouth, you quickly bare down and bite his tongue as hard as you can. Blood is coating the back of your teeth when he rips away from you, and you spit it out without a second thought, flinching as he changes like a lightswitch. “No! Mine! You’re mine!”
In a flash the desperate softness is gone, the hollow emptiness back in his eyes as he grabs you by the throat and pulls you from the faux security of your corner with a painful tug. You wheeze as he pulls you close, wrapping the dagger-wielding arm around your waist and using his hold to twist your feet out from under you and push you backwards in the direction of your bed.
“Can’t have you–can’t have you. Won't let him.”
It’s your body's natural instinct to struggle, and struggle you do. Arms pinned under his are barely of use, but you thrash them anyway, unable to scream with the pressure he still holds on your neck, but your throat muscles contract painfully under his hand regardless. Only managing an airy screech, you break off into a choked gasp as the cold of the dagger finds its way onto your skin through your shirt, moments before he releases his hold and lets your weakened body drop back onto the bed.
The moment his hold is relinquished on your airways you’re gasping for air and bunching your legs up towards your chest as he rushes to climb utop you. Every self defense masterclass Jimin had ever made you take flashes through your mind as his hips quickly move in to press against the backs of your thighs, and you muster all the strength you can in your arms to lifts them right as he swoops in and brace your splayed palms firmly against the front swells of his shoulders.
Jungkook bares down against you with his entire body weight, and even as the both of you grunt in effort, his hold on the dagger limits his mobility just enough, too focused on getting his body as flush to yours as he can. The fingers of the hand not holding his weapon are slipping under your waistband, sticky, cold fingertips clawing at your bare flesh in struggle, and encouraging your efforts as you keep your arms locked at the elbows and plant your left foot on the bed. Jimin’s voice is in the back of your head, screaming the instructions at you over and over again, and you quickly twist to the left, right leg curling up even further until your foot can find the bend of his pelvis.
The pressure of your foot pushing him forces the hand on your hip to tear back out from inside your pants and clutch at the bed, trying to keep his stability, and hope reignites in your chest as he sways long enough for your hold to slip from his shoulders to just above his elbows. From here you have enough mobility to bring your left leg up to match the right on his other hip, effectively trapping him where he is and keeping him slightly off kilter.
The fabric underneath you makes it harder to move up the bed away from him as he pushes against you with a growl of anger, frustration clearly getting to him as he struggles to retrieve the power you’ve managed to regain. But with a relieved sob, the strength of your legs is just enough to have him slipping back on his knees, increasing the space between your bodies with only a slight struggle.
His anger mounts to the point where he attempts to lash out again, losing his grasp on the dagger somewhere in the sheets as he tries to pull back out of your hold, swaying only for a moment before attempting to swing the momentum towards you. Yet with a flash of movement, and the miracle of space between you, your leg rears back far enough to get some force behind it, and with your hands slipping down to claw a rough grip on his wrists, you deliver a swift, straight-on kick to his stomach.
Visibly winded, Jungkook forgets his advancement on you with a pained gasp, falling far enough back to slip half off the edge of the bed, barely catching one leg under him on the floor and one knee on the mattress as he curls over on himself and dry heaves a sob of absolute torture.
Taking the small window of chance you have, you don't look twice – rolling off to the side and falling onto the floor yourself. Ignoring the pain in your knees, as you scramble your limbs under you, and make a break for the bathroom doorway.
The roar of pure rage behind you has every hair on your body standing on end, and you scream as you slip on the bathroom tiles, almost losing your footing before you manage a hold on the bathroom counter. Dashing off to the left once you’re stable enough, you try your best to ignore the crash of Jungkook’s pursuit as he collides with the door behind you and seemingly breaks it right off its hinges.
He’s still affected by the aftershocks of your kick, gasping and staggering as his body tries to recover while he still pushes himself, but you’re equally struggling as your nerves are locked up with anxiety, legs stiff and uncoordinated as his growing proximity has you panicking. Right after you tear out into the hall, arm brushing against the wall as you swerve, he clashes with the plaster right behind you, reaching out and swiping at you roughly with the dagger. And you can hear the whistle of the blade slicing through the air, missing you by millimetres...the first time
“Help me, ple–ah!” You shout as the dagger manages to catch you on an upsweep, grazing your shoulder and sending a burning pain instantly across the area of skin. You grab your shoulder, staggering again before picking up the pace and finally escaping the hall into the openness of your living area. “Help!”
“No!”
As you manage to round the island in the centre of your kitchen, Jungkook finally comes to a stop on the opposite end of the table. There, the two of you stand-off in a tense silence, staring hard at each other as you both pant for breath. He spits a mouthful of blood out onto the countertop, a streak of it marring his chin before he lifts an equally bloody hand and swipes at it, careless of the proximity of the weapon he holds as he spreads the red stain further across his skin.
Neither of you move for a good few moments, and as you start to catch your breath, and the ringing in your ears starts to wind down, you hear it.
Sirens. Loud. And getting closer by the second. And–
“_____!” Taehyung’s voice cuts through the tension, the door to your apartment rattling as he bashes into it from the outside. “_____! Let me in, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
“N–No! NO! YOU’RE MINE. MINE! HE DOESN’T GET THE HAPPINESS I DESERVED!” Jungkook steps to the side, as if to dash around the island towards you, but you immediately counter his movement with a step of your own, closer to the apartment door, and he immediately corrects himself and steps back, which you mirror.
“_____! The code! What’s the code?!” Taehyung is desperate, and it has Jungkook panicking even more, head whipping off to the side before snapping back to you.
“It's over, Jungkook.” You whisper, calming down faster as you listen to the sirens get even closer. They’re right outside now, and you know it’s only a minute or two before they get up here. But as you watch, Jungkook starts to shake with fury, and faster than you can comprehend, he’s flicking the dagger in his hand to pinch the blade between forefinger and thumb before lining up his shot and readying himself to launch it at you.
You won’t be able to move fast enough, this much you know instantly, and the sudden confrontation has you panicking, eyes wide with shock and pulling a smirk on his lips as he watches your expression change.
“If I can’t have you, _____. No one can.”
“Taehyung! The code is 64785!” You act on survival instinct, hands grabbing ahold of the counter as Jungkook’s arm rears back, and you can hear the beeping of Taehyung entering the code immediately, hope blooming in your chest.
But dread is what holds onto your heart like cement.
“I’m going to kill your friend.” Jungkook’s voice is merely a poisonous whisper, and as fast as you can register his words, he’s moving. The small throwing knife he has procured in his left hand whips through the air faster than you can move. You throw yourself to the side, regardless, not even registering the chime of your apartment door unlocking or the crash of Taehyung breaching the entryway.
Pain flares through your right arm as the knife embeds itself through a decent amount of flesh, a shriek leaving you as you sway off to the side and collapse to the floor. But the sight of the two men before you colliding in the entryway of your apartment is what truly leaves pain stabbing through your heart.
Taehyung barely manages to throw a punch in Jungkook’s direction, too distracted with your collapse and not enough on the opponent in front of him, and in one short, swift movement, Jungkook curls his arm between them, and pierces the blade right into Taheyung’s stomach.
“NO!” The scream that rips from your throat is dry and burning, and tears well up anew in your eyes with a feeling akin to needles. Futile, you struggle on the floor with only one good arm, immediately beginning to crawl towards the pair as Taehyung drops to his knees, eyes wide and gasping up at Jungkook’s still form.
Jungkook let’s go as Taehyung falls, leaving the dagger embedded in his abdomen and turning to you with an empty look. You can still hear Taehyung fighting for air as Jungkook takes his next steps towards you, watching with an almost numb expression as you whimper and battle with your own body to move backwards away from his approach.
“_____!” The two of you have barely a moment to freeze in place as heavy footsteps scatter into the hallway outside your apartment, and Jungkook cracks. You can barely hear your own noises of panic as he launches himself at you, scrambling to do whatever he can to reach you but Jimin is faster. You can only watch as Jungkook spins on his heel to meet him head on, as Jimin crashes into him.
They fall hard in front of you, Jimin immediately gaining the upper hand and rearing above Jungkook to rain a heavy fist down over his face, but Jungkook recovers faster than you’d have expected, hand pulling from his side with a glint of silver, and Jimin’s name leaves you in dry shriek as Jungkook swipes up from underneath and tries to stab into his chest.
Jimin manages to jerk back fast enough, the thin blade now in Jungkook’s hand only managing to very slightly slice through Jimin’s shirt and over his stomach before the knife is knocked from his hand, but you heave and scramble up onto your knees as a sliver of blood is left behind and Jungkook is rearing back for another attempt. He uses his advantage of having gotten Jimin off balance over him, lifting his body and using the space between them to land a well placed palm into his jaw, and you sob as Jimin’s back and head hit the floor with a dull thud.
You move in synchrony with Jungkook, lifting yourself up even as your legs scream beneath you. The dazed, pained look on Jimin’s face and the sight of Jungkook getting the upper hand, wide, bloody palms wrapping tight around Jimin’s neck and the choked sound that escapes him filling you with enough energy to launch yourself forward.
“Jimin!” Hoseok finally appears in the doorway in your peripheral vision. “_____! Fuc–!”
Jungkook howls and jerks under you as you pierce his back with the blade you’d ripped from your own arm, the blood covering your hand making it harder to hold it firm but the pure blind panic filling your every sense keeping your grip tight even as he twists off Jimin and attempts to face the new attack.
Twice, three times, four–eight–eleven–nineteen, thirty.
You have no idea how many times your fist plunges the blade into Jungkook’s abdomen, losing time in the grey haze that settles over your mind.
“_____! Jesus, fuck, baby stop! He’s dead, baby, stop!”
Jimin holds you tight, battling the way you thrash and twist in his arms as he attempts to catch your chin and tilt your face towards his. You’re gagging on your own gasps, whimpering and pushing at his chest as he drags you further away from where Jungkook’s body lays prone between the back of your couch and the island. The knife he’d wrangled free of your fist lays somewhere in the splattered pool of blood that halo’s Jungkook’s form.
Slowly, slowly, you come to, and the moment your body recognizes the safety and warmth of Jimin’s embrace, you sag into his arms with a heavy sob, clutching at him tighter than ever as more voices fill the room.
But nothing else matters now, because the only thing you can hear is his heart as yours beats in sync.
**********
You haven’t a clue what time it is, staring blankly at the wall of Jimin’s office as people rush back and forth outside the glass windows. Only thin slivers of light make it through the shuttered blinds, casting beams of white that barely manage to light up the room. Shivering again, you tuck your feet tighter beneath you on the leather chair, Jimin’s blazer pulled tight around your shoulders, and you bury your nose down into the fabric, trying to fill your senses with him as an attempt to keep yourself calm.
The numb feeling that had gripped ahold of you hadn’t yet dissipated, sticking around long after the tears had dried up, eyes burning and head throbbing with pain. Detective ‘So-and so’ Min had done his best to take your statement, frowning and sighing through your harrowed silence and broken sentences, finally conceding when Hoseok had quickly dismissed the questions for the rest of the day.
Jimin had been pulled from you shortly after arriving at the station, promising to come back to you within a couple of minutes but disappearing for close to an hour. You could only console yourself with the knowledge it wasn’t by choice, only imagining the pile of questions and paperwork that had awaited him, regardless of how badly you ached to be back in his arms.
Hoseok had come in to check on you periodically, but even he had left you to the silence, instead retreating to his own office with the reminder he was only next door if you needed anything. You appreciate the sentiment.
Your eyes had begun to grow heavy quickly, drooping and fluttering before a noise in the hall outside would have you jumping back into place with your heart beating out of your chest and your skin crawling. Each time forcing yourself to calm down with whispered words, closing your eyes and reminding yourself that you were safe, and Jungkook couldn’t get near you anymore. But after last night, nowhere felt secure enough to calm your raging anxiety.
Footsteps outside the door merge with a shadow, breaking through the blinds and flowing over you before they stop behind the wood and the handle gently turns. You no longer have the energy to greet Hoseok each time he comes in, so you stay in place on Jimin’s office chair, almost huddling yourself deeper into his blazer.
“Hey.” Jimin’s voice immediately breaks through your exhaustion, and your head whips to the side as you quickly stand to meet him, blazer falling to the floor without a second glance. His arms wrap around your shoulders, and your face buries into the warmth of his chest, inhaling his scent deeply as you shiver against him. Instantly, his palm is stroking the back of your head, squeezing you tight enough to make you feel like you’re whole again, and you finally start to feel more at ease just being with him. “The doctors got back to us about Taehyung.”
“He’s okay?” You pick your chin up only far enough to see up into his eyes, and he gives you a tired smile, hand shifting around to cup your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.
“He’ll definitely be sore for a while, but he’s being well taken care of. There’s no serious damage done which is very lucky.” Your bottom lip quivers, the relief affecting you more than you thought it would; cracking through the emotionless shell that had started to harden on your face. Jimin pulls you close again, this time pressing his lips gently to your forehead before rocking you back and forth, and your eyes instinctively slip shut. “You already know he doesn’t blame you for what happened, sweetheart. He’s just happy you’re safe.”
“He could’ve died.” Your voice is little more than a croak, throat too dry and tender to speak comfortably at regular pitch, and you can feel Jimin shake his head slowly where his lips are still pressed against you.
“He’s not the only one.” He reminds you, finally relinquishing the embrace to lean down and sweep the blazer from the floor, shaking it out before slipping it back around your shoulders and rubbing firmly up and down your sides. You can see the muddy stain of dried blood on his neck, knowing just as well that your own body has similar stains in a few areas –some more intense than others– as well as a few aches and pains.
The arm which Jungkook had managed to injure was luckily all flesh wounding, the angle having merely skimmed past the muscle and luckily left no permanent muscular damage, and a small pit stop at the hospital, some high strength anti inflammatory painkillers, and a short sit had you stitched right up in no time. And even better was the mark on your back, barely a scratch that had felt like a scarring wound.
But the fatigue hasn't taken long to catch up to you, your body weary from stress and adrenaline, aches that only time will fix lingering in your bones, and now that he’s back with you, it makes it ten times harder to resist finally letting your eyes fall shut. And though Jimin wears a strong mask of composure for you, the tightness around his eyes and the slack of his shoulders tells you more than he could ever say.
“You’re okay too, right?” Pulling away, you look down at his stomach, mind flashing back to the sliver of red Jungkook had swiped across his stomach, and you automatically reach for the hem of his freshly-changed tshirt. He chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs your hand halfway, and you frown up at him.
“I’m fine, you don’t need to worry.” You continue to press on, waving off his attempts to convince you, but you quickly see he’s not just lying for your benefit when the toned muscles are revealed. “Heh–“
You can certainly see the mark, a thin, arching line that starts deeper to the left of his navel and the feathers off up under the right side of his ribcage. It’s still more than you would want, but you’re relieved to see no stitches or heavy bandaging, the sliver of damage no doubt going to disappear in a few days.
“See?” He teases, distending his tummy out and slouching to make his stomach more pronounced, only stopping when your lips lift and you poke at his bellybutton. Bright smile dropping, he pulls your hand till his shirt falls and holds you close again, looking down into your drooping eyes. “There’s that smile.”
For a few calm, peaceful moments, the two of you stand in the hush of his darkened office, ignoring the bustle of the work outside the door. Looking into his eyes, there’s so much sitting within them that you know he wants to say, and you don’t doubt he finds the same in yours. So much has happened in the last 12 hours that your outlook on life and the way you want to live it has changed entirely. Including who you want to live it with.
But before anything can be said, Jimin squeezes you tight around the middle and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear before taking your hand in his and leading you away from his desk.
“Let’s go home.”
**********
A sense of relaxation, even as the bureau disappears into the horizon behind Jimin’s car, seems far off and unattainable as ever, the silence between the two of you covered with the layer of deafening noise within your own head. Jimin’s hand moves occasionally between the gearstick and your thigh, fingers warm and grounding as he does his best to soothe the war he can see raging behind your irises.
Your skin stays raised in goosebumps under the too-thick fabric of your jeans, the layers of clothes tightly trying to hold you together whilst only making your skin feel like it’s ready to rip apart. Exhaustion weighs heavy in your bones but your muscles haven’t seemed to lose their sense of adrenaline, and the way each different part of your body fights for your brain's attention makes you feel even more numb while you try to overcome the overload of sensation.
Every dark corner and unfamiliar noise on the way up to Jimin’s apartment has you flinching and holding onto his arm tighter and tighter, but he simply pulls you into his side and wraps his arm around you, pressing his lips to your temple as the elevator stops on his floor and he leads you down the hall.
The chime of the security system locking only serves to make you feel the slightest bit safer, and as much as it makes your head hurt to consider, you can’t help but remind yourself over and over that Jungkook is dead, and he can’t get near you anymore.
“You want some water? How is your head feeling?” You turn to look at Jimin as he gently pulls the jacket from your shoulders and slips it over the back of the nearest dining chair.
“I don’t think this headache is gonna go away with just aspirin.” You try to lift one side of your mouth into a smile but you lack the energy, and Jimin frowns at the emptiness behind your eyes. “My brains working way too hard trying to process this whole...this whole day. I don’t know what I’m meant to do, I just...I feel so numb, Jimin. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like myself again.”
“No one expects anything from you right now, _____.” Jimin steps forward to rub at your arm, and you feel sick to find that this kind of careful, weary comfort does nothing but make your skin crawl. You crave more from Jimin, the kind of consolation you know only he can provide you, and though the hurt flashes deep in his eyes before he can hide it, you’re recoiling out of his reach and taking a deep, shaking breath. “And you don’t have to try and force yourself to process this. Take your time, reflect on the way you want to feel, and we can go from there.”
You stay looking into Jimin’s eyes, soaking yourself in the underlying strength he’s always been able to hold even on his most tired of days, and trying your best to take some of that on yourself. And after a few moments of silence, you step forward and wrap your arms around his middle, closing your eyes when he returns your embrace and squeezes you tightly.
He holds you there. Long enough that you start to feel the way he’s holding the million fragile pieces you’d become, together in one piece in the palms of his hands. Achy bodied, you eventually pull back just far enough to look up into his face, and he immediately presses a soft kiss on the crinkle between your brows “What can I do for you, sweetheart?”
“I’d…really like a shower.”
He nods, smiling gently, and seconds later he’s pulling you through to the bathroom and leaving you momentarily to fetch a change of clothes from his room for you. Though you’d rather avoid it, your eyes immediately run over your reflection in the mirror, and you find yourself leaning in close as though you can search for the answers to your hundred and one questions somewhere in your hallowed eyes. There’s a few smudges of blood still on your chin and neck that you hadn’t managed to clean up completely, and the water from the tap is freezing on your skin as you scrub it raw.
When you finally stand from where you’d bent over the sink, whipping at your dripping chin, you make eye contact with Jimin behind you in the mirror, and it takes the heavy look on his face and the breathlessness taking over your chest to realise you’d started to gasp for air, eyes growing teary and aching.
“Oh, baby.” He drops the clothes and towel on the bench beside you, pressing himself against your back and slipping his arms around you. One hand lifts to cup the side of your face, thumb meeting a stray tear halfway down your cheek and swiping it away. “Shh.”
“I can’t...I can’t go back, Jimin.” You sob roughly as he holds you even tighter, keeping his eyes locked on yours no matter how much you blink or shake. “Everything I own, he’s tainted. My home isn’t my home anymore. I don’t have anything, I don’t know what I’m gonna do…”
“Shhh, sweet, silly girl.” Pulling you until you face him again, Jimin cups both your cheeks. “I’m right here. What’s mine is yours, _____. Always has been, always will be. No matter what you need, you have it. Even my heart is yours, _____. That’s never changed even for a second.”
“I love you, Jimin.” It’s not at all the way you’d hoped to have told him, feeling so out of sorts it’s hard to recognize your own reflection as yourself, but if anything has shown you that time is too short to bite your tongue over the way you feel, it’s today.
Jimin inhales, not a gasp but a deep, steadying breath, and his thumbs indent the soft parts of your cheeks as his hands tighten their hold on your face. Your fingers tangle in the hem of his shirt as he leans down closer, and you almost shut your eyes on instinct before your lashes flutter open again.
“I love you. So much.” Stroking over your cheeks, his thumbs trail down to your jaw before he slips one hand behind your neck, the other dropping to hold you tight against him with a palm pressed to the small of your back. “My darling girl. I love you more than you can ever know.”
Jimin’s lips meet yours like two waves crashing together, colliding against each other before blending together as one, and as your eyes slip closed, and Jimin guides your head to deepen the kiss, you finally get that feeling of safety and comfort that you’d been waiting for.
There is no goal to be made in this embrace, no race to be won. Simply the two of you locked so tightly together as you both give your entire soul to make the other feel all the things you want to say but can’t find the words for. Jimin’s hand cupping the side of your neck sweeps back, shifting your hair behind you, and soon his arm is holding you tight as his palm finds the nape of your neck, and the hand on your lower back relaxes and comes forward to hold you at the hip.
The skin of Jimin’s stomach is balmy on your palms where your hands have slipped beneath his shirt, searching for his warmth as you start to shiver in his arms, and he pulls away from you to press heated lips down over the tear tracks on your cheek.
His lips find yours with a soft press one, two, three more times before he simply rests his forehead against yours and holds you close for a moment, nothing but the sound of your two heartbeats to fill the silence. “Shower?”
“Yes, please.” You concede his pulling away from you, trying not to feel too hollow when his warmth moves away from your chilled skin, watching as he flicks the shower taps on with practiced ease, adjusting it to the best temperature and holding his hand beneath the stream to test the heat. “Will...will you stay with me?”
There’s not even a second thought crossing your mind before you ask, the sheer desperation to keep Jimin close at all times for the foreseeable future, something you don’t dare to deny yourself for the fear you may fall apart without him.
“Of course I will.” When you glance back up, Jimin is already looking at you over his shoulder, shaking the water off his hand before turning to close the bathroom door most of the way shut. Your hands reach for his shirt as he returns to you, and he doesn’t question you for a moment, simply lifting his arms above his head and letting you slip the fabric from him and drop it to the floor. He finds the buckle of his pants on his own, belt clanking on the floor with his shirt before he kicks the slacks to the side and soon he’s completely bare in front of you, both body and soul, and before you can think he’s reaching out to help you.
Kneeling on one knee, Jimin quickly and gently plucks open the button of your jeans before shuffling the too-tight fabric down your legs. He soothes the goose-pimpled chill that follows with a caressing hand as you lift each foot out of the jeans one at a time, instinctively using his shoulders to stabilise yourself and letting your eyes slip closed as he presses the softest of kisses along your inner left thigh, his hand cupping your calf as you find your balance again.
Your shirt and bra are handled in the same manner, Jimin’s tentative touches and soothing warmth seeming to cover every place you need it to, and when you’re down to just panties you take that step yourself, hooking your thumbs under the band and letting them drop to the floor before Jimin grasps your hand and pulls you into the steam-filled shower.
The water is almost too hot, the steam fogging up the glass walls and blocking out the outside world, and you finally allow yourself to relax into Jimin’s arms fully, the warm water streaming over the back of your hair and down your spine as your bare flesh presses to his completely. It's been so long since you’ve felt comfort to this extent, and you can help but hum into the base of his throat as his fingers run down the length of your spine to tickle circles into the small of your back.
Your arms are wound loose around Jimin’s hips, as you allow him to simply guide you himself, twisting the two of you side to side under the stream of water, avoiding your bandaged arm regardless of the waterproofed dressing. One arm releases you to reach somewhere behind you, and the sound of a bottle cracking open echoes against the tiles moments before you feel him rub his hands together.
Reaching up to pull your hair away up from your back, you look up as Jimin presses his lips to your forehead, hands finding the base of your spine and massaging the tense muscles lining your back to up and around the base of your neck. The water streams down between your bodies from the side where he’s turned you, slicking up the press and slide of him moving against you, and your eyes slip shut again as you simply enjoy the feeling as he washes the rest of your body.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you the way I should’ve been.” Your eyes snap open as you feel his fingers trace the outside of the bandage on your arm, and you can see the complete devastation in Jimin's face without even needing him to meet your eyes.
“Jimin.” You let go of your hair, trading it to hold his face until he finally returns your gaze, and you can’t help but press a kiss to his lower lip, unable to resist now that you’ve been given the chance again. “Jimin, I’m alive because of you.”
“You’re in this position because of me.” He pulls away from you, using his hold on your hips to push you back under the water until you’re forced to let go of him. He guides your head back under the stream further until every inch of your hair is drenched and then pushes you to turn until your back is to him. “Because of the way I acted. If I had been better, if I’d done the right thing and treated people the right way back then...none of this would have happened.”
“Stop.” You reach back to grab his arm, pulling it around you and urging him to hold you tight. “I dont...I can’t talk about things like this, please.”
Jimin spins you once more in his arms, eyes still sad but a twist to his mouth that tells you he’s doing his best to do as you ask, and you hold his gaze until you no longer can, hair rinsing out under the water.
He washes you from top to toe, cleaning every inch of you until you start to feel a little more human, a little more put together, and when he guides you to step from the shower it's straight into his arms and the fluffiest towel he owns before you can blink.
Nothing much else is uttered from there, only words unspoken that linger in his eyes as he dresses you and himself before tucking you into bed. And you simply lose yourself in those moments between consciousness and sleep, finding the only comfort you need in his arms and between his lips and yours.
**********
You’re torn from sleep by your own scream, mind unable to remember or comprehend the nightmare that had taken over you. Heart beating out of your chest, your eyes fly around the room before landing on Jimin’s worried face above you, and for a few seconds you simply stare at him as the ringing in your ears starts to subside and give way to the gentle murmuring of his voice as he does his best to reassure you.
“S-Sorry.” You sit up into his embrace with his help, sweeping the hair back away from your face and taking a shaky breath. Jimin stay’s close, pushing your hair behind your ear and blocking the outside world out as you slowly regain your composure.
“Don’t be.” He whispers into your cheek, nuzzling his nose against you and pulling you close as you both close your eyes and simply breath. You can hear the faint sound of the city below outside his bedroom window, but there is not yet any sunlight to break the darkness. “I’m here. Everything’s okay.”
You can’t explain the way you feel even to yourself, skin feeling too tight over your muscles and the sour sense of discomfort that has seemed to linger no matter the efforts of Jimin’s consolation. And nothing is truly as draining as the feeling of inescapable numbness that lines your consciousness, and you know it’s your brain struggling to process everything that’s happened and trying to give you something you can truly feel.
But all you can stand to feel is Jimin.
It takes a mere second to lift your head and press your lips to his, feeling his own part instantly in acceptance of your embrace while his hands press to your shoulder blades to help hold you where you’ve lifted yourself to wrap an arm around his neck. Yearning for more of his essence has you lifting yourself up onto your knees and crawling into the triangle of space between his own, and he cradles your waist as you move towards him.
Jimin’s hands tighten at your hips with the desperation building in the ardent presses of your lips and for a second you feel him start to pull back before his questioning hum is immediately silenced by your tongue trailing along his lower lip. All at once he withdraws from you, firm in his ignorance of your pleading whine as he pushes you back just far enough to stop your advances and fix you with a weary, confused expression.
“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Jimin pays no mind to the way you reach for him, holding you solidly in place as he studies your features carefully. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, I need to know you’re okay.”
“M’fine, J’min, please…” Your hands reach for him again and he lets you get close enough to touch, eyes still piercing as his brows pinch together in concern. “Just, I just wanna feel… something good. I–”
“Baby, I wanna take care of you.” He reassures you easily, finally letting you get close again without losing your eyes. “I want nothing more than to make you feel good in every way I possibly can. But I need to know that we’re doing things the right way for what's best for you right now.”
You gaze up at him quietly, fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck as he plays with the ends of your own. His brown eyes look black in the darkness of the night that paints his room, but there’s an uncompromising warmth that no amount of light or darkness has ever been able to hinder.
“Please.” Frustration starts to bubble in the pit of your stomach. The one thing you want right now so close yet so far in this moment that it has tears starting to prickle your tired eyes. Embarrassment whirls in the forefront of your mind but you’re too tired to care and, as a lonely tear manages to escape you, Jimin quickly surges forward and pulls you tight against him. Lips cover your cheeks in tiny kisses, and he hushes you gently as a whine is pulled out of your throat once more, only to be cut off but Jimin’s lips.
This kiss is different from the last. Heat now underlines the ardent press of his lips and he holds you close like he fears you may disappear into thin air should he release you. This time when you lift higher above him on your knees and slip a leg over his, his other hand follows to pull you more easily onto his lap, and his legs spread out beneath you as he slowly reclines back onto the bed.
You shuffle up, straddling his hips properly, and Jimin pushes your hair to one side when he reaches up to grasp your chin and pull you back down to his lips. You feel jumpy, almost like adrenaline, desperation in the way your hands press and grip at the hard curves of his shoulders and biceps, flexing when he’s got a handful of your thigh and is pulling you ever closer. His tongue meets yours with a tentative flick, teasing as you deepen the kiss and he sucks your lip between his teeth with a hum of pleasure.
His thighs twitch upwards when your hips start to roll slowly, without you even noticing, and the squeeze of flesh over your hip between his fingers has you jerking to a stop before pressing down again even harder, feeling the way his length starts to respond quickly under your ministrations as he groans into your mouth.
Breathlessness pulls you away from him as your face starts to flush, starting to become overwhelmed by sensation as he caresses every inch of your body with his touch. But he doesn’t give you a moment of pause before moving his kisses down your neck, and a firm hand eases your head to one side to expose the most sensitive spot that he’s never forgotten about.
The spot that made your breath hitch under a gasp, and your hips undulate just that little bit faster. That one spot that, combined with the hand that has now crept up to tease the stiffening peak of your nipple through the fabric of your nightshirt, has the crotch of your shorts starting to stick between the apex of your thighs.
Jimin is unhurried when he reaches up, pulling the end of your shirt up and over your head to expose your torso, and as he thumbs at the waistband of your shorts, he presses his face into the swell of your breasts to take a deep inhale of your scent before pushing against you to lay you back on the bed. You cradle him to your chest, moaning as his hands slip underneath your shorts to take two handfuls of your ass and encourage you to lift up just enough to quickly pull the fabric from your legs.
It’s instinct, the way your hands immediately reach for Jimin’s own waistband to even the scores but you’re interrupted by your own gasp as he pushes you down with a hand on your chest, the second slipping between your thighs to leave you scrunching his waistband between your fingers. His heated stare keeps your gaze locked with his as he runs his fingers through your folds, gathering the wetness on his fingertips slowly as you gasp against his lips.
His mouth pouts against yours gently, eyes never breaking focus, and the corner of his lips perks up when you swallow a moan at the sparks of pleasure starting to ignite as he strokes slowly over your clitoral hood. Fabric crackling under your hands, you try and pull his hips closer to yours, but your efforts prove futile when he easily pulls further away to kiss down over your breasts. The sky outside is starting to lighten in the early morning sunrise, warm light only just starting to peak over the horizon, and it means that when Jimin finally pulls back to look down at your body properly, you can’t help but instinctively turn your head to the side shyly knowing he can see every inch of you like this.
“So beautiful.” Reverent hands glide down over your breasts and waist to squeeze the extra flesh at your hips, and though you’re embarrassed to know you’re not the skinny young woman Jimin once knew, the heat in his eyes when you meet them has your skin tingling with excitement. His hands push back up to cup and roll your breasts until the peaks of your nipples are tight against his palms, and this time when he leans down, it’s to envelope one into his warm mouth and roll it under his tongue.
Your back arches up into his ministrations, and you gasp into the empty air far too loudly for this time of morning, teeth clamping down on your lower lip as Jimin hums tingles of delight into your skin until you’re thoroughly covered in goosebumps. He then switches to your other nipple to repeat the sensations until you’re writhing uncontrollably, and when you finally break and jerk against him to reach down and wrap your hand around his hardened length through his shorts, he pulls back with a hiss and reaches back down between your thighs instead.
You moan as he slips further down the bed on his stomach, far enough down to lay his head on your thigh, and you blush heavily as his eyes land on your core, shining with desire and clenching down in despair as your craving peaks. A gentle thumb presses on your flesh, easing back the hood of your clitoris and before you can mumble a complaint about his staring, his mouth is enveloping the sensitive nerve in warmth as his tongue grazes against it roughly.
His hand moves down to tease his thumb around your slit, gauging just how wet you are before his tongue swipes down over your folds to leave you even wetter, making the gentle prodding of his finger a little easier as he starts to drag it harder and harder over your entrance until the flesh starts to part for him on it’s own.
“Hnng-ah!” There is nothing gentle about the way your hands grab and pull at Jimin’s hair, unable to control yourself as the pleasure blooms between your hips way more intense than you expected, but he quickly eases up at your overwhelmed whine, using just the tip of his tongue to gently flick and stroke over the pulsing nub. “D-Don’t–”
Jimin pulls back instantly, hand moving to carefully caress your outer thigh as he eases your legs back together under his chin. Concern is clear in his eyes and you bite your lips, feeling silly to have lost yourself so fast and worried him. “You okay? You wanna stop, sweetheart?”
“N-no! I-I’m sensitive. I just–” Heavy blush is warming your cheeks and Jimin smiles up at you softly as he presses a kiss to your knee. “I-I havent...nobodies...not since you.”
A sweet smile breaks across Jimin’s lips at at the darling way you shyly whisper the words, and he reaches down under you to wrap strong arms around your waist and pull you back up to sit in his lap, hips pressing firm against each other as he uses the freedom of his hands to run soothing fingertips up and down your back.
Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he pulls you close, and you can't help but return his smile as he leans in and puckers soft lips against the crease of your elbow.
“Me too.” You blink down at him in surprise, but he simply grins up at you before easing the flyaway hair at the back of your head down with gentle fingers. “It’s always been you, _____. I don’t think I could bring myself to even think about someone else.”
“I love you, Jimin.” Your arms and legs wrap tight around him, and he squeezes you tight to his chest with a happy hum.
“I love you.” His reply is muffled by the way your lips crash against his, and this time when you reach down to tug at his shorts, he lets you. Leaning back to brace himself on one arm, he lifts his hips until you can both shimmy the fabric off and under the sheets somewhere, and when you finally wrap your hand around him, and he groans deep in your mouth, the heat fully envelopes your mind and every sensation is full of Jimin like you’ve craved for so long.
His abdomen tenses as he thrusts up into your hold instinctively, and his hand loops around your wrist to tug your grip away from his sensitive member as he pulls you up over his hips and scooches up the bed until his back meets the headboard, staring up into your eyes. He breaks your gaze only to reach over into the bedside table, the small bottle he procures leaving a smile on your face as he uncaps the lubricant and squeezes some into his palm.
The gel is warm by the time he spreads it over his fingers and brings it between your thighs, and you lift yourself up just enough, bracing yourself with arms wrapped around his neck as your hips twitch at the gentle touch. Liberally, he spreads it over your folds, running his fingers through and down to your entrance with a tilted smile, and his grin only grows when your hips jerk unintentionally.
Barely a minute can pass before the slight touches become almost unbearable, and you’re reaching down behind yourself to grasp him at the base. But he catches your arm behind you quickly, hand leaving your core to run whatever is left on his fingers down his shaft until his hand meets yours. And together, with the slightest tilt of your hips, the two of you ease him between your walls.
You don't even notice that you're holding your breath, the tension in your body fully encompassed by the way you gradually relax down onto him, and for a few long moments, all either of you can do is revel in the feeling of being connected again. And even though the moment has only just begun, it already feels like coming home, body opening up for him as though he’d never left.
Jimin’s eyes flutter as his head hits the wood behind him with a dull sound, and your eyes zone in on the muscle in his jaw that clenches the lower you slide onto him. His hand wrapped around your wrist behind you gives a squeeze, and as your hips nestle deep into his, his free hand lifts to grip your face as his hips give an unintentional roll, and it's like a punch to the stomach as air finally rushes down into your lungs when you gasp, thighs immediately clamping down around him.
“O-oh!” You’re barely strong enough to hold yourself upright, the intensity of finally being this close to Jimin again is staggering, and you can’t control yourself as your hips jerk down into his, leaving the two of you gasping at the surge of unprecedented pleasure.
“Shit.” Jimin’s fingers squeeze a little harder as he groans, and your fingernails dig in on his shoulder as you watch heat swirl in his eyes, any sense of composure he normally holds completely lost. He pulls you closer by the chin, the heat of his breath now brushing over your lips, and the arm behind you pulls you even further against him as your walls give a shuddering squeeze as they clench around him rhythmically. He can feel the way your breath hitches against his face, and the slow dance starts as the two of you groan and pant, hips rolling slowly into desperation against each other.
Blood is starting to rush through your ears as your movements become more depraved, and the way he pushes against all the right spots inside you leaves your memories a mere shadow in the distance. Nothing you’ve ever felt compares to this moment in his arms, and the shock to your body has you hurtling into the abyss as you lose all semblance of self, feeling as though you're dissolving into him.
Sweat coats the skin between you, hips gliding in slick movements as you writhe against him,  and the moans vibrating through him hum right into your core, and you find yourself echoing him. He spears deep into you, another tilt of his hips and yours grazing the tip of his length deep into the front of your core, leaving you crying out as you finally fall against him, and with a sharp tug your lips are pressing to his and he’s drinking in the sounds that escape you like an elixir.
“H-nghh-ah!” Your eyes clench shut as you grasp for his hand behind you, fingers squeezing between his as he continues to roll his hips under you. And it’s with an impressive example of his restraint that he manages to slow them to an almost stop and pulls away from your lips to let you breath, throat burning around a shuddered breath that almost kicks into a sob with the moisture budding behind your lids.
“Baby.” Jimin eases you carefully back to the surface, and it takes you a few seconds to realise just how hard your panting against his neck, arms both around his neck as he strokes a gentle hand up your back and over the nape of your neck. “Baby, talk to me.”
“J’min.” Shock takes over as your voice wavers, and you swallow thickly as he eases you back from his neck to look into your eyes. Your core is still pulsing around him, but you’re grateful for the reprieve as the two of you start to calm down, needing just a moment to really soak it all in before you can revel in him too much.
“Breath for me.” You do as he says, taking a deep breath as he runs a gentle thumb under your eyes, and for a few seconds all you do is return his gaze as he runs his hands over your body. “Doing so well for me. So beautiful. Love you so much.”
The words are so quiet you could almost think he hadn’t meant to say them out loud, but the warmth in his eyes and the tilt of his lips say otherwise, and you give him a shy smile in reply, cheeks starting to heat. “I love you.”
Jimin pulls you down to his lips once more, and you meet him eagerly as the need in your centre returns with a vengeance. The hitch of a moan you feed into his lips is echoed by the pulse of his member deep inside you, and you lift yourself up just enough to feel the friction of his against your walls, smiling shakily as a hiss leaves his lips at your ministrations. The pleasure starts to take over the forefront of your mind again, and as your movements grow bigger and more eager, so does the knot starting to tighten between your hips.
“F-Feels s-so–” You sob, teeth finding your lower lip as you jerkily roll your hips into Jimins, and at his deep growl of pleasure your clit gives a heavy throb, and you fall back to brace yourself with hands on his thigh as you lift yourself with a debauched level of eagerness. Jimin’s hand drop to find your hips, fingertips deep in your flesh as he holds you tight and throws his head back in ecstasy. The way you can see his eyes roll back before he closes them tight, nostrils flaring as he clenches his jaw, leaves you throbbing, and had you been of sound mind, the lewd sounds of your hips pushing and rolling against each other might’ve made you blush.
“S-So good, I–” But you’re in far too deep now, a hiccuped sob leaving you every time your hips drop into his, and Jimin is hardly faring any better as he grunts and moans, the veins in his neck popping as he swallows thickly, and your eyes catch on his tongue as it runs over his lower lip. Chin dropping forward, his eyes pierce straight into you when they finally open, and you almost jerk to a stop as the sight has your core clenching tight with a shocking pulse of lust.
“H-ah! I’m–!” Shuddering over him, you try to get back into a rhythm that resembles controlled, but fail miserably as Jimin leans up and forward to brace an arm behind himself as the other winds around your waist. You follow his lead, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, but you fumble as he gives a strong tug and leaves you gasping as his length pierces straight into you, deeper than before. And he is unwavering.
“Come on, baby.” Deep slaps of your hips against his echo around the room, almost drowned out by your cries as your entire body tenses with shock, and you can feel more than hear his groan as he leans in to suck your lower lip between his teeth, teasing you into a messy, breathless kiss that you can barely hold for half a second. You’re weak against him, entire body thrumming with a pleasure that is so wholly encompassing that it catches you off guard, and all you can do is take it as he pushes himself back until he’s laying back against the pillows. You’re too far gone to notice the hand he lifts to his lips until it’s too late, fingers wet with saliva when they slip down against your clit, and you choke on your own breath. “Come for me, sweetheart.”
Your climax hits you like a freight train, not a sound or breath escaping you as you rip Jimin’s hand from between your thighs and fall down weakly against his chest. You can’t hear a single thing around the blood rushing through your head as you pull up and off Jimin’s length in instant oversensitivity, and he automatically catches you in his arms as he shushes your now heaving sobs.
“Good girl, baby. You did so good for me, sweet girl. God, you’re so beautiful cumming for me like that. Missed you so much–” Jimin brings you down, gentle kisses lining your cheek as he holds you close and whispers into your ear, and as you start to breath again, and your mind starts to slowly clear, you can feel the way your release eases down your folds and no doubt pools over his length.
“J’min.” You slowly pull back with a weak arm trying to brace you against the bed beside his head, and his eyes glint as he grins up at you, holding you carefully. He hushes you again, thumbing at your chin now as he pulls you in, and the kiss is tender against your swollen lips as he strokes his other hand down to your lower back.
You kiss languidly for a few minutes, the strength slowly returning to your limbs as you regain some energy, and ever so gradually, the kiss starts to grow more eager. And with the sheer burning heat of him right underneath you, it’s not hard to expect the way your body starts to desire the feel of him again.
He hisses as your hips undulate back down against him, the sensitive tip of his length grazing and parting through your folds and leaving you to moan against his lips as he twitches and grunts beneath you. The hand at your hip squeezes you tight, shifting to take a handful of your ass as he pulls you against him again before pulling away from your lips and fixing you with his heavy stare.
“Only if you’re sure baby.” You look at him for a moment, smile small but growing quickly as his thumb runs over your lower lip, and you quickly move in again to fix his lips against yours, and wordlessly you reach down to lift his length until it aligns with your core, grinning as he jerks and squeezes you in his hold.
Your jaw instantly drops, a heavy breath escaping the both of you as he parts your folds once more, and this time the slide is a little slower, a little more intense for you as he parts your walls and nestles deep inside, but it doesn't take long for you to start to rock back and forth over him, and Jimin hides his face in your neck as a high pitched sound of pleasure escapes him. Hips rolling, you close your eyes and focus on the sounds he makes as you pleasure him, engraving them in your mind and shuddering as they lift the hairs on the back of your neck.
Pulling back in an effort to ground yourself from becoming too lost in him too fast, you sit up slowly and start to properly move, pushing down on him right to the hilt before pulling away until his tip barely kisses the insides of your folds. The sunlight has peaked over the horizon in the distance, filling the room with a lavender glow that quickly intensifies as you ride him with increasing desperation, and soon his hands join your efforts and pull you against him as he gazes up at you heatedly. His lips are parted on his breath, and you bite down on your own as the sight of his eyes starting to roll again has your clit throbbing.
“Baby.” Jimin’s head flies back as you grind down on him hard, the delicious expanse of his neck now exposed to you as he cries out, and just by the sound of his breath hitching around his little gasps of pleasure and the way his hands are shaking, you can tell he’s starting to get close to his release. And so you double your efforts, slamming down against him hard enough to make you yourself cry out, eyes clenched shut as he brushes against the deepest spots. “F-Fuck!”
“Hmh-ah!” Your breath is punched out of you as you’re twisted to the side, your back hitting the bed unexpectedly, and your eyes shoot open to see Jimin now above you, length gripped in his hand as he squeezes the tip hard in a desperate attempt not to cum, while he growls as he pushes your legs apart and falls over you to claim your mouth once more.
His breath is scalding as it washes over your lips, his heaving gasps for air a reflection of the way the sight of him has you breathless, and while your lips stay pressed together he pushes his hips forward to connect the two of you once more. Your arms find their way around his neck as he lifts a hand to cup your jaw, and with the first drive of his hips your body is thrust upward closer to the pillows.
Elbows dent the bed on either side of your waist, and Jimin's hands slip under you to cup the back of your shoulders and hold you in place. A gasp escapes you at the way his length delves deeper still as his thrusts hasten, and he pushes his thighs further apart as he solidifies his position over you, leaving your own unable to resist as you’re spread wider and your hips tilt upwards automatically.
This minute change in position has your core completely victim to Jimin’s will. And with every drop of his hips into yours, your body vibrates with electricity as the angle drives him right over your most sensitive spots and deep within where even the slightest twinges of pain are left to ignite the burn of impending doom even brighter. You can merely hang on and try to breath as ecstasy mounts.
A heavy clench of your walls has Jimin’s hips faltering for just a second before he resumes with a deep growl that he muffles into your neck, and you hold onto him desperately as he shifts a hand to clasp the back of your neck instead, shifting his weight to his elbow and using the now free hand to curl your thigh even higher on his hip.
The heat between the two of you is stifling, the slickness of sweat coating your bodies as the push and pull intensifies,  and as your lashes flutter and the feeling between your hips starts to mount, you pull him back by the hair at the nape of his neck and fix his heavy gaze with yours.
“J’min, please-ah!” He cries out as you feel him swell and throb at your centre, and his hips grind heavy against yours. The press of him catches your clit and you whimper in oversensitivity as you squeeze him tight and you feel your core clench repeatedly as the tsunami drowns you, his breath hitching and lashes fluttering as his hips stutter and then finally stop.
Warm wetness leaks out and down from where you’re connected, but you pay no mind to the way it pools on the sheets under you as you cup his cheeks and lose yourself in the kiss he pulls you into. You drink him in like nectar, returning his embrace fervently as his tongue teases at the tip of yours, and he leans his weight off to one side to twist his fingers through the hair behind your ear.
By the time he pulls away from you light has broken through the buildings and runs vertical lines through the blinds to decorate the walls and the side of his face, and you can’t help but to run fingers over them in reverence as he smiles gently down at you. A few more kisses find their way to your lips before Jimin manages to pull himself away, and regardless of the warmth of the sun's rays filling the room, you instantly feel cold without him.
But he doesn’t go far lifting himself just enough to wrap you in the sheet that’s found its way to the end of the mattress before lifting you smoothly into his arms and standing from the bed. You find yourself smiling as you wrap your arms around his neck and lean in to press your face to his warm skin, breathing in the scent of him that resounds so strongly as home even before.
Gentle kisses rain over your exposed skin as he walks to the bathroom, and your feet barely touch the cool tiles before the patter of water fills the room and you're deafened to the world as Jimin pulls your lips to his with a hand under your chin.
And you know that regardless of the trials that no doubt will still litter your near future, having Jimin by your side once more makes any hardship that little bit easier, makes you that little bit stronger.
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sweetestlamb · 4 years ago
Text
Can You Feel The Love Tonight?
Summary: So-Bong stops fighting their attraction following the King's deception.
Author's note: I'm back and so excited to write a consensual steamy night! This continues from Episode 14 👀👀 enjoy my fellow royal pervs. Thank you to everyone who send me good vibes and positivity after Tumblr decided to wake up and choose violence and delete my first draft. I hope you all enjoy this version too you never saw the other version but I was feeling very good about it and this one just isn’t it so I’m being pretty hard on myself. Comments are always loved and appreciated especially in these trying times LOL. More possibly confusing pronouns but I did write from the King’s POV towards the end so the pronouns stop being too crazy. 
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His breath stumbles out in choked tight puffs, saturated air squeezed from So-young's tired lungs. He feels restless, pacing the short distance of the room before he jumps at the door suddenly sliding open. Affection too strong to temper down washes over their body in a thunderous tsunami wave that crashes all his doubts and hesitations about his feelings for a particular monarch. 
"My Queen." The title is stated with all the awe and reverence befitting royalty and before he can second guess himself, he's flying across the room to pull Cheoljong into a tight embrace. The King’s gasp of shock doing little to stop him from holding on tightly, pressing So-yong's face into the thick cord of the King's neck.
"Thank you. Thank you so much. I thought she was dead. I really thought you let her die!" Their voice sounds shrill even to Bong Hwan's ears but he can't deny that his emotions are overwhelming, too close to the surface. Still too raw after the heartbreaking ordeal, how dare those bastards even suggest killing a child?
It's not until the King is drawing away, his dark eyes searching her face before his fingers reach up to brush away the tears that are streaming from her eyes. Bong-Hwan feels a tinge of shame in his stomach, embarrassed to be seen this way by anyone but especially the King, but the soft way he holds their cheeks eviscerates all shame.
"I didn't have any time to tell you my plan, I'm sorry I scared you. I would never let anything happen to her, she was just an innocent child and she saved you. I owe her a huge debt."
He allows the King to drag her shaking body further into the room, sitting on the plush bedding, face to face their hands tangled in between.
Listening carefully as he tells them how he placed harmless sleeping powder in the child's cup and in the darkness of night his brother would collect her body and bring her somewhere safe, no one else knew of the plan and would believe the young court maid to be dead.
All of the stress and guilt washes over him again and he breaks down, folding into So-yong's lap as hot tears cascade from her eyes drenching the night dress. The cries ravish her slight body until he's sobbing uncontrollably, finally realizing how heartless this Kingdom and almost everyone living in it was.
Except him.
He'd had no reason to save the young girl, had hardly known her and it did him no favors to spare her life. Yet, he did it because she asked him to. 
I'll do my best. 
"You kept your promise."
"My Queen?"
So-Bong lifts their head, moist eyes locked on the King's face reaching out to stroke his cheeks, trailing down to his strong jaw. The desire to kiss him surging through their veins.
"You said you would save her and you did. How can I thank you?" Gratitude coats each word as So-Bong crawls closer into the King's space, a breath apart now making his intentions apparent.
A slight blush spreads across the bridge of Cheoljong's nose, he looks beautiful in the dim candle light. Truly a sight to behold.
"You owe me nothing my Queen your gratitude is enough to warm my heart for days to come."
But he wants to, this desire isn't So-yong; at least not her alone. He wants the King. There's no denying it now, not faced with his selfless act. Now remembering the way his heart stopped when the King flew off the stage, bloodied on the ground reaching out for them. How desperately he wanted to shove everyone aside and have the King in their arms again. 
Without preamble he grabs the lapel of the King's hanbok, reveling in the look of pure lust that devours his face before their lips crash into each other. He groans at the wet swipe of a tongue at So-yong's lips, opening up immediately to give the King entrance. When a large hand grips the back of her head, he moans deeply licking deeper into the King's mouth, heating scorching through their body like a wildfire.
"Don't get hurt again. Don't leave me." He pants into the King's hungry mouth, grabbing onto him desperately.
Cheoljong pulls away, lips bitten and red, panting now firm chest expanding and compressing.
"I won't. I'll stay with you."
In a move quicker than lightning, the King embraces them before covering her body on the bedding, begging for permission with those seductive eyes at So-Bong's nod he's ravenous, movements wild and disorienting. He tugs the material holding her sleep dress intact and the material falls away, but there are several layers beneath. He skillfully undoes everything, leaving her body bare to his eyes.
"So beautiful." He breathes out, eyes racing down her heaving chest before landing on her jewel, he reaches down to caress her smooth thighs causing goosebumps to raise in the wake.
Without a word he returns the favor, undressing the King with more fervor eager to reclaim the pleasure he'd denied just hours ago. The most pleasure he'd ever experienced in his life.
The King has a breathtaking body, broad shoulders that temper down into thick muscled legs but the thing that catches his eyes, dangles between the space of those marvelous legs. His third leg. It's hard to believe that was ever inside of them, it looks angry and red mushroom like head peeking through foreskin. Precum already oozing and coating the flesh in viscous liquid.
You're beautiful too.
He can't bring himself to say the words out loud, already feeling far too vulnerable.
Cheoljong moves to penetrate, gripping their legs as he crawls forward eyes locked on the prize. And the night comes back to him in a sudden flash, the pleasure had been immense but unfortunately so had the pain. There'd been no foreplay and her wetness had not been enough to thwart Cheoljong's impressive cock. It would be different tonight, it was time to teach their good husband about foreplay.
"Wait."
Instantly the King halts his movement, longing and question in his eyes. He is shaking from his rigid control.
In a move any porn star would be proud of, he brings her legs up locking onto the King’s hips and swiftly rolls them over until they’re on top.
The King gasps in surprise at the sudden reversal but the arousal in his eyes make it clear that he's still on board, the thick cock pressing into her thigh is even more proof.
Reaching back to unbraid her tight braid, he shakes her hair free smirking at the weak moan that falls from the King's lips.
"Like what you see?" He teases, bringing her hair over one shoulder and gazing at the King from under wispy eyelashes, a picture of coy seduction. Cheoljong groans at the action, reaching out to hold her hips and squeezing at the luscious flesh.
"Don't tease me."
He almost laughs at the soft command, having no intention of listening to such a thing.
With a gentle placating smile, he leans down to capture Cheoljong's lips in a peck that transforms into something deeper and wetter. Twisting the King's head to his liking, then groaning at the sensation. While the King's distracted he trails a dainty finger down his body, stopping to caress his hard pronounced abs the tight skin jumping under her fingers. Then he continues his journey until he reaches his destination, without any warning issued he wraps her hand around the King's sword firmly stroking from base to tip, twisting her hand to collect his juices to ease the way.
The King jerks as if he's been struck by lightning in her hold, breaking the kiss to grunt and thrust harder into the grip with a loud roar as animalistic as he'd been their first time. Watching him squirm in pleasure causes more moisture to gather at her center, memories of them thrusting and crashing into each other filling his mind.
"My Queen...what. What in the heavens are you doing to me?
"This is called a hand job. It is a gift a woman bestow upon a man.”
"Like a blessing?" He replies, looking thoroughly dazed as So-Bong continues to stroke and pull at his cock, copious amounts of precum making the motion effortless.
He chuckles at the King's understanding of the word, in many ways a handjob is a blessing.
With her unattended hand he reaches down to fondle the King's heavy balls, distracting him enough to slither down his firm body before he's eye level with the rigid length. Hungry for the burst of salt and skin that will flood her mouth, but still wary at this role reversal. He's received many blessings in his lifetime as a renowned chef he already ever wants for bedroom partners, women typically throwing themselves at him. But face to face with the one eyed beast, he falters tongue heavy in her mouth.
How did I.....do it?
He simply stares at first, at a long vein that cords up the side pumping blood to the thick organ.
Nerves immobilize him before the King finally looks down, helpless stare on his face his bottom lip slightly trembling. He gives a little hump up trying to alleviate some of the pressure and So-bong makes up his mind.
Just start slow. You've seen enough porn and anything feels good when you're horny.
So he starts with a kitten lick barely touching the throbbing organ, unprepared for the bitterness that explodes on his taste buds. It's a new flavor one he’s never experienced before but the King's reaction is enough to make him want to do it again, and again.
Cheoljong stills at first, as tight as the the quiver of an arrow before he breaks free from his stupor and thrusts so hard his cock slides down her throat almost choking them. He's draws off the King, thunderous glare at his appalling blowjob etiquette.
"This is called a blowjob. It's stage two of the hand job, but if you can't control yourself, then I'm stopping."
Immediate panic flares across the King's face and he falls limp on the bedding, staring up with pleading eyes. Looking thoroughly chastised and shamefaced.
"My apologies my Queen. I will accept your blessing. I place myself in your capable hands."
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Nothing in his studies could have prepared him for this immense pleasure his Queen is bestowing on him, a serpentine tongue curling around his most private parts. Despite the various rumors of his prowess and the many times he's been accosted, both in his youth and during his time in the kingdom he's never indulged in the passions of the skin but now feeling this exquisite pleasure he wants to curse at himself, has this been what he's been depriving himself of?
He's been a fool of the highest caliber.
Another part of him is grateful that he's sharing this moment with her, he can't imagine sharing this intimacy with any other. Especially the many women at the brothels that he has frequented, preferring a willing partner.
In his laps his Queen is the devil incarnated, swallowing him in short bursts that leave his body feeling equal parts numb and bursting at the seams. Her kitten like licks at his head make his toes curl into the bedding, until pleasure flashes behind his eyelids so intensely he has to twists away before it's too late; barely escaping in time.
He pants loudly, harsh breaths rushing from his lips.
He jolts at the sudden warmth of her hands on his face, bringing his head back to meet her eyes.
She looks at him softly stroking at his cheeks almost.... lovingly. It's too much to consider. That the Queen could feel even an inch of what he feels for her. It's inconceivable.
"Did you like it?"
"Was that not clear? Where did you learn such sinful techniques?" He questions her but suddenly he doesn't want to hear the answer, not in the slightest. Maybe there's a reason why the head of the Justice Department is so obsessed with her, perhaps they had a relationship that was more intimate than he imagined. Maybe....
"Stop."
He stops looking back at her, trying to squash the jealousy boiling in his blood.
"Whatever you're thinking, stop. I've never had...that in my mouth. Or anywhere else for that matter. If it was good that was because of my natural talent. " She rolls her eyes at him, stern look as she crosses her arms across her tempting chest, ruddy dark nipples making his arousal deepen.
He breathes a sigh of relief and satisfaction, trying his best to keep those emotions off his countenance but her raised eyebrow makes it evident he has hidden nothing.
Slowly she crawls over him, straddling him face looming above his and he can't resist stealing a kiss, a burst of salt overcomes his senses and realization dawns on him.
That's me.
It shouldn't be that arousing to taste his own seed on her tongue but the thought of her tasting like him makes his blood boil hotter.
She lets him kiss her, her body soft in his arms as he rubs a hand up and down her side and he deepens their kiss, lips slotting together like matching pieces of an erotic puzzle.
When she pulls away he chases but a small hands on his chest halts the action.
He stares in awe at her beautiful flushed face, lips plush and inviting, the memory of them on his cock enough to make him groan.
"Do you want to make me feel good too?"
He's nodding before the question has fully left her pouty mouth and he immediately begins to position himself at her warm center, thrusting between the folds of her flower. Eager to be connected with her in the most natural way. But again his plan is halted as she shifts away after a quick moment of grinding back onto him.
He groans, "My Queen, what is the matter? I can't take this torturous teasing. You were hardly this coy last time."
His words are true, just yesterday he'd been shoved into the bed and ridden like a wild stallion, she'd sheathed him with no warning her grimace of pain enough to make him consider stopping before she grabbed his shoulders and arched her back in a manner that couldn't be human.
He'd been lost to the waves of pleasure after that.
"I was drunk out of my mind last time, I'd have let you do anything to me."
His eyes widen at the admittance, too many ideas flooding his mind.
"Stay with me, you sex maniac."
He's not quite sure but what a "sex maniac" is but he hardly believes that he's the only one here who is one. He hadn't been the one to seduce the other after all.
"Remember how I told you there are levels? You need to do that to me."
He stares blankly before finally understanding, running his hand from her hips down to the vee between her legs. Soft hair greets him before he pries between the puffy lips, stroking up through the moistness before pressing one finger inside, barely a knuckle but she's so wet that his finger sinks in easily, until he's deep inside her hole.
She breathes out softly, whining in his arms as if to take him deeper. He begins a languid pace, in and out, wanting to take his time and enjoy every second inside his Queen but she has other ideas.
"Another! Harder!"
She's already bouncing on his lap, all too easily accepting another finger, his middle finger now crying out at the stretch from two digits pounding into her core.
He's sure all the servants can hear their coupling, but it does nothing to discourage him as he grabs her hair pulling her in for a wet kiss needing to taste her moans, the vibrations tickling his mouth. His fingers are sloppy wet and their noises are indecent as she quickens their pace into something brutal. He doesn’t care if he keeps the entire kingdom up. 
Always a quick learner, he shoves her down into the bed lifting her legs like a scarf around his neck and after a quick moment of eye contact he dives down to taste her, tongue sliding through her wet pussy with precision and certainty. She wails underneath him, screaming his name loud enough to wake those even miles away. Pride swells in his chest as he licks deeper into her sweetness, using his hands to spread her wider much to her boisterous satisfaction.
He grins when he feels her hand latch onto his hair holding him in place as she uses him, grinding onto his tongue. He's never experienced anything this blissfully erotic, never knew a partner could be this eager. All of his studies have shown women to be rather passive, simply laying as the man gains his pleasure. His Queen his anything but a passive participant.
Before he knows it she's whimpering, twisting and twitching uncontrollably and when she starts to pull away he clamps down harder dragging her back and forcing his tongue impossibly deeper, when he slips in a finger everything is wet, her juices flooding his mouth and he happily drinks it all hungry for more.
He continues to suckle until she pushes him away, hissing at him when he fights her at first.
"Too much."
He gently moves her legs from his shoulder and places them back onto the bedding. She's spent below him, eyes closed and chest heaving powerfully.
He flops down beside her, in a manner completely unbefitting for a King. Not caring in the slightest.
Her breath begins to even out, slowing down and he smiles tightly it seems he'll have to tend to himself. With a sigh he reaches down to wrap a hand around himself but almost instantly his wrist is grabbed.
"What are you doing?"
He turns to face her, almost laughing out loud at the look of offense that mars her face.
"You're spent my Queen, I can care for myself."
She scoffs at him, taking a fortifying breath before sitting up, he watches her lazily awaiting her next move. At first, she merely stretches light popping as she raises her arms over her head. He watches enthralled by the rippling in her taut body, she is a magnificent woman and he's merely a man. Then in a move as fluid as water, she raises to her knees before sliding down onto her arms, then lower onto her forearms. Her body a perfect arch, with her pert bottom in the air.  For his position he can see directly into her wet core, he's moving before the action registers in his brain.
He's seen this before, the cow position but then she looks over her bare shoulder and smirks at him.
"Doggy style. You do all the work and you get a great view."
What an interesting moniker for this position but he can agree that this truly does resemble dogs mating as well. His knowledgeable Queen, he will surely have to add this to his dictionary. 
He walks forward on his knees towards her until his cock is nuzzled between the meat of her thighs, thrusting once making stars explode behind his eyes.
"I must get oil." He sadly states, despising the idea of being away from her heat for even a second but before he can move she's thrusting back onto him, the head of his cock sliding inside with little effort.
This time his moan fills the room.
"I don't need that. Can't you feel how wet I am? Just fuck me already, I know you want to."
"Fuck you?" More new words, these one sounds filthy despite not knowing the full meaning. 
She grinds backwards consuming him the rest of the way, "Yes. Fuck me until I can't walk straight."
He's never been one to back away from a challenge and at her insistence he slams into her, hard enough that she falls forward chest crashing into the floor as her ass raises higher in the air, giving him more access to her sweet wet entrance. He grips her ass pounding harder and harder before pulling her back to her arms. Leaning over her shoulder, he finds a bright red ear.
"Do you know who I am?"
He doesn't give her a moment to reply to his spontaneous question, instead rocking into her again mesmerized watching himself enter her over and over and over.
But after a moment he slows down, barely retreating just slowly grinding into her.
"Who am I?" He demands, bringing a hand around to fondle her breast pinching at the nipples.
"What are you talking about?" She pants out, impatiently trying to get him to return to the frantic borderline painful pace. 
He pinches harder.
"Do you know I am right now? Are you in full control of your faculties? Who is fucking you right now my Queen?"
It's unbecoming but a vindictive part of him needs this, desperately wants confirmation that she wants this and is imagining no other. After all their other misunderstandings he couldn’t stand another one. 
"You petty bastard!"
He pulls out. Completely. Leaving her empty, her hole twitching at the sudden departure. 
"Now, now. Is that anyway to speak to your husband? It's a simple question, who am I? Who do you belong to? "
Seconds drag on and he wonders if he's taken it too far, has he made this uncomfortable? Has he ruined this moment completely?
As fear ravages his mind, he doesn't notice his Queen grinding her teeth before sighing.
She whispers, "My King. You are my King and you are the only one I'm thinking of."
Elation swirls in his heart and he's back inside so quickly she loses her balance, tumbling onto her best again but he gives her no chance to rearrange herself pounding away now, shoving himself as deep as he can go.
He props his strong arms on either side of her thrusting and biting at her neck, marking her for the world to see. Her whimpers are music to his ears as he prays that every man in the kingdom will hear her, and now that she is his woman. No other can have her, ever. Unless they want to taste his blade. 
When her legs give out he rolls them onto their sides, never slowing his brutal place lifting one of toned legs to thrust even deeper. Then he feels her hand where they are joined, looking over he sees her rubbing frantically at a small engorged bead glistening above her hole. Knocking her hand away he begins to stroke the delicate pearl rapidly, grunting when her tunnel tightens around him.
She begins to scream, head thrown back as he chases the light blaring in his mind, the emphatic slamming of skin booming in the room until she bends her back arching away from him and he grabs her hips chasing her over the edge, pounding until he explodes inside her his shouts joining hers both deafening in the room.
Everything fades to black.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
He loathes to leave her alone after the night they've had but he must check on his brother and their plan to save the young court maid, so he slips from her enticing heat almost undone when she grumbles at his movement reaching out for him. Her little grabby hands reminiscent of a small child. 
Alas he must go. He's doing this for her after all. They will have much time to discuss later.
And if it leads to circumstances like these, he's not opposed.
By late morning he has dealt with everything necessary for the young girl, her body being transported to another town where they have created a fake identity for her. He knows his Queen will be sadden by the young girl's departure but this is the only way to keep her safe.
He's racing as quickly as he can to get back to her when he hears a voice behind him.
"Your majesty."
He stiffens immediately guilt riddles through him, the royal consort. He'd hoped to avoid her until he figured out exactly what to say to her, he'd yet to tell anyone but the Queen his true feelings for her. He didn't want to hurt the other woman but despite her many requests he would not be warming her bed. His heart was no longer his. 
Slipping on a passive mask, he turns around plastic façade in place.
"Royal Consort, good morning to you."
She immediately closes the gap between them and grasps his hand in her own, he fights the urge to flippantly brush her aside. He knows that would be unnecessarily cruel to do to a woman he'd once been willing to lay down his life for once upon a time. It feels like centuries ago. 
"I've missed you. You have been sleeping alone these days."
He hasn't. At all. He hasn't slept alone in days, the Queen's leg a permanent fixture in his back now but he can't tell her that of course.
But another voice sounds from behind him.
"He hasn't been sleeping alone. He just left my bed this morning."
This time he does pull his hands free of Hwa-Jin's tight grip, tighter with the Queen's arrival.
"My Queen." He turns to her apologetically fearing her wrath, imagining his own ire if he'd seen her in a similar predicament with her cousin.
But her eyes are locked on the other woman when he turns, cold eyes and a tight grin. Taking a step forward she stands between them, her back pressed intimately to his front.
Her scent fills his senses nearly making him sway. Sweet jasmine and...cooking oil? Somehow it smells like ambrosia on her skin, intoxicating.
"But I'd hardly say we did much sleeping. There are so many other.... activities. But you don't need to worry about his whereabouts, he is my King after all."
Before he can react to the blatant possessiveness or her jealousy, his hand is taken and he's being pulled away, he only gets to see the affronted look on Hwa-Jin's face for a second before she turns away with moist eyes.
He knows he must deal with this carefully later, but at the moment all he can think of is his arrogant and seemingly possessive Queen dragging him away, shooing away any who dare to approach them. Until after many twists and turns they're back in her room, various plates covering the floor.
"Did you make all of this?" He asks, voiced filled with wonder.
Instead of answering she drops his hand stepping further into his space, instinctively he wraps her up in his arms. Nose nuzzled into her thick fragrant hair.
"I missed you."
She doesn't answer at first then a little hums hits his ear, one of disbelief.
"Yeah you definitely looked like you were missing me holding another woman's hand."
With wide eyes he pulls away, unable to control his mirth now that it's just them.
"My Queen, are you perhaps....jealou-"
A hand slaps over his mouth before he can finish. Scorching eyes glaring up at him defiantly.
"I'm not jealous. Why would I be? You can do whatever and whomever you like."
Laughter bursts out of his lungs and he draws her into another embrace not allowing her to fight him.
"Shhhh, don't be difficult."
She punches in his ribs and he knows asking her such a thing is the equivalent to telling her not to breathe.
He tightens his hold as her squirming intensifies stroking her hair in placating swipes.
"Just as you belong to me, I belong to you."
That makes her still in his arms, arms lifting to finally return his hug but only for a moment before she shoves him away. Inconsistent as always. 
"Okay, okay that's enough. I can't take all this sweetness so early in the morning. Let's just eat. When did I ever say I belonged to you? Sex declarations don’t count.” 
He chuckles but accepts her offer, grinning more when she grumbles how he should feel special and she doesn't cook for just anyone.
He does feel special, having a woman like this is truly a blessing and as he devours her delicious food he knows that he will do everything in his power to stay by her side.
Anything it takes.
137 notes · View notes
philliamwrites · 4 years ago
Text
Cor Cordium
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts (3)
Pairings: Riku/Sora, Roxas/Sora (one-sided), Axel/Roxas (hinted), Vanitas/Ventus (Hinted), Aqua/Terra (mentioned)
Tags: #character study, #relationship study, #post canon, #post kh3, #spoilers, #mourning, #multiple pov, #little dialogue
Words: 6.9k (nice)
Summary: O heart of hearts, the chalice of love’s fire, Hid round with flowers and all the bounty of bloom; […] It is not the end of his story, only the beginning, but everyone is too occupied with mourning to understand.
Cor Cordium
Tell me, Atlus. What is heavier? The world or its people’s hearts?
        Sora remembers the phantom feeling of sand under his palms, warm little crystals pressing into his skin. He can’t tell if this is really a memory or just a wish. Lately, it’s been difficult to tell them apart, their lines blurring together. Or maybe since he arrived Here, it’s never been clear from the start, and he’s just clinging to shadows dancing in the back of his mind. He is floating. Or at least he thinks he is. A strange sensation tingles through his body, it feels like thousand ants are crawling on his skin, and yet he knows that his body isn’t really here. Wherever Here is. Sora is passably conscious, not asleep but not quite awake either.
         Darkness surrounds him. He can’t see it— it’s more of a feeling, a gentle brush of air against his mind, but it doesn’t scare him. This darkness isn’t the end, it isn’t the beginning either. It is nothing, this blank space between existing and disappearing, and somehow Sora managed to get caught in there. How is he supposed to explain that to Kairi and Riku? And just like that, the warm feeling dissipates, and Sora thinks of his life and his friends, and how both are so closely linked together. One cannot exist without the other. But with each passing moment, Sora feels bits and pieces of him crumbling into dust, scattering like sand swirled by a breeze on a warm summer day.
         Sora is alone. He is cold. He is afraid. He is dimly aware of pain, but mostly of a tremendous fatigue, as if he has been covered in layer upon layer of impossibly heavy blankets. It takes a moment for him to realise the wet drops on his face are his own tears, and he curls into a small ball, clinging to himself. He would give anything to see his friends again.
         Minutes, hours pass. Maybe only seconds. Time is a foreign concept, a construct not applicable to Sora. Oblivion is grey, it eats at Sora’s mind, at his heart, and he wants to fight it because they can take anything from him but his heart; his heart, a place for so many lives; a prison? A fortress filled with light of hopes and promises he’ll never be able to keep. Maybe now he is paying for the sins he doesn’t remember, for the dreams he’s failed to fulfil, hunting him like hungry beasts with sharp claws.
         He’s always known that his most powerful trait was his heart, and so in the end it was only natural that it would be his demise as well. O heart of hearts, beloved of all beloveds is a line from somewhere Sora can’t remember, but he feels it quite fits. He is the core of a small universe in which everyone stretches their hands out to touch him, to take something from him— and Sora wants to give, to give so much that in the end nothing will be left of him. Somehow he thinks that is quite alright, for he is the heart of hearts.
         When Sora disappears, Roxas bolts awake from a restless sleep, tears blurring his vision and burning like acid on his cheeks. He isn’t just crying; Roxas is wheezing, sobbing as his heart breaks, and he realises Sora is gone. He can’t breathe. It feels like something vital is missing—a limb or a sense, and he wonders if this is how Ventus is feeling all the time since Vanitas’ disappearance. He doesn’t hear Axel’s worried voice calling his name over and over again; he doesn’t feel his long, heavy arms around his waist. Roxas only feels this boiling, parching anger at Riku, because out of all people, he must have known what was coming. And he let Sora go.
         Roxas jumps out of bed, long legs tangled in the sheets, and lands face first on the carpet. His cheek burns from the friction, but the pain is nothing compared to what is raging inside his chest. Ever since he’s become his own person, everything has become a little too much. He remembers his first week back in Twilight Town. When he saw Hayner, Pence and Olette, Roxas was so overwhelmed, he thought for a moment he would die because beside all the happiness swelling inside his chest, there was also some sense of immense grief. He mourned for the hours spent without them; he mourned for the person he could have been if he’d been a normal boy, his own person from the very beginning, and he mourned for all the stories and adventures he’s missed because of that.
         And yet, he’s never felt anything like this—not when Xion crumbled into little shards of light in his arms, not when he learnt he’d have to disappear because he didn’t exist in the first place. Roxas has had a front row view to many dire times in his life when happiness was a foreign word he couldn’t explain. But this is something else entirely, something so overwhelming that Roxas is afraid; he’s one raw nerve, burning and sensible to any kind of contact. He’s unsure what exactly he tells Axel, but it’s effective because he helps dressing Roxas, and they’re immediately off to Destiny Islands where they are greeted by the sun blasting down on them. Roxas shields his eyes, scanning the beach for a flash of silver hair. He knows this place like the back of his hand even though he’s only been here once after their victory over the Seekers of Darkness. But every place Sora has visited is engraved in the back of Roxas’ closed eyes, familiar and a second home to his heart.
         “Maybe no one’s home,” Axel says somewhere behind him. He’s looking out at the sea, watches as the waves curl against the white sand. The sun reflecting on the clear water draws bright shapes on his face, catching in his radiant, green eyes.
         “No. He’s here,” Roxas says with a solid certainty, for Destiny Island was always and will always be the place connecting everything. It’s the knot where all strings come together, where each destiny is carved in some way.
         They follow faint footsteps left on the beach, when Roxas notices movement in the corner of his eye. Near the seaside shack, he can see two figures close to each other, but the voices drown in the sound of ocean waves. Roxas speeds up, and when Riku turns, eyes wide and red-rimmed, Roxas doesn’t think twice. His fist connects with Riku’s jaw and hot pain explodes in Roxas’ hand. It’s enough to send Riku to the ground. Roxas follows him.
         “You knew!” he screams, swinging at Riku for a second time. “You fucking knew, and you let him go anyway?!”
         Distantly, he hears Axel calling his name, but Roxas ignores him. He’s very adamant on punching his fist through Riku’s face who puts insult to injury and doesn’t fight back. It only confirms Roxas’ suspicion: Riku knew he’d come for him. It does nothing to diminish Roxas’ anger.
         “Give me one damn reason why I shouldn’t drop you in the darkest pit I can find,” he hisses, grabbing Riku’s collar. Blood runs from his nose over his mouth and chin, but Riku only blinks. The tip of his tongue darts out to clean it from his lips. When he doesn’t answer, Roxas begins to shake him. “Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell me?” Someone grabs Roxas’ shoulder, pulling him back, but with more vigour than before, Roxas pulls himself free, and lands another good hit in Riku’s face. “Why didn’t you stop him?” Too many thoughts race in his mind, and he can’t grasp any of them; they slip like sand through his fingers. Finally Axel, that traitor, pulls Roxas off, and Roxas fights with flailing arms and legs. His elbow finds its way in Axel’s side, winning Roxas an opening. He bolts for Riku, stumbling and shaking uncontrollably.
         “How could you?!” Roxas’ voice breaks. He’s grabbing again for Riku’s collar, but his hands betray him as well and search for purchase on his jacket, begging to have a grip on something solid, something that won’t disappear like Sora. “Riku, how could you? Don’t just stare at me, say something. Say something, Riku!”
         He’s still met with silence that is so loud it drives him insane, and Roxas doesn’t know what else to do; what else will make Riku talk and explain.
         Someone tugs on the hem of his west, and Roxas feels Oathkeeper and Oblivion seconds away from finding their way into his hands, ready to cut through anyone trying to stop him from unleashing another wave of fury. But when he sees it’s Kairi holding onto him, that rage dissipates, and makes way for a different feeling he is far more scared of: grief. Seeing Kairi standing in front of him only confirms this reality Roxas refuses to accept. He wants to beg her to let him go, to stop looking at him with those big, teary eyes so similar to Sora’s. Instead he collapses in front of her, and wails a small, painful sound so inhuman it tears through his own ears. Roxas cries.
         She can’t take away that anger from him because without it he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel, and feeling itself becomes too much. He knows there is an emptiness waiting for him after all of this, and he’s too afraid to face it.
         Riku’s hand curls around his arm, and then he is kneeling beside Roxas, leaning his forehead against Roxas’ shoulder. Roxas feels more than he hears the sob rolling through his body, and he wants to push Riku away, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He’s cried himself tired already. Hours pass as they stay like this, holding hands and weeping with rasping sobs, as if trying to force air into lungs crushed by grief, until Roxas passes out at some point.
         The next time he wakes up it’s with less tears, but grief is still a cold hook sitting deep under his skin. His face hurts, but no matter how much he splashes cool water on it, the swelling around his eyes doesn’t go away. He finds Axel outside sitting on the big trunk facing the setting sun. Kairi is beside him with eyes fixed on the red horizon, unblinking. Roxas has noticed it before. Since their arrival, Kairi hasn’t said anything.
         “Roxas.” Riku is standing behind him, and Roxas catches the fruit thrown at him with little elegance. Riku’s face looks awful. A dark, ugly bruise colours his right eye purple, rivalled by another one forming on his left, swollen cheek. He’s too smart to ask if Roxas is okay, so instead he settles on a wordless observation. Roxas ignores him. He feels too vulnerable and exposed in front of those keen, cyan eyes. The fruit explodes with a sweet taste in his mouth, reminding Roxas of how much he loves this place. He’s adopted it from Sora; that and many other little traits he still has to sort out who they belong to. Knowing this place will never be the same without Sora opens up a new, fresh wound Roxas knows no Cura or potion is able to heal.
         “What’s the plan?” he asks, wiping his fingers on his pants. When Riku doesn’t answer immediately, Roxas’ fist burns with the need to punch him again. “You do have a plan, don’t you?” he presses further, feeling his irritation grow.
         Eventually, Riku drags a hand over his face, and sighs. “We’ll talk to Mickey. And Master Yen Sid,” he says, avoiding Roxas’ eyes. “Hopefully one of them knows something.”
         “That’s it?” Roxas barely manages to contain his anger from sipping into his voice. “You just hope they know something?”
         “They’ve always helped us, so yes.” Blatant challenge flashes in Riku’s eyes when he finally meets Roxas’. “We will go and see them.”
         A muscle twitches in Roxas’ jaw. “I don’t remember them doing anything to help me, so maybe revaluate who you’re going to ask for help.”
         Riku gives him a sharp glare. “Careful.”
         But Roxas has had his fair share of depending on old guys who used him for whatever ulterior motive they had, and frankly he can do without it. “Sora needs us now. You can sit around if you want, but I’m going to look for him.”
         He’s almost down the gangplank when Riku calls after him. “And where do you think you’re going? You think visiting world after world will bring you closer to find him?”
         Roxas exhales audibly, and wills himself not to turn around, but he’s always been bad at containing all the rage that’s accumulated over the past years. It is this anger that has always set him apart from Sora; that hate towards people who hurt him always drew the clear line between them. This simple black and white was easy to grasp and understand, and even easier to identify with until Sora plunged Roxas’ world into vibrant colours and complex structures, and brought with him so many people Roxas didn’t know and yet meant so much to him. He hates how this even applies to Riku, despite this envy, a churning black storm hidden in his chest. Riku and Sora are inseparable, and Roxas loathes it.
         The only comfort lies in how he loves Sora, for Roxas has loved Sora in a way only Ventus and Xion might understand; in a way that is so unfair to Axel who’s trying his best to become everything for Roxas. But Roxas doesn’t want this. He wants Sora. He wants the world, the heart knowing every part of him. His home. Roxas remembers when he returned to Sora. Trying to do the right even though he knew it would mean his end, but once he found peace within Sora, Roxas understood the meaning of home, and the meaning of people’s destinies intertwining.
         “If aimlessly searching for Sora will eventually lead to find him, then yes.” Roxas says, voice lacking any heat he’d hoped would burn Riku. Instead a strange resignation shackles every breath in his lungs, and he knows he will only be free when he finds Sora. “I will visit world after world, until the end if I have to.”
         Riku drags his eyes from Kairi and Axel back to Roxas, and considers him for a moment in which Roxas tries to see himself through Riku’s perspective— the boy with Sora’s eyes; the Nobody who long ago took something important from Sora, the little piece necessary to complete something far bigger than all of them. A small sighs escapes his lips, and somewhere in there Roxas hears the unspoken You’re just as reckless as Sora. When he closes the distance between them, all muscles in Roxas tense with intuitive caution he can’t get rid of, no matter how often he’s seen Riku by now.
         “I want to get him back more than anything else,” Riku says, and in that small moment Roxas sees his vulnerability for the first time. Something tightens in Roxas’ chest, and he takes a step away from Riku. “It’s been only a couple of hours since Kairi returned. And still, I already see him in everything, and I try to be kind to everything because maybe …” His voice tears on the last word, a ragged note of grief like ripped paper. Riku turns his head away from Roxas, but he doesn’t miss how Riku’s lips close into a tight line. “Stumbling through world after world might end up losing him even more,” he finishes. His calm mask is back, and Roxas just can’t understand how Riku is capable of that.
         “That didn’t stop Sora from looking for you and Kairi,” Roxas throws back, chin raised stubbornly.
         “No, it didn’t.” Riku looks back at Kairi, and that’s when Roxas understands that he’s searching for the right words to tell her that he will leave the Island.
         “Then forget your pride for a second,” Roxas says. “And let us help.”
         Riku looks like he wants to say something, but then he just gives Roxas a little, tight-lipped smile, and turns to join Kairi up on the trunk. Roxas stares holes into his back. He’ll never understand what Sora sees in him.
         He retreats to the shore until cool water sloshes against his feet. A biting cold settles over Roxas, but he knows that doesn’t come from the ocean. Sora has always said how it is a part of the human experience to feel pain, that it is part of a heart, and how it strengthens you, how it connects you, but Roxas dully registers he’d rather have it ripped out of him if it means he’s spared the missing and longing. When he lowers his gaze unto the water, his reflection stares back at him, showing a pale face and golden hair sticking to all sides. His radiant eyes are a beacon, the colour of the sky. A sharp throb drives like a spear through Roxas’ ribs. Everything hurts, he thinks and waits a moment, but his only companion is silence. Sora was a mirror to Roxas, like Ventus to Vanitas. When Roxas said, everything hurts, Sora whispered, but everything can heal. He’s learnt from Sora that hate is a lazy thing, heavy, a burden; but not as heavy or difficult as love so many carry around but are unwilling to practice. Roxas will try better. It’s the least he can do to pay for everything Sora did for him.
         Under the water’s surface he spies a Thalassa Shell. Roxas picks it up, and hopes Xion is doing okay. They will all go and look for Sora, and they will find him. They’ve all deserved their happy end. Standing in the dawn, Roxas vows it on the shell, closing his hand tight around it until the edges cut into his skin.
☆ ☆
         When Sora disappears, Ventus fears Vanitas is also gone forever. There’s a strange tug in his chest, like his heart knows there is a place he’s supposed to be, and wonders why Ventus doesn’t follow this call. It’s different from when he longed for Aqua and Terra. During his search for them he was constantly followed by this certainty that they’ll be reunited. This is different. This is Ventus closing his eyes to a darkness he knows his keyblade won’t be able to slice through. He’s afraid to fall asleep, the only place where he’s had at least a small connection to Vanitas. If that is gone as well, Ventus would rather not wake up at all. It hurts even more since their return to the Land of Departure because Ventus expected only good things to happen from that point on, admittedly now a naive hope quickly quenched by Sora’s fate.
         Ventus is sitting on his bed, a heavy blanket around his shoulders. Thousand stars twinkle above him like tears, and he wonders if the other worlds feel that Sora is gone as well. He wonders if somewhere Kingdom Hearts is crying, having lost such a pure, eminent light. Out of his window he can see the training grounds. In a couple of months, they could be occupied my apprentice keyblade wielders again. Aqua has shown her determination to become the steward and rekindle the original purpose of the castle, and both Terra and Ventus are as eager to help her; Terra even more so. He’s adamant to repent, ignoring Aqua’s and Ventus’ claim that his return is enough. But Terra had shaken his head at that. “It is a debt I will never be able to repay,” he’d said, standing in front of Master Eraqus’ grave. “But I will try. Until my last breath, I will try to set this right.”
         It was difficult to explain how none of this had been Terra’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. They were victims of a game no one held control over— pieces on a lethal board with cruel rules no one really knew. It’s a wonder they made it out alive, together and unscathed, and still, they paid a price for that happy end, some more than others. Ventus hasn’t heard from Riku and Kairi in a while, but his comfort lies in how Aqua and Terra keep looking at each other. Strangely, now more than ever before Ventus notices how close they are. It is probably true what they say about being separated. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and if Terra and Aqua think he’s too chaste to figure out the meaning behind the dark spots on Aqua’s neck or below Terra’s ears, they underestimate him severely.
         Once he’s asked Aqua about them, but she only gave him a little, sheepish smile before pushing a loose strand behind his ear. “You’ll learn soon enough,” she’d said. Terra had avoided his eyes, his hands busy with pulling on his keychain, a habit whenever he’s embarrassed. Ventus had just looked at Aqua with a careful, blank expression, and let her believe that he doesn’t touch himself under his blanket to quiet whispers of boy’s names. Ever since he woke up, and spent time with everyone else, he’s noticed how certain things jump right to his attention like a beacon. Terra’s muscles moving during practice. Hayner’s incredibly beautiful eyes, filled with wonder and excitement. Riku’s smooth, flawless skin. Then again, he’s spend so much time inside Sora’s heart who grew up beside Riku, and for Ventus to develop his attraction to boys was only natural. Ventus doesn’t want to remember when he saw Riku for the first time. Dozens of images from Sora’s fantasies flashed before his eyes, and he kept his distance to Riku, unsure how to handle the emotions. It isn’t something bad, that he knows. His friends would never judge him for liking boys. They all love each other too much for such a trivial think to matter, and why should it? It is love nonetheless, and every single one of them is just as much starving for it as they are ready to give.
         And still, Ventus is so insecure, because he always ends up thinking about Vanitas. Vanitas is his mirror, reflecting unspoken pieces of Ventus he himself is afraid to face. If Ventus starts thinking too hard about it, he’ll probably stumble upon answers he wouldn’t even know what to do with. And so he tries to turn away whenever he spies glances of blue turning into intimidating gold, and buries the questions deep into his heart where he hopes they’ll suffocate from the silence.
         A soft knock stops Ventus’ thoughts. His body tenses, and he waits for more to come. Instead, Terra’s voice carries through the door. “Ven? Ven, you awake?”
         He could lie and pretend he isn’t but after days of locking himself in his room, Ventus started missing his friends. His only fear is that if Terra sees his sketches of Vanitas’ key chain and the logo of the Unversed scribbled on paper, he will take them away and burn them between his fingers like Aqua did. Behind the door, Ventus hears shuffling, and the fear that Terra leaves bolts like a hot spell through him. He sits up, and tells Terra to come in. The door opens with a soft click. Light from the outside hall streams into the room, casting away shadows, and once Ventus sees Terra’s broad shoulders filling the door frame, breathing becomes easier.
         “Hey, champ.” Terra gives him a little smile. “Thought you might be hungry.”
         Ventus isn’t, but nods anyway, just to see the little hope in Terra’s eyes— the very first sight of progress he and Aqua managed since Ventus’ withdrawal. He makes room on his bed, and turns on the star shaped lamp sitting beside his bed on a narrow table as Terra crosses the room. A plate with fruits, cheese and meat lands between them while Terra takes a seat on the edge, watching Ventus eagerly. Just to make Terra happy, Ventus picks one grape and puts it in his mouth.
         “How are you?” Terra asks, much more straightforward than Aqua with her careful, quiet words. Ventus thinks about how he doesn’t want to get up forever. How this feeling weighs on him like an anchor pulling him deeper and deeper into darkness. He thinks about lying, but Ventus never wants to be separated from his family ever again— physically and emotionally, so he settles with a neutral, “I don’t know.”
         Terra nods. He leans back on his arms, the skin pulling tight where his muscle tense. Ventus looks away, and stares at the faintly glowing star stickers on his shelf Aqua gave him on his birthday. He wonders if Vanitas ever got a present from Xehanort, and has to bite his lip to conceal a laugh because that is just too ridiculous.
         “—us? Hey, Ven?” Fingers pop in front of Ventus’ eyes, making him flinch. “Just where are you with your head?”
         A strange smile pulls Terra’s face into an expression Ventus is unfamiliar with. Another pang of guilt settles in his chest, and he misses those times when he understood Terra and Aqua without a word.
         “I’m thinking about where Sora is,” Ventus lies. Terra frowns. He must know Ventus isn’t telling the truth but decides to go with it anyway.
         “Don’t worry,” he says, stealing a piece of cheese from Ventus’ plate. “We’ll find him. Since Aqua can’t reach Riku or Kairi, they might have left already.”
         Ventus hums, but somehow he doesn’t think that’s the case. What Sora, Riku and Kairi have; how they are is much more complicated. Ventus even doubts the word love can grasp what they feel for each other. At times, he’s jealous of that connection, and the next moment he is afraid of it. He’s felt it in Sora’s sacrifice back then for Kairi, and in Aqua’s never ending believe in Terra, and what is love if not an immense power capable of pushing people to their limits and beyond, a weapon justifying any sort of destruction. Tightening his blanket around his shoulders, Ventus dugs his head and shuffles closer to Terra.
         “You know, I always keep thinking that maybe … we could have done something,” he confesses. “That if Sora trusted us a little more, he’d asked for our help.”
         “Do you really think Sora didn’t trust us?” Terra asks, leaning back until he’s lying next to Ventus, arms crossed behind his head.
         “Well, what other explanation is there?” Ventus hates that he sounds like a sulking boy, offended because a friend didn’t ask him to join the playing. But he’d always thought the connection between him and Sora was something special, something untouchable and set into stone. He’s protected Sora just as much as Sora has protected him all those years, and Ventus hasn’t thought of stopping once.
         “You don’t really believe that.” The sound of Terra’s little laugh snaps Ventus’ head up. “I know you don’t.”
         “Huh?”
         “We’re not that different from him, Aqua, you and I. We all love too much, but isn’t that better than to have none of it?”
         “So better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all?” Ventus remembers this line from a book in the library he’s read long ago, and back then he didn’t quite understand its meaning. Now, he wonders if love truly is Sora’s greatest fault, but that is hard to understand as well.
         Terra sits up, and ruffles Ventus’ hair, just like the old times when everything was simple and clean. It tightens Ventus’ chest, but this time it’s not a bad feeling at all. “You’ve been in there all this time,” he says, pointing at Ventus’ heart. “So you know the answer to that. Now eat up. And think about joining us sometime. Aqua really misses you.”
         Ventus nods, and takes another fruit. Terra’s smile widens. When he heads for the door, Ventus summons all his courage. It’s time to stop running.
         “Terra,” he calls. Terra stops, and turns around. “You really think we’ll see Sora again one day, right?”
         Terra doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Our destinies are intertwined. And besides, you never stopped believing in bringing me back home. Now it’s my time to light someone’s way.”
         “And do you think … I’ll see Vanitas again as well some day?”
         That brings Terra’s smile to a full stop. He isn’t happy. Ventus sees it in the way Terra presses his lips into a thin line, and squares his shoulders. He avoids Ventus’ eyes for a split second, a tiny fracture of time in which Ventus stops breathing and waits for the final judgement. Eventually, Terra quickly turns around, checking if someone’s behind him, and Ventus wonders if he’s looking for Aqua.
         Quietly, Terra finally says, “If that is what you wish for, then I will do anything I can to help you fulfil it.”
         The hot sting behind Ventus’ eyes is a clear indicator for tears waiting to escape, so Ventus quickly hides his face in his blanket, shuddering with a silent sob. Only when he hears the door closing, Ventus dares to look up again. His room is dark, and the glowing stars stick out more after bathing in light, capturing Ventus’ attention. He wonders if Vanitas might like them as well.
         Ventus curls into himself and closes his eyes. Into the darkness, he whispers “Vanitas” three times.
         But nobody comes.
         The missing is the worst. All Ventus wants is to crawl inside Vanitas’ skin and stay there. He wants every piece of him to crush into every piece of Vanitas, and become whole again; to become one. He doesn’t want to keep wondering how everyone just can go on as if Vanitas never existed, not when he to Ventus is the world. His heart is still split, an open door ready for darkness to invest, and yet he knows there will only be one certain shadow his heart will allow entrance.
         Ventus blinks through the wall of tears, looking at the stars. He has to focus on Sora first. If he can’t bring him back, then certainly he’ll fail to guide Vanitas home as well. A shooting star splits the heaven in two, burning on its way down. Ventus closes his eyes. In this endless night, he has only one wish: Ventus wishes a shining light will guide Sora through a starless sky, and hopes his journey home will be soft and peaceful.
☆ ☆ ☆
         When Sora disappears, Riku doesn’t cry because he knows once he starts, he won’t be able to stop.
         His only comfort is Kairi, though she doesn’t talk, and only spends hours upon hours writing letters to Sora, all starting with my dearly beloved. Those lines remind Riku of a bittersweet melody he’s heard in a dream once, each wistful tune pulling at his heartstrings. Back then, it had also felt a lot like a farewell to a story he wasn’t yet part of, and now his chest throbs with a low, persistent rhythm of that song.
         But it’s difficult to believe this is the end. Riku is in a strange, blank space between hope and desperation, where it’s hard to look for the light, but also impossible to drown in darkness. Finding home in both, Riku is an unusual dweller cheating through life. He knows it’s more than most people get, and he’s aware of how lucky he is. Maybe that is why the universe decided he’s run out of it now, and Riku thinks how unfair that is. That they live in a universe that doesn’t want them to be together any more. It’s either him gone or Kairi, and now Sora. And so when Roxas and Lea prepared to return to Twilight Town, and Roxas had asked him, “Do you even believe that we’ll find him?” it wasn’t difficult for Riku to be honest. “I believe in a universe that doesn’t care,” he’d said. “And people who do.”
         After that, Riku started avoiding Roxas, Ventus and Xion even though it is not what they deserve after everything they’ve been through. But he can’t see them, and not think of Sora with how many of his habits they’ve inherited. Roxas carries all the anger Sora has swallowed throughout the years. Just thinking back to how Roxas had punched him, his thumb tugged into his fist like Sora always did no matter how often Riku tried to correct him, hurts like a sudden light striking his eyes in the dead of the night. Ventus is the source of Sora’s broad grins and gentle smiles, laughing at everything— a blazing sun casting away any shadows. They both know the power hiding in being soft and kind, to love and forgive. Xion is part Sora, part Kairi with her love for everything that is bright. She uses everything she can find as bookmarks: cups, little stones, little replicas of everyone’s key chains. Just like Sora she wants to be close to anyone, her happiness lies in those of others and nourishes her. They all love fruits, they all hate carrots, they all can fall asleep in the most uncomfortable places like a cat that finds home everywhere. Riku would rather gouge his eyes out than see another pair of those exact radiant, blue eyes, and so he sticks around Destiny Island, and takes care of Kairi, while she takes care of him.
         They live in a strange dynamic, part symbiotic and part parasitic. Riku tells Kairi stories about Sora both remember fondly, and she pays him with a rare smile that dissipates dark clouds in his heart. But Kairi can never truly tell him what exactly happened when Sora brought her back, and Riku is sure she can read the irritation on his face like an open book. Just seeing her is a reminder that someone is missing, the third party in their strange constellation of two, and yet more than ever before, they stick to each other like two pieces of the same soul dwelling in different bodies.
         Riku misses Sora. He misses Sora so much, it physically hurts him. He misses his easy smiles, the jokes. The reassurance that no matter what mistakes Riku has done, it’s fine. He is a good person, deserved of being a Keyblade Master. He misses how Sora was capable of turning every pain and sadness into something bright. Sora was given the rare gift to make gold out of every pain. A purer blessing doesn’t exist. But it’s not only the words Riku misses. He misses Sora’s soft skin, his parched lips mapping Riku’s body. He misses how in Sora’s arms he felt safe and at home, that there was no past, and no future. Just the present with them both as the sole habitants, a population of two and no one else was allowed between them.
         Riku remembers their first kiss. It was in the Secret Place and they were 15. It was nothing but a chaste, quick peck, lips briefly brushing against each other, and yet Sora had giggled so helplessly, cheeks red and happy like it was the most powerful experience he’s ever felt. He didn’t hide his smile, he’d always been so willing to share it with everyone. Riku remembers the jealousy he’d felt, how he thought Sora’s willingness to open up to everyone was so unfair. He made it look so easy, so effortless, like he didn’t need to think at all who might deserve his smiles. His heart was an open door, never closed, never locked. They’d kept their relationship a secret, or rather they tried. Kairi knew. She must have felt something going on between them. Riku never dared to underestimate a Princess of Light again, but it was like a noose being lifted from his neck whenever she gave him this soft, knowing smile.
         Now he tries to think back to the last time they were alone together without any responsibilities weighing on their shoulders. After defeating Ansem and returning to the Island, Mickey’s letter didn’t leave much time to catch up after the year of their separation, and after that, during their Mark of Mastery exam, Riku was everywhere but beside Sora. Now, Riku tries to ignore the little voice telling him that he’ll never see Sora again because he doesn’t believe it. He can’t believe it. Hope has been his constant companion for the last two years, and he’s grown too fond of it. Leaving it behind means to let go of the only rope of salvation Riku is clinging onto, and no matter how much darkness he’s learnt to embrace, he just knows that he will drown in those dark waves crushing upon him with what he can only describe as loneliness.
         But if life is lonely for him, it is far lonelier for Sora. When he tries to imagine in what place he must be now, Riku is quite simply angry. Martyr lies on everyone’s lips, and yet no one dares to speaks it out loud because that would be to acknowledge everyone’s fault. He knows this anger won’t bring him anywhere, but it is just hard to accept a fate that robbed the universe of someone vital to so many people.
         Sora loved like few ever could love, with all and everything; unrepentant and with a passion that burned holes in anyone’s doubt. The sea and the sky will never stop holding his ghost: in each wave Riku can hear the wisp of Sora’s laughter, in each cloud he can see the remnants of Sora’s eyes. So whenever he waits until Kairi falls asleep, trying not to dwell too long on the tears hanging on her wet lashes like dew in the morning hours, Riku then returns to his room where he mourns with the moon and the stars, and it is a bittersweet feeling to share this grief with the world.
         Five days pass, then six. On the seventh day, when he enters Kairi’s room and doesn’t find her sitting on her bed with a stack of papers resting on her thighs like usual, dread sinks in his stomach and he closes his eyes. If he loses her as well, Riku himself will burn down the Islands and start another war. On her table, Riku finds more scribbles of Sora, Donald and Goofy, all three huddled inside the gummi ship. His fingers shake when he takes the pen and draws Sora’s crown necklace in a corner, just focusing on breathing with each stroke on the paper. When his thoughts start to run in painful circles, Riku pushes the tip hard enough to rip the paper. Trying so hard to stay calm, not to cry, he doesn’t notice door opening behind him, until—
         “Riku.”
         He freezes. Behind him, Kairi looks at him with worry and something else in her eyes, but Riku doesn’t read further into it, too occupied with reaching her, holding her, holding her.
         Kairi takes one breath, then a second. Her small hands on his back feel so warm, so secure, and Riku allows himself to be weak for a moment in her arms.
         “It’s time for us, isn’t it?” Riku starts, and just the approving hum from her draws a shudder from him. “We can’t let him wait any longer.”
         “Don’t worry, Riku,” Kairi says, and just like that, the world is tiled back to its original position. “He knows we’re already on our way.”
         Riku leans back, his arms still around Kairi, and he is astonished that someone looking so fragile is so much stronger than him. Kairi considers him for a long moment. She takes Riku’s hand and squeezes tightly, leaning her head into his shoulder. Riku understands, and presses his lips to her forehead. “We’ll find him.”
         It’s not a promise. It’s an oath.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
         Sora opens his eyes. His face is wet, everything is wet and cold, and he faintly remembers the phantom feeling of something warm against his palm. He doesn’t remember what it was. When he tries to get up, his body is there, not broken, not hurt but somehow he hurts inside, and he can’t explain what it is. All around him, the artificial lights of a city illuminate the streets, but wherever he looks, shadows wait in the deepest corners to plunge on him. Something on his left palm burns, and when he looks down, numbers blink up to him in an angry red, running down.
         Instinctively, Sora closes his hand into a fist, so tight that his nails bite into his skin. His mind is foggy, but there’s a feeling that he needs to be somewhere; that he has to return somewhere he can’t name. The closest thing it reminds him of is home, and he will do anything to return. Sora has to go back, to follow this tugging inside his chest aiming for a place he doesn’t remember, for he is the heart of hearts.
               Most importantly love              Like it’s the only thing you know how              At the end of the day all this              Means nothing              […]              Nothing even matters              Except love and human connection              Who you loved              And how deeply you loved them              How you touched the people around you              And how much you gave them
             — rupi kaur
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sanderssidesfanfiction · 4 years ago
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If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Ninety
If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag
May 26th, 2001
Emile watched as Remy practically crumpled into the backseat of the car. Emile risked sitting down next to him, eyeing the parking lot uncertainly. Remy’s mother had seemed to be successfully scared off by Emile’s dad threatening to fight against her over Remy. But Emile didn’t know how long that fear might stay before she’d change her mind and go back to stalking Remy.
Hesitantly, Emile grabbed Remy’s hand. Remy held it back in a death grip, eyes not seeing anything. Emile’s mother leaned into the car and said, “Your father and I can drive the cars back, honey, you just make sure Remy is all right.”
Emile nodded, eyes going back to Remy worriedly. His eyes had closed and his chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm, so hopefully he could sleep the shock off. He had no doubt their next conversation would be long and somewhat painful, but right now, he just needed Remy to be okay.
  August 30th, 2003
Emile walked into their house only to hear sniffling coming from the kitchen, and he was immediately on alert. “Rem?” he called out, rushing to the kitchen.
“Oh, hey, Emile,” Remy said, dabbing at his eyes with a tissue before sniffling again. “How was work?”
“Are you okay?!” Emile asked, looking Remy over and finding no physical injuries. If Remy’s mother had somehow found them...
“I’m fine, Emile. Just got off a call with your parents,” Remy said.
“My parents?” Emile asked. His mind was racing. How soon he could interrogate them, establish boundaries, whether or not he needed to reevaluate their relationship, and how close they were...
“Yeah. They said they were proud of me,” Remy said with a watery laugh. “I just...started crying uncontrollably. I didn’t know how to handle it.”
Emile’s heart slowed in it’s hammering, but his mind was still working at what felt like a million miles an hour. “You promise that’s all it is?” Emile asked. “Just happy tears?”
“Just happy tears,” Remy reassured Emile with a smile. “I feel a million times better than I did this morning, and I didn’t even need cheering up.”
“Well, that’s good,” Emile said, sagging a little in relief. “I was really worried. I know you’ve been having nightmares.”
Remy blew out a breath. “Yeah,” he said, glancing away from Emile. “Still sorry about waking you up so often.”
“Rem, if you’re in trouble, I’d rather know than be left oblivious,” Emile said, placing his hand over one of Remy’s.
Remy mumbled something unintelligible and Emile frowned. “What was that?”
“I was just wondering if...” Remy trailed off. “You know what? I know the answer to that already, and I don’t want to hear it coming from your mouth.”
“Oh, then it has something to do with therapy,” Emile laughed. When Remy didn’t, Emile paused. “Have you been having more nightmares than you’ve been letting on?”
Remy sighed. “You’re too good at shrinking my head, mio amore, you really need to learn how not to do that.”
“I don’t think it’s shrinking your head, I think it’s just knowing you for a long time,” Emile said with a half-hearted shrug. “But Rem...”
“No.”
“I just think—”
“—No.”
“If you’re having nightmares more often than I’m waking up, you really should talk to a th—”
“I’m not talking to a therapist, Emile!” Remy exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’m perfectly healthy on my own! Do I always do everything right? No! Do I still have issues about where I came from? Sure! But that doesn’t mean I need therapy!”
“If you’re having nightmares to the point of consistent loss of sleep, I would argue otherwise,” Emile said simply.
Remy growled and grumbled into the counter. “Why is it the day that I decide to test out not going to the shop and leaving August in charge that you do this?”
“Because today’s the day I realize that you’ve been holding back on me about your mental health,” Emile said, crossing his arms. “I would argue this with you regardless of what day it was, had I known this was what was happening.”
“Which is why I didn’t tell you,” Remy said, looking up at Emile.
Emile worked at keeping his anger in check. Remy didn’t do well with anger. He knew this. He needed to go with the gentle approach. “Remy. Do you see me recommending you go to a therapist as a breach of trust? Be honest.”
Remy looked away from Emile. Paced the length of the kitchen twice. Turned and looked back at Emile, with a recognizable fire in his eyes that Emile hadn’t seen before. Remy’s gaze bore a striking resemblance to his mother’s in that instance. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because while therapy is just for help working through whatever problems someone might have, the fact remains that if they’re asking for help, they’re not strong enough to handle that problem on their own. And I can handle my parents on my own just fine. Sure, I sometimes have nightmares. And yes, that’s a little more often than I told you. But it’s nothing that I can’t handle, that I can’t get through on my own. I can function with it. It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Rem, ‘fine’ would be having an occasional nightmare, but being able to go back to sleep afterward, because it was just a dream. ‘Fine’ would be getting triggered but being able to work through the trauma and avoiding a flashback, however narrowly. ‘Fine’ would be acknowledging your parents hurt you, but not being afraid that they could hurt you anymore. And you do none of those things. You stay up for hours on end after waking up from nightmares, you get stuck in flashbacks for hours or even days, and you exhibit such strong hypervigilance it’s a wonder you sleep at all at night. You are not ‘fine.’” Emile shook his head. “I understand it’s important for you to be self-sufficient, but wouldn’t you be more self-sufficient if you could handle your trauma symptoms?”
“It’s not that bad, Emile! You’re exaggerating things!” Remy exclaimed, crossing his arms with fingers digging into flesh.
Emile took a breath and said, “Are you saying that because you believe it, or are you saying it because that’s what your parents told you?”
Remy looked at him with such betrayal in his eyes, that Emile wished he could take the question back. But he knew it needed to be said. It needed to be answered. Remy needed to acknowledge where this was stemming from, and Emile needed to know whether or not he needed to press further.
“I’m saying it because it’s true,” Remy said in a soft, fragile voice, and Emile instantly understood one wrong step and Remy would lash out violently. “It wasn’t as bad as I made it out to be. I wasn’t exaggerating, but I never brought up the good sides of the relationship, as well. You only ever saw the ugly parts.”
“But the good parts don’t negate the ugly parts, Rem. If they hurt you, whether or not you can handle that on your own, whether or not they were also kind, you need to understand that they hurt you. There’s not some secret law where you have to have this amount of trauma and be short this amount of love to consider yourself abused, or traumatized, or whatever you want to call yourself,” Emile pointed out.
“I don’t need therapy, Emile!” Remy snapped and Emile held his hands up in surrender. “I don’t need it! I don’t need it!”
“I’m not saying you need it, I’m saying you could benefit from it. There’s a difference. You’re not going to die if you don’t get therapy. So you don’t necessarily need it. But it would definitely make your load a lot lighter, and while I won’t leave you if you don’t go to therapy, if this persists I’d recommend you get a second opinion, like from Toby. Because I worry about you, Rem. A lot.” Remy was seething, and Emile took a breath. “Now I don’t want a fight on this, so I’m going to be stepping away.”
“No!” Remy barked. “No, we need to talk about this!”
“Maybe so,” Emile allowed. “But you’re very worked up right now, and I don’t want us to devolve into shouting.”
“I’m ‘worked up’?! I’m ‘worked up’?! You have a funny way of saying fucking furious!” Remy exclaimed. Emile jumped and Remy froze, the flush in his face draining away as his eyes widened. “Oh, God. I’m becoming my mother.”
“Hence why I recommend therapy,” Emile weakly joked.
Remy didn’t seem to hear Emile. He was muttering to himself, unintelligible words before he dashed past Emile, grabbed his coat, and ran out the front door. Emile’s blood ran cold. “Rem?” he asked, rushing after Remy. “Rem, hold up!”
But Emile calling out to Remy only seemed to make Remy run faster. Emile slowed, quickly running out of breath but following behind Remy at a slower pace. He could wait out Remy’s running and catch up to him when Remy grew winded, or else he could call Bernie and ask him to keep an eye out for any panicked blonds muttering senselessly in the street.
Emile got all the way to the heart of the city before he lost sight of Remy. He looked around, trying to figure out which way Remy would have gone. Not Sleep Easy, they both knew Emile would check there first. Not the homeless shelter, because Remy didn’t go there this worked up. Emile ran a hand through his hair. He needed to know Remy wasn’t going to do anything drastic, but he needed to know where Remy was in order to make sure of that.
Quickly, Emile snatched his cell phone out of his pocket, dialling Remy’s number. It rang out. Emile swore and dialled again. This time he was sent to voicemail after one ring. “Rem...please. Talk to me,” Emile begged into the phone. “I’m not mad, I promise. I’m worried.”
Emile swallowed. He went to the park, knowing Remy sometimes found solitude there. He looked around in a frenzy, but couldn’t see Remy. He walked further in, heading to the bridge over the small creek. Remy was sitting on the handrail on the bridge, staring at the water. “Rem?” Emile asked, walking up to Remy.
“It should be deeper,” Remy said. “I wish it were deeper.”
Emile’s heart crawled its way into his throat. “Why?”
Remy choked on a sob, biting his knuckle. “Because then I could be swept away and never risk hurting you again.”
“Is this in a, ‘I want to die’ way or in a ‘I need to do damage control’ way?” Emile asked.
“I don’t know,” Remy said. He stared at the ring on his finger, and started twisting it off. “I don’t deserve—”
Emile’s hands darted out, and he held Remy still. “No. Rem, don’t you dare,” he hissed, a renewed anger flaring up. At who, he wasn’t entirely sure. “You don’t get to do that in the heat of the moment. If you calm down and you still want to call off the engagement, well. We’ll talk about it. But this? Is unacceptable.”
Remy shook, but when Emile let Remy go he replaced the ring. “I don’t want to hurt you, Emile,” he whispered.
“You didn’t. You startled me a little, but you didn’t hurt me,” Emile said softly.
“I don’t want to be my mother,” Remy continued. “I don’t.”
“The fact that you’re recognizing those patterns and trying to fix it, albeit in the wrong way, shows me that, Rem,” Emile said. “You’re not your mother.”
“I’m not seeing a therapist,” Remy muttered. “I can’t see a therapist.”
“Okay, that’s okay,” Emile placated. “I’m not requiring you to see one. I’ll even stop recommending it for a while if that helps.”
Remy still couldn’t meet Emile in the eyes. “Sorry. I won’t remember this tomorrow,” he said. “I can already tell.”
“That’s fine,” Emile said. “Will you get down now?”
Remy nodded, doing an about-face and sliding off the bridge’s handrail. Emile wrapped Remy in a gentle but firm hug. “Don’t scare me like that again, please,” he murmured.
Again, Remy nodded. Robotic, but real enough that Emile couldn’t have known Remy wasn’t actually agreeing had they just met. Remy was completely dissociated. “Come on, honey. Let’s go home,” Emile recommended.
Remy let Emile exit the hug and wrap an arm around his shoulders. Emile led Remy on the walk home, during which Remy just stared at the roads in front of them. Emile’s heart was hammering. He needed to talk to Remy about what he had done today. The yelling, the stubbornness, the attempt to get their engagement called off. But he knew that had to wait. Remy wasn’t in a state to talk about anything for at least an hour. Emile just hoped that he would know how to bring it up sometime soon.
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minyoonmeme · 4 years ago
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Redolent
Word count: 1494
Pairing: Jhope/Jung Hoseok x reader/OC 
Description: Redolent - strongly reminiscent or suggestive of (something)
Genre/Warnings: very sad and very angsty (I got a little emotional writing this, oh gosh)
[See author’s note as the end, please] 
masterlist
To, My Sweet Angel
I feel dull. My ears ring from the grey static bouncing off the walls. My hands ache from the cold, no sufficient source of heat able to insulate the missing warmth. Had the cold always stung? My eyes and head are dotted with dizzying spells as I sway and attempt to clear the fogginess of my sadness. My feet, although stiff and pained, continue to dance. It’s a forced two-step filled with hiccups and short fits of uncontrollable sobs. A slow regression of minor notes has taken over the once lively accompaniment. My ears ring, but I can hear the haunting cadence of D minor. A key so soul-stirring, Schubart, a German Poet, once claimed it was a key “of brooding despair, of blackest depression, of the most gloomy condition of the soul.” Oh, how correct he was.
My suffering is not all for naught, for eventually, with time, I will learn that my feet will only add to the despair around me. Any melody was better than none at all, perhaps.
Eventually, a routine is set and so the dance continues.
My lips sip at the same mug filled with coffee every morning. The carpet still receives the same brutal dragging of feet as I force myself back and forth between the empty apartment, trying to ready myself for another day. I learn to memorize a routine from before. It’s new and familiar all at once. 
Months go by and the dance becomes easier. My feet no longer remain planted and instead have found a slow progression of turns. But turning makes my body ache and creates a dizzy haze. My feet have twice now developed rug burns as I get excited and twirl more than I am able to do so. Eventually, however, I collapse. There are hands set to catch me, but they remind me of you too much and I find myself wishing they would’ve just let me fall. Let my bones feel the same burn my feet do everyday. 
I expect their hands to retreat and for me to stagger, but they stay. Firm and sure despite everything. They hold no pressure, but serve only as a gentle reminder of company. Of care. I try to shake them off, but they are firm and steady. My faint grip proves fruitless, and I continue to let them guide me. I am delicate within their hold, as they never push nor pull too hard on my frail form. They’ve given me a new dance and are kind enough to guide me through it as I stagger. Eventually, I’ll grow attached to the feeling of someone being near, and find the strength to return their hold. One day, may we hold each other up. One day, I will not be a dead weight for their arms. One day, I will them and myself in a waltz set upon marble where we may glide with the burn.
Times proves me correct once again.. 
I do learn to stand on my own… only to feel my knees collapse once more beneath me.. 
What would you think of me? So weak and helpless, nothing like the person you had once known. My appearance has faltered from what you once knew, from what you had once deemed beautiful and kind. The dancing has halted to a complete stop, and the only sound that echoes from me is the sound of my own deafening sobs and painful hiccups. It causes a pain in my chest too deep to just be from my wailing. The dissonance continues once again as I claw numbly at the hollow spot where my heart used to lay. Rain swallows my form as I wallow in the bitter saltiness. 
I feel hands return once more in my time of need, and I try this time to keep them from me. I cry harder and swing wildly at the pressing form. Do they not understand that I don’t want their hands? They’re too large, too warm, and too suffocating. They are not your hands. They will never be your hands. Never again. 
“Let me go!” I beat against them screaming. “Didn’t you hear me? I said, let go! You fucking piece of shit…” My voice chokes and I find myself heaving against their chest desperately. My throat aches from screaming, leaving my mouth to silently open and close as I let the rain pour once more, this time over the two of us. How long had it been since i last heard another’s heart beat? How long has it been since I last heard yours?
Their strength proves to be enough for the both of us once again as they lift my drenched form onto wobbly legs. they know that I’m weak, that if I try to stand I will fall, so they hold me; but, it feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. The air feels too harsh, children’s cries overpower laugher and the sun sets too earlier. Every cliché feels real and everything is too much once again. Every color has faded to match my dull mood despite the copious amount of stimulation running through my mind. 
Someone runs their hand through my hair and hushes over my silent crying. The night greets me sweeter than the sun, and I gladly retreat under the stars. 
“I’m sorry.” I whisper to no one after they’ve left for but a moment. “I don’t want to be weak anymore.” I need you. 
My shoulders shake as I begin to cry again, but my upper body is stuffed between a pair of arms around me. They know the dance well, but my shoes have filled with the bitter rain and weigh down my legs. My bare feet still feel the rawness from my previous lonesome dance. But together, we move. It’s different from before and my body screams in agony, but I let him lead. I let the dance continue because I do not know how to. 
Would you scowl and disapprove of our clumsy movements? It’s nothing compared to your skillful movements of grace and love and care. It’s nothing compared to our dance. A waltz unlike another other filled with hundreds of sympathies and years of practice that if I look hard enough, can still see our tracks along the carpet in the living room. Perhaps, if you saw our dance, our flimsy excuse of a dance, you could come back under some miracle. I always thought you had some sort of magical ability with the way you smiled fluttered about our home. They are not you, no one could ever compare my dear, but they help me live and keep me afloat. I can continue with them. I hope you can forgive me for continuing without you with another. 
The music changes when they hold me upright once more, and I can keep the rain at bay longer than before. Together we shift from a minor to major and raise the tempo to something more lively. It’s not entirely too happy of a melody, but it leaves me humming nonetheless. 
Inside I am sure they know I am comparing the two dances, but they say nothing. I stumble in our new dance, falling into our old forgotten one by mistake, but they only gather my hands while silently guiding me back to them once more. They are kinder than I deserve, but I say nothing selfishly absorbing every contact and movement.
They remind me of you in many ways and I suppose that’s why I let them linger for so long. they care for others just as you had, and smiles for my sake despite my actions inflicting their pure heart at times. I don’t mean to hurt them, but you’ve strung yourself deep within the walls of my heart that it’s hard to look past the intricate woven patterns. One day I will back and apologize for using their kindness to better myself. And one day I know they will respond with only more love. Love I am not sure I am deserving of, but love I will accept nonetheless. You would want that wouldn’t you?
With time I know I will improve. I will continue to dance for you, but this time with someone else. I hope you will forgive me for this, but know that I am happy. That one day I will be very happy. I will smile for you, showing the world what was once a smile as blinding as the sun. My eyes will continue to search for you as I hold onto someone else, and I hope you don't hold too much hate in your heart for me when we see each other again. I can not wait to see you. I can not wait to hold you and see your smile without feeling as if I am piercing my own chest. I miss you. I will always miss you, my dear. 
With more love than you could imagine, 
Your Love.
Notes: Hey guys, Happy New Year! This one was a little sad, but I wrote this to cope with a lost loved one who committed suicide in January a couple of years ago. January has been a little hard for me ever since then, so I felt like I needed to express that somehow rather than keeping it in. This is meant to be a little vague and open for you guys to imagine who is writing this and what’s happened, however. I wanted this to express the pain of trying to “move on” and cope with losing someone or something. If you or someone you know is having a hard time, please reach out to someone let them know they’re being thought of and loved or that you need someone. 
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theladyofdeath · 5 years ago
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The Madness Within {Elriel}
Another piece written alongside the beautiful and talented @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty​
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There were nights Azriel would fall so deeply into his own mind, Elain struggled to bring him back. After a particular taxing interrogation or an exhausting mission, when he’d come home and there would still be blood under his fingernails, she knew that he didn’t truly belong to her in that moment. She’d have to appeal to the creature that he was, the creature that lived in the shadows, before her gentle male returned.
Tonight was one of those nights.
Elain had been lying awake in bed, the starlight of the Velaris night sky pouring into their bedroom through the thin curtains, when Azriel landed on the balcony outside. 
Once he landed, he didn’t move. He stayed in his crouch, examining his trembling hands.
He probably thought Elain was asleep, and she didn’t want to move, didn’t want him to know that she was watching. 
It wasn’t until minutes passed that he rose and slowly, quietly, opened the door of the balcony and slowly, quietly closed it behind him.
He unhooked Truthteller and tossed it at the feet of Elain’s floral chair in the corner. He unhooked his armor and shrugged it off, then the tunic beneath. He turned his back to her and peered out the window. His wings drooped. 
He was still for a moment before reaching down to unlace his boots, then kicking them off.
Then, he froze. Catching his hands, once again, in the starlight.
He examined them with such pain, such loathing, such utter hatred that made Elain’s eyes grow blurry.
Elain made a small show of turning over in bed, hoping he’d snap out of his haze, but knowing he probably wouldn’t even register that she’d moved.
He didn’t even flinch.
She sat up and quietly called to him, “Az, baby, come to bed.”
He acted as if he hadn’t even heard her.
“Baby?” She tossed back the blankets and crawled off of the bed. She walked over to where he was staring at his scarred hands in the moonlight.
“Azriel,” she breathed, worry coating her tone. She stood right next to him, yet he was frozen in place, not even acknowledging her presence. She carefully took one of his hands in her own.
His eyes - black as death in the shadows - snapped to hers and he gripped her wrist.
He slowly, carefully, removed her hand from his and turned his back to her. He walked into the washroom and ran water from the faucet. Elain followed and hovered in the doorway, seeing him clearer in the faelight. 
Dried crimson covered his cheek, was matted in his hair. Elain followed his gaze down to his hands, covered in a stranger’s blood.
His hands shook, uncontrollably, but Elain couldn’t move. It never got easier, seeing him in such a state. Especially when she couldn’t help. She was so helpless.
She knew he remained stoic, remained strong until he landed on their balcony moments before.
Very few people knew just how much the Shadowsinger felt.
He felt more than most.
He felt it all.
Without acknowledging Elain’s presence, Azriel put his trembling hands beneath the running water. He scrubbed and scrubbed until the water turned pink, then clear again. Even then, he kept scrubbing as if the memory of the evening would go down the drain alongside the blood.
He scrubbed, and he scrubbed, until his scarred skin turned pink.
Elain cautiously stepped up beside him and turned the faucet off. “They’re clean.”
Still he kept scrubbing.
She took his hands in hers, turned him to face her and braced herself. She knew what she had to do, how she had to act to return him to himself.
“Azriel,” she whispered and he glanced at her, finally giving her attention. “They’re clean.”
He looked at his hands, blinking a few times. Elain let him go and wet a rag with warm water. “Can you go sit on the edge of the bath, please? You’ve got blood on your face.” He looked at her, panic shining in his eyes, mercifully hazel in the dim light of the bathroom. “I’ll get it off, I’m going to get it,” she cooed, carefully running a hand down his bare back, between his wings, trying to soothe him. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
He only shook his head and moved to the bath as he was told.
She re-soaked the rag and tilted his face up to look at her. “Are you sure you’re-?”
“I said I was fine.”
Short. Clipped. A voice like ice.
Elain didn’t let his tone affect her. She simply grabbed his chin in her hand and used her other to wipe the blood off his cheek.
“None of its mine,” he went on, quietly, nearly silently, a second later.
His eyes did not meet hers.
He sounded lifeless.
She used the rag to wipe off his neck, his ear, before guiding him to the cool tile. She didn’t bother ordering him into the bath. She knew he wouldn’t cooperate. But she would clean him up, one step at a time.
Azriel sat on the floor and leaned back against the ivory, porcelain tub. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. 
Elain left the room and came back a moment later with a small, tin pitcher. She filled it with warm water, and rinsed the blood from his hair. She tried her best not to watch the incandescent pink water disappear down the bath’s drain. 
“That’s enough,” he whispered, after the third rinse.
“I’m almost do-”
“That’s enough,” he growled. 
Elain took a small, deep breath. “Just one more-”
“That’s enough!” he yelled, grabbing the pitcher and throwing it against the mirror above the vanity.
Glass shattered among the tile, within the sink. 
Elain didn’t move. She simply watched Azriel’s chest rapidly rise and fall, watched as his face fell into his raw hands.
A silent sob shook his inked shoulders.
Elain remained where she was, standing still next to him, next to the tub. She watched as the Shadowsinger crumbled and a broken, fallen angel took his place.
The first time he came home like this, shortly after they’d moved in together, she didn’t know what to do. He was angry, on edge, and aggressive. He stayed that way for three days.
It took years for her to learn how to wear him down.
Breaking him, that was the part she hated most. Pushing him to the edge, past the carefully built walls and defenses, until he snapped. She hated everything about it.
But she knew if she didn’t, the anger, the hatred, they would fester in his heart until he became something cruel, something dark.
Something he hated.
So she did everything she could to keep him from letting that cruel creature out. Even if it meant he would lash out at her.
She didn’t touch him, didn’t call for him, not until his sobbing subsided. When he grew quiet, Elain sat down next to him, back against the porcelain. 
“I tortured a man tonight,” he said, face still in his hands. “I tortured a man for hours until his body could no longer carry the pain I was bearing upon him. I had to, he was a traitor, dangerous to our people, but I...I killed a defenseless man in cold blood. A long, slow, painful death.”
Elain listened, with no interruption. 
Azriel dropped his hands onto his lap and looked at the marring that covered them. “I deserve these wretched scars.”
Elain still didn’t speak. She watched as he turned his hands over, observing both sides. Azriel hated his scars, hated the memories they brought back whenever he looked at them, memories from his childhood, nightmares, that could never be erased. 
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, still looking at his hands, voice still hollow. “I’ll replace the mirror tomorrow.” 
“I don’t care about the mirror,” Elain whispered, the first thing she had said in quite some time.
He wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t look at anything other than his hands.
Carefully avoiding the shards of glass, she slid across the floor until she sat in front of him and took one of those scarred hands in both of her own. “Do you know why I love each and every one of the scars on your body?” Elain asked, tracing the first scar that licked up his elbow towards his arm. Azriel just watched, not saying a word. She continued to trace them, one by one, pausing to kiss the end of each fingertip, the palms of each hand. “Because every scar made you into the male I love. Each painful moment strengthened you. Every fight built you up. Every loss taught you humility. And these hands,” she mused, holding them in her own. “I love these the most.” Azriel looked at her like she has gone mad but before he could say anything, she placed one hand on one side of face and one on the other. “With these hands, you show me how much you love me. With these hands, you make me feel good in ways I never thought possible.” His hands slid down her cheeks to her neck then her shoulders, around her back. “Azriel, I would not change one single part of you. I love you, scars and all.”
He pulled her to him, onto his lap. Elain went willingly, knowing the rage was gone, that it was the emptiness she’d have to contend with now.
Azriel let his head fall against her chest and he wept. Elain wrapped her arms around him and held him as the strongest sobs she’d ever witnessed wracked him, shook his body so hard that it sounded as if he was shivering.
Elain couldn’t help but mourn alongside him, for another piece of his heart had been broken with another life that he had no choice but to take. 
“These hands have killed,” he cried.
“But you are no killer,” Elain whispered, pressing her lips against his neck. 
He didn’t believe her, she knew that, but he didn’t protest because every protest he made she would have corrected. They sat silently, on the cold floor as the early hours of the morning passed. 
“Come to bed, my love,” she whispered, at last, when she saw his bloodshot eyes drifting shut.
He only nodded, letting her stand and taking her outstretched hand. As she led him to their room, the earliest rays of the sun had begun to creep across the floor, Elain sat Azriel down on their bed and pulled the dark, thick curtains that blocked out nearly all light. Many nights before had taught her that they’d be sleeping in very late in the morning. She laid down and stretched an arm out towards him. His fingers, rough and ridged, brushed her palm. He stood, removing both his pants and undershorts and crawled into bed next to her.
Skin to skin, Azriel again let his tears flow as she held him. As he mourned the life he had been forced to take. As he mourned the lives he’d taken before. As he mourned the childhood that had been taken from him.
And Elain told him that she loved him. And told him that she trusted him. And how he protected her. And what a good person he was.
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frivolouslyethereal · 4 years ago
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Loss
ooook so this has been in my notes for way too long. I will seriously run through it tomorrow (and probably delete it lol) so my apologies if it doesn’t properly work and the potential misspellings. i just couldn’t wait any longer :) 
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We too often lose our loved ones out of fear. Because we can’t bring ourselves to be true and because lies are infinitely easier to get out of our mouths rather than the truth. The truth is painful and heavy, it costs us energy and willingness to bring it to the surface and it’s risky.
It will achingly hang in the room and it will cost us dozens of dark looks, if we come out as different than the norm.
I wish someone told my younger self that the only thing we can call normal is love, and that knows neither boundaries nor differences.
Love is comfortable and welcoming, and if doesn’t feel so then it isn’t love.
We crave to put people in boxes, so we can label them and reduce their complexity, and see them as a one-way sort of thing.
We give them one light band to avoid acknowledging that they’re in fact a broad spectrum. We categorically refuse to see that each band is equally important, and that by cutting a single one out we are in fact reducing the person.
But in the end, we mistakenly look for simple people that would bring us simple things. I now know that such thing as the label “simple” cannot be attached to a person.
However in that moment, I was refusing to see that what I had with Celia was the most complex and beautifully truthful relationship i had ever embarked myself on. Right then, in that very specific moment where I urgently needed to acknowledge it,I didn’t see it. I couldn’t see it.
I now sound as an experienced and ponderate old lady, with a lot wisdom and a deep and meaningful insight that comes from age, but I learned it all on my skin. I learned it because my heart was ripped out and left bleeding for years, even if I masqueraded it and I showed myself off as a solemnly powerful woman.
That day was my first encounter with the most profound and deeply-rooted pain I had ever felt, the one that would accompany me for days and nights, even when I gulped down so much alcohol that I felt my all body was as light as a silk dress.
I remember that Celia got in the car and started the engine keeping her eyes locked with mine. My hands were violently shaking and I could feel the colour draining from my face.
And then she left.
No matter how hard I try, i cannot remember what happened next. I know that she was in front of me and then she wasn’t anymore.
I was so knocked down from the excruciating pain I was feeling, that I don’t remember how I managed to walk to the house from the driveway.
The next thing I remember is that I was sitting on the floor surrounded by fragments of the crystal flower vases i must have thrown to the ground.
The flowers were splayed across the carpet and while I felt sorry for what I did to them, I was progressively realising that I had ruined it all with my own ends. I tried to break my hands by clasping the carpet as tightly as I could, until I felt the blood draining from them while my knuckles turned white.  
I was so busy manipulating everyone around us so that I could keep living up to my pretence, that it hadn’t even cross my mind that I was slowly losing the person I loved the most.
I had ended up being false and hypocrite with the only person who knew who I really was.
My will to constantly feed that glorious image of myself that I had patiently, obstinately and meticulously created, had completely blinded me from seeing that I ultimately let that dirt from our world entrance and contaminate what Celia and I had.
Guilt, pain, remorse and fear were washing over me, hitting steadily like huge waves. And for the first time in my life I felt something inside me crack, not knowing whether I was ever going to be okay again afterwards and leaving me struggling to properly breathe.
I now know that for the first time in my life I was experiencing a panic attack.
My vision was blurry. My heart was beating uncontrollably and I couldn’t think straight. I remember squeezing my eyes shut multiple times in the vain hope of being able to focus again.
I was suffering like I had never before, I knew she had left me and it was ultimate.
I couldn’t believe I had lost control over myself. I was crying so hardly that my sobs were violently pushing out of me and my breathing got so laboured that I thought It was pretty obvious that I was going to die of asphyxia.
I had the woman of my dreams, the only person I truly allowed to be with and in me, and yet I had hidden myself right in front of her.
I had given voice to my feelings in the worst possible way and I had masqueraded myself to try win the argument.
I wanted to win so badly that I didn’t care what came out of my mouth.
I wanted to leave her speechless.
I wanted her to fall on her knees and ultimately surrender admitting she could not live without me. But what I really wanted was her apology and her admittance that I was right.
I wanted her to beg me to stop it.
She was the most precious thing I ever laid my hands on, and yet i didn’t think, not even for one second, that what my words did to her was all but cutting deep through her skin.
But things never turn out the way we picture them in our stupid dreamy heads, and Celia was so much better than I thought her to be and did not submit herself to such shameful behaviour.
I absolutely did not expect that, and when it happened I realised that I had inevitably broken it all and she was gone forever. I had pushed her too far and betrayed her too deeply. She had my body until I deliberately decided to share it with someone else, acting out of self-righteousness.
I thought I had to be fully independent, and that I still needed to prove it that I was known as a free woman who had the power of bending people to satisfy her requests. What I thought was maybe an exciting way of proving my emancipation was instead outrageous and deplorable.
I had spent my life proving people I was the one who deserved things because I had literally worked my way up, but I never quite managed to get rid of such sickening way of acting. Even if Celia knew me and I didn’t need to prove her anything,I still went on following that ordinary procedure.
I deserved to be left like that. Alone and in pain and doubting if my life was ever going to make sense again. I ruined it all because of my hunger for more. More money, more recognition, more admiration and more fame.
I knew I only needed Celia to survive, but I let anger take the lead on me and completely closed myself off to her words. I hadn’t even listened to a single word she said because that voice in the back of my head was busy telling me that she wasn’t understanding me, and she wasn’t ever going to understand me.
I profoundly loved making movies to see the extent of my fascination on people and the effect of powerfully using my body, bending it do whatever I needed in order to achieve what I wanted.
But it was nothing compared to what Celia did to me.
I loved that people scrutinised me on and off the screen, trying to grasp about me and my life as much as they could because I knew that I had something hidden and that living on the verge thrilled me. But it was nothing compared to lying down next to a person who knew every single freckle on my skin and loved each and every single scar I had.  
It was nothing compared to drifting into sleep with her in my arms at night, and waking up to her gentle and soft hold in the morning.
It was nothing compared to touching her while being touched by her.
It was nothing compared to the profundity of being listened to like she did to me, with her eyes wide open brightly shining while imagining what I was talking about.
It was nothing because to love and being loved like that is the thing we all desperately look for from the moment we become aware that love exists.
I couldn’t stand it anymore. I felt the burning need to see her and tell her I got it all wrong. I would spend the nights knocking at her door begging her to take me back because I needed her like I need air in my lungs and I couldn’t live knowing that she was alive somewhere but wasn’t sharing her life with me anymore.
So I miraculously got up from the floor.
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clericbyers · 5 years ago
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okay but present day byler listening to chasing cars together and laying on wills bed and that’s where mike realizes he loves him
“I made a new playlist if you’re down to listen,” Will points out one day while he and Mike are lazing about outside on the porch. Mike’s kicking his Vans through the dirt before him and coughing out the dust that catches in his throat.
“Yeah, sure,” he wheezes out, “you always have the best song order in your lists than anyone else.”
Will laughs. “You only like my ordering because your favorite songs are almost always first.”
“You know me too well.” Mike grins up at his friend and feels his heart do that funny flip thing it’s been practicing recently. If recently could be at least the past five years or so, sure.
Mike kicks dirt again and climbs fully to his feet. “You know you’re lucky Lucas isn’t here and you’re wearing just Vans.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’d murder you for kicking your feet around with Air Maxs on, especially the 270 React.”
Mike sticks out his tongue playfully, which makes Will roll his eyes before motioning for Mike to follow him inside. It’s just them today; Joyce is out working, Hopper is at the station, Jonathan got hired to take photos all day for some Instagram influencer in Indianapolis, and Elle is out with her girlfriend Max in the city. Mike always feels a little nervous being alone with Will these days. It’s mostly anxiety in his head brought by silly daydreams of maybe holding his best friend’s hand as they sit on the porch, or of kissing him every time they see each other, small pecks and long hungry kisses that each encapsulate everything he’s wanted for a long time.
Mike often wonders if he’s projecting in some fashion, taking out all his gay feels and pressing them on Will since they’re the closest in the Party. It’s no secret where Mike’s interests lie (if the rainbow pin he wore everywhere didn’t broadcast it enough, the rainbow flag in his room was a big, well, flag. Plus, Mike almost always referred to himself as the secondary gay in town, only second to Will), but absolutely no one knows how he feels about Will. Mike’s not even sure either and that’s the worst part.
If he can get a handle on what exactly all his thoughts toward Will mean, if he’s sure he’s not taking out his celebrity crush on Jake Gyllenhaal on Will, then maybe something could be done.
Will plops down onto his bed and starts scrolling through his phone. Mike stands in the doorway for a second longer, watching Will’s fingers grip the sides of his phone before one hand reaches up to brush freshly cut bangs from his head. Mike’s heart catches on a beat and gets lost in the rhythm of Mike’s turbulent emotions.
“Aren’t you gonna sit down?” Will asks with a small chuckle. “I don’t bite.”
“Oh good,” shoots back Mike as he makes his way to Will. “I thought you were a cannibal.”
Will leans over and nips lightly at Mike’s bare arm. His tongue dances across Mike’s skin for just a moment and Mike’s face turns vibrant pink. Will though makes a face and pulls away with a groan. “If I was a cannibal, I wouldn’t eat you.”
“Am I too stringy?”
Will shrugs. “If I ate you then I wouldn’t be able to hang with you every day. I can hold off the temptation for eternity as long as you’re still here.” Mike is going to combust. “Plus, you taste gross.”
“Haha.” The curly haired boy tightens the scrunchie holding his hair back in a loose ponytail—courtesy of Elle—before laying down beside Will. “C’mon, let’s listen to this playlist of yours.”
Will turns on his Bluetooth speaker and then starts up the music. He settles in next to Mike and they both stare into each other’s eyes until Will starts giggling and then closes his eyes as he hums along to the music. They both alternate between humming and singing along, butchering lyrics on purpose and Mike belting out whatever he can when Mr. Brightside and 19-2000 plays.
“Oh,” Will perks when an unfamiliar guitar riff starts playing. “This is the last song; I found it recently. I think you’ll like it.”
Mike opens his eyes and clears out his head enough to take a listen.
We’ll do it all; everything, on our own.
“The melody is nice,” he replies somewhat distractedly. The calmness of this opening has him a little by the throat, and he’s anticipating a rise in energy once the drums start but he still takes in the simplistic instrumentation this far in.
We don’t need; anything, or anyone.
Fair enough.
If I lay here, and Mike snorts to himself given he and Will are just laying around themselves, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?
Mike feels his throat clench at that. That hits a little too close to home. He chances a glance at Will, who has his eyes closed and oh, oh, there goes Mike’s heart again doing those dumb cartwheels in his chest because Will looks so content and happy being here with Mike.
I don’t quite know; how to say, how I feel.
Mike feels the bottom drop out his stomach. Fuck.
Those three words are said too much; they’re not enough.
Those three words…those three words. Oh. Yeah. Mike stares up at the ceiling and takes in a deep breath. Yeah, it’s—it’s not enough is it? Not really. Will knows Mike loves him, everyone knows Mike loves his friends but this…emotion that consumes Mike unwillingly when Will just glances at him? Those three words really aren’t enough after all.
If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?
Will fidgets and peaks open an eye before sending Mike a sleepy smile.
Forget what we’re told, before we get too old.
Mike thinks back to their younger years, when all the adults in town admonished him for being so close to Will, for daring to show interest in other boys outside of friendship. How they told him he couldn’t like boys, that it was wrong and evil even now in this century despite what big city life promoted. So he came out in 8th grade, wore rainbow pins and socks and anything he could, went with Nancy into the big city to buy a pride flag in 9th grade, went to prom with his (very short term) boyfriend in 10th grade, and promptly ignored everything he had been taught before about it being wrong to like who he liked.
He won’t grow old enough to be unable to escape the rhetoric. None of the Party will.
Show me a garden that’s bursting into life.
Will opens his other eye and scoots in just a bit closer. Mike can feel the heat from his leg even though they aren’t touching at this distance. He thinks he might passing out if he can’t get his breath back.
Let’s waste time chasing cars around our heads.
Mike feels a little fuzzy now, almost punch drunk from Will’s closeness. He scoots in too, turns on his side to face Will a little better. Will turns as well and now they lie so close, knees knocking together and barely enough space between their faces. Will’s bed is far too small for two people, but right now it seems just about the perfect size.
I need your grace to remind me to find my own.
“Mike?” Will whispers, too gentle in the rising beat of the song.
Mike can’t stop thinking; he can’t shut off his brain, it’s only processing one thing and it’s putting a label to those stupid emotions that have been consuming him since they were kids. The emotion that he knows is more than friendship for the past five years. But now…
“I’m in love with you.”
If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?
Will is crying. No sobs, no messiness, just one of those uncontrollable smiles framed by sweet wetness dripping from his eyes. Mike leans forward to brush the tears from his best friend’s face, no, not just his best friend, someone he loves more than any words could detail.
Forget what we’re told, before we get too old.
“I’m in love with you, too.”
There’s something so liberating about saying it aloud, something so freeing about hearing something known since they first sat on the swings together and decided to become friends. Mike feels like his life is starting all over again now that he’s basking under the rays of Will’s returned affections.
Show me a garden that’s bursting into life.
The garden, it’s his heart, tended to by the only boy he’s ever truly loved.
All that I am, all that I ever was, and Mike takes Will’s hands in his own as the other boy blushes slightly, is here in your perfect eyes.
Perfect green eyes that go soft at the edges and look blue under the right lighting, expressive big eyes that echo everything Mike’s ever felt like twin mirrors reflecting his soul.
They’re all I can see.
Mike can’t look away now, if ever. God, he’s so in love, huh. It took him this long to realize it.
I don’t know where. Confused about how as well.
How did Mike fall anyway? He doesn’t know. It wasn’t much of a fall anyway, more of a sink, a slow dip into deep rich waters lavishing the beaches of his mind. Gentle waves of reminders about how much different Mike feels toward Will, but never a label until now. Now, there’s only love crashing to shore and Mike accepts the waves with the ease of a Californian surfer.
Just know that these things will never change for us at all.
Nothing’s changed. Nothing has ever changed really.
“If I lay here,” Will whispers with the last verse of the song, singing just enough to keep the pitch but breathy with emotion he can’t contain. “If I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?”
Mike smiles and he knows it’s the dopey one, he can’t help himself, but Will is going pink and he’s so lovely. Mike’s sure Will knows his verbal answer so he shows it instead, closing the gap with a kiss that should have happen years ago. But things happen for a reason, and now, Mike decides as Will clamps his fists into Mike’s shirt and deepens the kiss until only the sound of their slow but needy kissing takes the room after the song ends, is the perfect time and reason for it all.
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mimirouru-chan · 5 years ago
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Cry on my shoulder
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Genre : Hurt/Comfort , Romance
It's fanfic CalemxSerena Oneshot. I mixed PokeAni XY Episode 60 with song name "Cry on my shoulder" by Deutschland sucht den Superstar
Disclaimer : I do not own Pokemon XY and Pokemon Series *Note : Italic is lyric from "Cry on my shoulder" song.
The young girl who have a big dream and to become the greatest Pokemon Master and Pokemon Performer ; Kalos Queen, she lived together with her Pokemons whole in her life. She is really hardy and lively girl who loves fashion as she love Pokemon, she always give her best in any action. One day...The boy moves into her hometown and he loves pokemon and has dream to become Pokemon Master too, he's really calm and a lot talent and become good friend with her since. The name of the boy was Calem, he was a prodigy Pokemon Battle The name od the girl was Serena, she was a prodigy fashionista and Pokemon Battle both. They're really close friends, like two pea in a pot. They're travel together no matter how to far. They're share a lot of happiness together, argued , support many emotion along two persons with beloved pokemon.
Until now...
Serena made her debut as a Pokemon Performer in Rookie class, Her dream is become Kalos queen with her pokemon Fokko with her best partner Calem who always to cheer up and give any advise when she wants... However but the accident in the showcase made her lose and miss to be Rookie Pokemon Performer. Calem tried to cheer her up after the compalation, Serena barely smiled and said thanks to him, but he still worried about the Serena's mental state after the accident during the showcase Shocking and disappointment, Serena ran away and sitting at the pier in the next morning with her Pokemon, Fokko and Yancham. Calem saw her at there and follow her to pier instantly...Calem instinct was right...He knew she want someone cheer her up like the past journey. Sudden Serena begins to cry uncontrollably and burst her tears overcome by her disappointment, she starts remember the Fokko's accident...How sweet she was to competition and trying her best to be Kalos Queen, how happy she was get journey with her loves and how to admit after losing, and now she lose her dream...What will she do? Her emotion were mixed... She didn't knew what she do next...anymore... Serena crying and burst her voice all her might...Calem stood with frozen for a moment. He never seen Serena like this before. Serena in his vision was lively and hardy girl and rarely show her weakness and her tears... She was endured the hardships to much along the journey behind her bright side...Until now... "My...my....my dream..." Serena still sobbling heavily and tug her honey long hair tightly, despite her Pokemon Fokko and Yancham both trying to cheer her up... Calem went silent and Serena begin cry more harder. Blaming herself for her loss...
What should Calem do...?
Suddenly Calem approach and looked to weeping girl. He hugged Serena tightly, wrapping his arm around her. Serena feeling someone embrace and remember the familiar figured with familiar masculine's scent touch her nose. "Calem? *sob* Let me go...I want...to be alone...*sob*" She yell at Calem and started pounding him on the shoulder repeatly, but he didn't even show any sign of being hurt. He continued hugging Serena as she continued pounding him and patting her head gently, her two Pokemons cuddles with Calem... Soon Serena calmed down and crying softer, she rests her head on Calem's shoulder and hugging him tightly.
"But if you wanna cry ... Cry on my shoulder ..."
Calem's tear begins dropped from his one eye..it's not to being any pain...but he sharing Serena'a pain into him...Calem crying silently.
"If you need someone, who cares for you ..."
"Even you loses the Coumarine Showcase Rookie class, but you both did best together. You're really wonderful, Serena" Calem said with smile and tears. "Calem...You....*sob*"
"If you're feeling sad, your heart gets colder ..."
Fokko and Yancham still beside her, they hugging her tightly and never let her go... "See? You're never alone, Serena" Serena looking her Pokemons and use her both hands rubbed them gently and she looked at Calem's eyes. "I believe in you, you never give up everything easily...next time we can make it. I believe you can do it and passed any obstacles...together." Calem's word striked Serena ears...Her bestfriend Calem, and he is the one who going through this obstacles again and again. Serena felt warm and gentleness inside of her heart, soon she relized elate that she has finally been able to begin her dream once again. She still hugging Calem tightly and never let him go. "Calem...everyone...Thank you..." Serena slightly smile with teary face. "I don't know how I survived this feeling if I haven't everyone there...I...Thank you very much from bottom of my heart..." No matter what Serena never give up any obstacles, She really strong heart girl. "I'm glad you feel better right now..." Calem smiled gently at her.
"Yes I show you what real love can do ..."
Calem pressed his lip together on Serena's lip, his arms embraced her gently...Serena frozen and warm on the moment...but she pressed her lip together with him and caressed him. They're hugging closed enough to hear the temper of pulses each other. The two Pokemons stared at the couples embarrassedly with blushes on their faces with relief smiled.
End
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hookedontaronfics · 5 years ago
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First Contact series - Part 10
Title: First Contact - Part 10 Read the previous installments here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Mild smut and mentions of violence [trigger warning] A/N: The aftermath of Kevin’s attack takes Jess to some dark places. Will Taron’s eternal devotion to her be able see her through? This was a tough chapter to write and read; it’s not happy but I tried to keep it realistic. So stick with me through the angst, better times are ahead, I promise! x
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A white tile ceiling. Stark white walls. 
That was the first thing I saw when my eyes fluttered open. I had no concept of time; how long I had been out, or even where I was at the moment. I waited for the pain to hit my consciousness, but it never came. In its place was just an absence, a hollowness of feeling.
I could hear the steady sound of an IV machine in the background, and also a gentle rhythmic snoring. I spied Taron crashed out on the couch by the window, and even if I couldn’t see the sky, I could tell it was dark outside, the lights in my room dim.
Taron must have only been lightly dozing, because he stirred awake as soon as I tried to readjust myself on the bed, and moved over to the chair at my bedside. He took my hand in his and asked softly how I was feeling, the relief to see me awake evident across his features.
“Not much of anything at the moment, to be honest,” I said, trying to read the labels on my IV bags but my vision started swimming again and I had to look away. “I probably have a lot of painkillers right now,” I shrugged. Taron gave me a sympathetic look. “How long have I been out? Did they tell you what happened to me?” I asked, needing information more than anything. I felt like if I had answers, than maybe I could begin to accept what had happened.
“I think maybe the doctor should explain all that, he could do it far better than me,” he said quietly, squeezing my hand.
“T, I need to know what happened to me, please,” I pleaded with him, hating the pained expression that crossed his face and furrowed his brow.
“They had to take you into surgery when you got here,” he said heavily. “They had to rebuild your face, your eye socket and cheekbone were shattered…” he said, choking up and struggling to get the words out as I reached up to touch the heavy gauze taped over the left side of my face. I winced, though I couldn’t really feel any pain from it.
“Adding more scars to the collection, I guess,” I whispered softly.
Taron continued talking in a low, shaking voice, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb, his eyes trained on the bed. “The doctors told me you’ll probably be in here for a while to recover. They want to keep an eye on how everything is healing. You also sustained a couple of fractured ribs, and probably have a moderate concussion, and they don’t want to send you home too soon in case that worsens before it gets better. But you will get better, you have to,” he said, his eyes swimming a bit with tears.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay, Taron. I will get better, you’ll see. I’m determined,” I said, squeezing his hand before a wave of dizziness washed through me, even though I hadn’t even moved. My vision was still going in and out of focus and I closed my eyes for a moment to try and keep from needing to get sick.
“What about Kevin? Did you talk to the police? Were they here? Do they know? Does anyone know?” I asked, peppering Taron with questions he couldn’t possibly answer. “Will he be able to hurt me again?”
“Babe, I don’t know anything right now. But you’re safe here, and I’m not going anywhere. And the woman who helped you, who called me, she took pictures at the scene. They’re on your phone,” he said, his voice cracking again and he had to pause to keep his composure. “She thought they would be important as evidence to whatever charges get pressed. Because we don’t fuck around here in the UK when it comes to assault. But I also don’t know what’s going to happen because he’s a U.S. citizen. He may be extradited and face charges there instead. I just don’t know yet, but he’s in custody and will remain that way until he’s booked or sent away.”
“I used to think that moving here to London would protect me. It didn’t,” I said painfully.
“He can’t hurt you any more, I promise.” Something about the way he said that made me absolutely lose it.
“I’m not sure anyone can promise me that, Taron,” I fairly sobbed. Whether he could understand my words, I’m not sure because I was crying so hard they weren’t coherent. Watching me cry uncontrollably must have torn him apart though, because at one point he clambered into my bed, careful of the IV and all the other tubes and lines trailing from me, and pulled me into his arms, not even caring that I was probably leaving trails of tears and snot and slobber all over his shirt. I know I was shaking, afraid and traumatized by everything. Taron stroked my hair sweetly, careful with me even as he held me tightly to him, wanting his presence to be calming and comforting.
I don’t remember calming down, and I don’t remember slipping off to sleep, but I must have because I woke up later when a nurse was trying to quietly take my vitals, my face still pressed into Taron’s chest. He was out cold, lashes resting against his cheeks, his arms still sweetly around me. I knew I should have felt something, protected, safe, in love, but all I could feel was afraid. Not of Taron, necessarily, but that somehow the happiness I had found in him couldn’t last. Maybe, somehow, I wasn’t meant to deserve what he had tried to offer me.
I hated how dark these thoughts were but couldn’t keep them from pressing me flat. What if Taron had been with me when Kevin confronted me? What if he’d been hurt, because of me? That would have made things far worse. I wouldn’t have been able to handle that kind of guilt. I saw my phone sitting on the table beside me, so I carefully reached over and managed to grab it. I shouldn’t have looked, but my curiosity got the better of me as I scrolled through the pictures of myself laying on the ground, cringing at my broken face. Suddenly I was worried the doctors wouldn’t have been able to put it all back together again; would Taron still love me if I never looked the same again, if these scars made me ugly? That thought made me cry all over again, though I tried desperately hard to choke back the sobs and stay silent, not wanting to wake Taron.
The next couple of weeks in the hospital passed much the same way, and Taron really didn’t leave my side except to go home to shower and grab clean clothes. He kept Jules and Mary and even my family back in America updated, and my roommates visited me as often as they could, managing to make me laugh despite my dark moods. Taron also helped me navigate the paperwork for medical leave with work, which felt endless and confusing partly because my concussion didn’t allow me to make sense of it all, but even my boss visited and made sure I knew I had nothing to worry about, to take the time I needed to recover and that my position would be secure.
Talking to the police and trying to recall details of that day was a difficult process. I remembered most of what had happened just before the assault, but I had very little recollection of the after. And I couldn’t get over why I had trusted Kevin enough to step into that alley with him. Maybe I’d been stupidly hopeful he really had changed, though I still couldn’t figure out how he had found me, and he wasn’t talking to police about that fact either. The couple who had helped me, Darren and Lucy, visited me too, and they were the kindest people, and were incredibly helpful to police as well. Kevin was going to be sent back to the U.S. and his passport revoked, and he’d be banned from ever leaving the country again, so as long as I never went back to America there’d be no way he could get to me again. But I still didn’t feel safe and had no idea how to ever get back to that place where I would.
The bandages came off and I was surprised that it really didn’t look so bad. There were only two incisions and the plastic surgeon had used glue and tape, not actual stitches, to minimize scarring as much as possible. My skin was still red and angry but otherwise I couldn’t see much difference in how my face looked at all. They’d done a good job rebuilding the structure although now my eye socket was more metal than bone.
They kept me on strong pain meds and I had random blindingly awful headaches that made me cry because it was all I could do. My vision stayed slightly fuzzy and I half-worried this would be permanent, but the doctor emphasized that I just needed more time to heal, that the effects of my concussion could take months to fade. The depression that set in, though, that was probably the hardest thing to deal with. I went through a couple of brain scans and a psychological evaluation and was told I had post-traumatic stress disorder but somehow that still didn’t set in my mind that my hopeless feelings weren’t all my fault.
Taron truly was a saint through all of this, remaining strong and stable and supportive, and doing his best to keep me entertained when I wasn’t sleeping, which I admittedly did a lot of. And when it was finally time to be released from the hospital, Taron was adamant that he wanted me to come home with him, and I didn’t have enough strength of mind to argue.
So three weeks later, I was snuggled in amongst the sheets of Taron’s bed, spending most of my time there because I just didn’t have the energy to do anything else. I was sad and worried and afraid most of the time, hovering just above completely bottomed out. I think Taron probably kept me afloat in the worst of it, making sure I ate and showered and took my medicine. Not every day was bad, to be fair. Some days I helped him cook in the kitchen, and the depression couldn’t take away how much I loved to hear him laugh, or we took a walk around his neighborhood, hand-in-hand, and I could pretend I wasn’t this way, or we just stayed in and watched Netflix all day on the couch, being lazy together. But other days the darkness crept in around the edges, and I questioned in my mind why he stayed with me.
I was unfortunately wallowing in the middle of one of these pits when Taron breezed into the room. “I figured it out, babe,” he said, settling on the bed and placing his hand on my knee.
“Figured out what?” I asked, trying to wake up from the stupor I had been in, staring at the ceiling and not even sure what I was thinking.
“I got to thinking how you said you deleted all of your old social media accounts after what happened with Kevin. And all of your new accounts are totally private. But that got me thinking and I realized that I’m to blame for him finding you.”
“What? You’re not making any bloody sense, T,” I said, rubbing my temple and trying to make an oncoming headache go away.
“My Instagram. It’s completely public and the photos we posted while on vacation together… You know, everyone shares those photos on Twitter and Tumblr and Facebook and wherever else and he must have somehow come across it at some point and recognized you and put 2 and 2 together. You dating a London bloke, he must have figured it out and come here just hoping to run into you. It’s really my fault, I should have thought that through.” His green eyes had darkened as he looked troubled over having somehow endangered me.
“Hey. It’s not your fault I have a crazy ass ex. I don’t regret you posting those photos,” I said softly. “It’s also not your fault that the American law system doesn’t better protect its victims of domestic violence. You’re not in control of that. Don’t carry that burden for me, okay?” I said, smiling slightly at him.
“I’d carry anything for you, love,” he said, leaning over and kissing me gently on the forehead.
“I know you would, T. I know,” I said, trailing off and pulling the blankets up around myself again, worn out by our conversation already. I just don’t know why, I thought.
“I love you, and I’ll see you through all of this, yeah?” he added softly, earnestly.
I nodded, because I wasn’t sure what else to do. Trying to cross over this chasm of darkness, fear and pain had gotten even more difficult to do. I was on one side, and Taron and all of his patience and kindness and love were on the other, and try as he might to reach across it to me, I didn’t have the courage to jump.
“I’ll get us dinner started, you just rest now,” he spoke, leaving me to my apparent misery. He doesn’t deserve this, whatever it is I am now, I thought angrily as I watched him leave the room, seeming a bit deflated at my lack of an actual answer.
I wish I could say the following weeks got better, but somehow they got worse. The first panic attack I had was when Taron and I were downtown, having braved being out in public. We had passed by an alley and somehow that set me off. It took me by surprise and I only was aware it had happened once I had come back out of it. I was on my hands and knees on the concrete, breathless and crying, and Taron was crouched down next to me trying to talk me down. Other people surrounded us, so it must have been embarrassingly obvious that I was losing my shit, and someone had even called an ambulance but the medics weren’t needed by the time they arrived.
More brain scans ensued and I was given more medicines to try and signed up for more counseling to help, but the panic attacks continued because my ptsd was becoming more entrenched in my brain. I was starting to see the image of Kevin everywhere I went, lurking about and waiting to catch me by surprise. Things became so concerning that Taron canceled a weekend event he was supposed to fly out to. He was extremely vague about what it was, just saying that me and my health were more important and he didn’t feel he could leave me by myself for that long. He hadn’t said that to make me feel guilty, of course, but I wished he had consulted me about it first. Especially after I logged into Twitter and saw angry tweet after sad tweet after shitty tweet about Taron canceling his comic con appearance and disappointing a boatload of fans. Because of me. This was not what I had wanted at all.
“Taron,” I said, walking out to the living room to find him crashed out on the couch with a beer and some movie or show on the telly, I couldn’t tell what.
“Mmm, yeah?” he asked, muting the telly before sitting up and looking at me over the edge of the couch.
“You shouldn’t have canceled your con appearance,” I said, as it dawned on him that I knew what he’d done. “All those fans are going to be pissed off and disappointed because of me.”
“I did my best to apologize profusely to the fans for that but you’re my priority right now. It wouldn’t be any different if it was my family having a medical issue.”
“I could have gone back to my flat. Jules and Mary would have looked after me, and frankly I could have handled a few days, I think,” I said in a huff, mostly upset that I’d become dependent on him.
“But you need me to help you. There’s no shame in that.”
“I don’t need you,” I bit back. I wished I could have taken those words back the instant they came out of my mouth. The look of hurt that crossed his face, after all he’d done for me already, was awful to witness. But I hadn’t meant it like that; I was frustrated at having to be doted on, and wanted to go back to the sort of independence and freedom I had had before Kevin had walked back into my life and erased years of work I’d done to overcome him.
“Do you really feel that way?” he asked softly, standing up and walking over to me, brushing my hair away from my face.
“I don’t understand anything right now. I’m confused, and depressed, and I’m struggling to understand why this happened to me again, T,” I admitted. “But I also don’t love the idea that your life has been affected by me.”
“My life is affected because I choose to be here for you, in whatever capacity you need me to be. That’s not a burden, Jess. You enrich my life by being in it, and who would I be if I fucked off when you went through something difficult and needed the support? This isn’t about you not being able to do things for yourself. I know you’re fully capable. But I also don’t think you should be alone right now either. And that’s my right to think that, and to ensure that you’re not. Because the last thing on earth I could handle right now is you feeling alone or abandoned. And as to why this happened, I can’t answer that. I wish I could, but it was so wrong, and bad things happen to people who don’t deserve them. And it breaks my heart that you had to go through this, but I also know how strong you are, and every day you prove that more and more. To even be in the orbit around you, it changes things for me.”
The intensity of Taron’s gaze as he spoke his raw, real feelings to me, about me, for me, I felt like I might combust under it. Just burn up on the spot.
“I don’t understand your devotion to me, Taron. I don’t deserve your goodness. I don’t know that I ever have.”
“Just please, don’t do that. I love you and I’m so tired of you trying to find every reason why I shouldn’t. Stop shutting me out, Jess. I can’t profess to know truly what you’re going through right now, but I can’t understand it at all if you don’t talk to me. I want your honesty, and your vulnerability, and your pain, all of it. I just want every beautiful inch of you.”
His words sent shivers over my skin, something I hadn’t been able to feel since the assault. I looked up at him, tried to really see him for more than just the handsome, patient and kind man he was. I tried to see the way he saw me, but it was so hard to do. Kevin had made me feel broken and discarded all over again.
“But what’s so beautiful about me, Taron?” I asked doubtfully.
“Come here,” he said, pulling me over to the couch and down into the seat cushions with him. “And let me show you,” he added, running his fingers gently over my arms.
“Taron,” I whined softly at that, as he gave me one of his small smiles. “Let’s start here,” he said, placing sweet kisses over my eyelids and making me giggle slightly.
“You have the most soulful eyes of anyone I’ve ever met. I can see the world in them because you care so deeply about everything around you.” Next he kissed the tip of my nose, telling me how adorable he thought it was. His kisses traveled to my cheeks, my forehead, my jaw, even my ears, as Taron described how much he loved each one.
Finally he captured my lips in a sweet kiss, something we had barely done since the assault. “And I love kissing your lips. I could do this all day,” he grinned, and even if mentally I was still messed up, my body remembered what it was like to be with him, and craved more of him, and I tried to give myself over to that feeling, leaning in and kissing him back as he leaned me back on the couch, tugging my shirt up and off in the process.
“I love your neck, when I kiss you in that spot that makes you moan,” he smirked, his kisses traveling along my smooth skin and yes, making me moan softly in response. He added my collar bones, my chest and my stomach to the list as he traveled lower and my breath caught in my throat at the feel of his gentle lips sliding over my skin. “Feeling beautiful yet?” he whispered, his hot breath raising goosebumps along my skin. “Or shall I keep going, love?” he smirked, unbuttoning my jeans and slowly sliding them down my legs.
“K-keep going,” I said with a shaky breath, unable to tear my gaze away from him, the way he hovered over me.
“Hmmm, my pleasure,” he hummed, dropping kisses on my thighs. “I love how strong they are, for carrying you through everything. And I especially love being between them,” he whispered with a wicked grin, my head dropping back as he wasted no time in peeling my underwear off and settling himself between my legs.
It’d been a long time since someone had dared to go down on me; Kevin certainly never had. I couldn’t tell you whether Taron was great at it or not, as I didn’t have enough experience to compare either way. But I was 100 percent lost to what he was doing to me there, his tongue and fingers exploring every inch of my folds and drawing out every bit of pleasure I could feel. My fingers gripped his hair, my moans guiding him to what felt good.
When I was close, oh so close, Taron stopped and smiled up at me through his lashes; I groaned at him in frustration for being left hanging, but he only crawled back up my body and kissed me, the taste of my own juices still on his mouth. He wrapped my legs around himself, and I got the hint as he picked me up and carried me back to the bedroom, setting me down on the bed gently before practically tearing his own clothes off, grabbing a condom, crawling over me and joining our bodies all in the same motion.
We both groaned our mutual feelings out loud, the delicious feeling as he thrust in and out of me driving me crazy. I was quite lost to how full and whole I felt in the moment as he peppered my face with kisses. Soon enough we were crashing hard together, Taron collapsing next to me, his face tucked in against my neck and arm thrown over my chest as we attempted to come back down to earth.
“I love you so much, babe,” he whispered. “You’re the absolute world to me,” he said, brushing my hair out of my face tenderly.
“I love you too,” I said back, feeling compelled to get the words out in that moment.
“Yeah?” Taron grinned happily, his dimples popping out as his eyes sparkled at me. I couldn’t deny him this happiness, I couldn’t.
So I repeated the words, even as they felt hollow in my chest. I should have felt something, shouldn’t I? 
“You make me so ridiculously happy,” he said sweetly, even as he snuggled into me further, hugging my sweaty, spent body to his for a few moments. I knew what he felt was completely genuine and real. I just didn’t know what was wrong with me that I couldn’t return the same.
Eventually he got up to dispose of the condom and secure the house for the night, while I stayed crashed out in the bed. Once he’d returned and we bedded down to sleep, I laid awake for far too long vacillating between how I should feel and why I wasn’t feeling anything at all. The numbness had settled deep in my soul and I hated myself for it, as I watched Taron sleep soundly, the cutest smile on his face. His love didn’t belong to me, and I knew it.
I don’t remember exactly how long it took to slip off to sleep, but Taron was not in bed when I woke up the next morning. I rolled over and squinted at my phone, and realized it was well after 11 a.m. and Taron would be at an early-morning meeting he’d told me about. I sat up and rubbed at my eyes, looking around me for a long moment and sighing. I got up and showered quickly, grazed on some leftovers I heated up, and then set about packing my clothes. I had spent much of the past month of recovery slumming around in Taron’s pajama pants and sweatshirts, though Mary and Jules had brought some things over for me, clean unders and bras and the like.
I was lost in thought when I heard the front door open. “Darling?! You awake?” Taron called, and I couldn’t move while his footsteps moved about the house. He found me in the bedroom, of course, finally in my own jeans and a blouse, the bed neatly made and my bag resting at the edge of it.
“What’s this?” he asked, his expression immediately clouding over.
“I’m going back to the flat, T. This wasn’t supposed to be a permanent move, anyway. And I don’t want you as my nursemaid, I need you as my boyfriend,” I said quietly, trying to explain and hoping he just understood. “I’m really grateful for what you’ve done for me, but I just need to get back to my routine. I’m trying to process what happened with Kevin still, and I know that I still have this depression hanging over me, and the panic attacks are still happening, but I feel like I can deal with that if I just go back to work and get a sense of normalcy back.”
“I… guess that makes sense, of course,” he replied hesitantly, blinking a few times and trying to process what I was saying. “I think you could be happy here, though, too, with me,” he said sweetly, making my chest ache slightly.
“I just can’t do this right now, with you,” I said softly. “When I said I loved you last night, I couldn’t feel it at first. But it wasn’t because I lied. I do love you, far too much to hold you back with the person I am right now. I need to go back to my normal life and deal with all of this so that I can be worthy of being the person you love.”
“I… Jess,” he said, his voice cracking at that. “You already are the person I love, as you are now,” he replied a bit desperately.
“And you may think that, but I don’t feel it, and that’s never going to go away if I don’t address it now,” I said, watching his face just crumble. It wasn’t easy to fend off my own tears then.
“I wish I could change your mind. I’ve gotten rather used to having you here all the time,” he said, biting his thumb in thought.
“I have to go, T. If we want this to work in the future, I need to be okay with myself first.” I gave him a quick hug, that he oddly didn’t return, before grabbing my bag and walking toward the door. I almost thought he wasn’t going to try and say good-bye but he came running after me, skidding on the tile in his sock feet slightly.
“Wait! Wait, Jess,” he said, taking my free hand in his. “I’ve been waiting to give this to you but I think now’s the right time,” he said, proffering a small black box and making my heart flutter several times. Nestled inside the box was a simple rose-gold band, with a tiny diamond in the middle; it was simple, elegant and clean. “It’s a promise and a hope… My promise to you that I’ll wait for you no matter how long it takes, and my hope that no matter how far you wander, you’ll always find your way back to me. You don’t even have to wear it, I just wanted you to know where I stood,” he said, shoving the box in my hands. The fractured look in his eyes tore at the edges of my soul, but I also knew I was doing the right thing, for him and for me.
“Thank you, Taron,” I said, because there wasn’t anything else to say. “We’ll keep in touch. We’ll go on dates. I’m not giving up on us,” I promised back.
“No, but you’re pushing me away, and I don’t understand why,” he said in a bit of a pained voice.
“I have work to do on me, for me. No one has to understand that.” Taron could only nod at that point, kissing me on the forehead gently before letting me go. I carefully placed the ring in my bag and made sure it was secure before hoisting the bag onto my shoulder and grabbing my purse.
“I can drive you back over to the flat, if you want,” he offered idly.
“I’ve got this, Taron. I know how to take the tube,” I couldn’t help but giggle slightly. His worry over me was sweet, but I needed to be able to rely on myself too. I felt this wild, desperate need to prove to myself that I could.
“I’ll see you later, I suppose,” I said, giving Taron a small smile that he couldn’t bring himself to return. Things could be different, would be better for the both of us, and I could only hope his faith in me wouldn’t be fleeting. I felt both crushed and liberated as I left, confused by both emotions as I peered over my shoulder to see Taron standing in his doorway, watching sadly after me.
Will Jess be able to repair the damage to her soul, and her relationship? Find out in Part 11 HERE!
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cchellacat · 5 years ago
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I Missed You
Wintershock
18 + for some smut, but mostly fluff, tooth rotting fluff.
For @bucky-is-my-precious  “So I have a fluffy/smutty prompt.  It could be Bucky (or Sebis that’s allowed), basically Bucky is having a tough time removing readers jeans and it’s kinda sweet and there’s some laughter.” 
So I thought this was actually a very Wintershock Bucky/Darcy type of prompt.  Hope you don’t mind.
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When Bucky shows up in the common room, still dirty and wearing his tac gear Darcy wants nothing more than to run to him.  He’s been gone for weeks and she missed him, so god damn much. He looks tired but determined, like he’s on a mission.  Her mouth grows dry and she places the spatula down and turns off the hob. 
When he spots her she freezes, the look in his eye so focused she can barely breath.  He stalks towards her, like a panther, all rippling muscle and sinewy grace and then he’s in front of her, she doesn’t even have the time to say hello before he lifts her up and slings her over his shoulder, all she can manage is a squeak of surprise.  
“Bucky!”
“Doll, I haven’t see you in a month.  Do you remember what you promised me?”
Darcy feels nothing but confusion then she remembers, she’d jokingly told him as he kissed her goodbye that she’s spend a week in bed cuddling with him when he got back, naked.
“I remember, do you remember what you promised me?”  She had agreed on the condition that he came back in one piece.
“Not one scratch sweetheart and in a few minutes, you can check yourself.”
The stares they provoked in the corridors were quickly shut down ether by Bucky scowling at them or Darcy making threatening gestures to them as they passed, but she knew this would be the talk of the tower for weeks after.  Still, she didn’t regret it for a second.  Was this so utterly caveman that she’d have to hand in her feminist credentials? Probably.  But she wouldn’t change it for the world.
As soon as they reached the bedroom, he tossed her down and followed her with a mock growl.  All she could do was giggle into the playful kiss and relish the feel of his big body covering her. God she’s missed this, his smell, musky and heady, the feel of his hands, always so eager to touch her, his lips, soft and insistent against her skin, each gentle caress like a prayer answered.
They struggle to divest the other of clothes.  She gets the tac vest undone and crows as she gets it off him, she hardly blinks as he whips her top off, flinging it somewhere behind them, a giggle and muttered exclamation as she kicked off her shoes.  His pants shoved down and wriggled out of as his hands reach for her jeans. 
They’re new, she loves them, they make her waist look tiny and her ass looks great in them. She also spent fifteen minutes sliding into them this morning.  She bites her lip at the confusion on his face as he struggles to get the stiff buttons undone, his stubble tickling her tummy as he nuzzles into the soft curve of her belly. 
She hears him swear and tries not to laugh, he’s realised the high waist jeans aren’t just for show, there’s no zip, just ten tiny buttons.  He keeps going, cursing up a storm between wet kisses and each button undone, she’s almost in tears from how ticklish it is. 
When he tries to get the jeans off she wriggles helpfully as he tugs at them, but they hardly budge and inch.
“Jesus Christ doll, what the hell are these?”
“Having some trouble soldier?”
“How in the hell did you get these on?  They’re stuck to you!”
“Just rip them off.” she whimpers breathlessly as he kisses between the buttons.
Bucky look up at her, brow raised.
“Doll, I’m not gonna wreck them, I’m getting you out of them, they make your ass look fucking fantastic.”
Darcy squirms as he manages to get them down to her hips and she’s seriously regretting buying them.  
“Don’t care, I’ll buy another pair, I just want them off so I can get off!”
He pinches her side and she squeaks, lifting her hips off the bed in surprise, then he’s got them down to her thighs and she feels unaccountably happy at the triumph in his eyes, like this is some super important mission he’s determined to complete. He stands and hauls them down quickly but misjudges it.  What ever had been holding them back before was gone and she watches him stumble back and land on his ass, her jeans still clutched in his hands.
Darcy can’t help it, she laughs, it bursts out uncontrollably, the expression on his face of confusion and surprise so adorably funny she can’t help it.  
His look of consternation was he springs back to his feet only makes her giggle harder.  Bucky stalks over and throws himself on her, tickling her mercilessly for her cheek and she shrieks merrily, squirming against hm as he pins her.
It devolves again quickly into kisses, long and slow and teasing, she’s soon breathless from the feel of him holding her now, touching all the places he knows will make her moan and arch into his body.  Dizzy and desperate from lips on her skin as she tugs her fingers in his hair, his name spilling out as his mouth finds her wet and aching for him. 
He takes his time, licking and sucking at her clit, tongue delving deep into her core until she comes, her hips arching off the bed as he sweetly continues with gentling strokes until she is spent.  
He sprawls on the bed next to her and pulls her over so she’s laying half on his chest as he cuddles her close.  
“I missed you, doll. I missed this.”
She grins into his neck, her fingers skimming lightly over his skin.
“I missed you too.”
“Darcy?”
“Hmm?”
“Still with me doll?”  Fond amusement laces his words and she feels more at peace like this, with him and his teasing, than she ever does anywhere else.
She nods sleepily but raises a head when his fingers tilt her chin up.  He’s looking at her gently, his eyes full of emotion and he smiles at her warmly when she offers him a sleepy grin.
“You got any plans for tomorrow?”
“I thought we were staying in bed for a week?”  She needles gently.
He grins wide at that and kisses her softly, his lips brushing hers almost reverently.
“I thought we could maybe take a trip over to City Hall.”  It takes a second before what he’s saying sinks in and she feels her heart begin to race as her eyes widen.  “Marry me Darcy, you’re the only home I’ll ever want or need.”
Her answer is sobbed out between kisses and helpless bursts of giggles. Then she’s clinging to him and encouraging him to take her, to make love to her and he does.  
After, he leaves the bed, for just a moment, to retrieve something and comes back with a tiny ring to offer her.  He places it on her finger and kisses her hand before they’re snuggled under the covers again.
She’s not sure what she ever did to deserve all this, but she’s glad she has it, has him.  She never wants to leave his arms again.  Eventually she falls asleep to the sound of his heart beat and she thinks sleepily that this is the last day she’ll be Darcy Lewis, tomorrow, she’ll be Mrs Darcy Barnes and she couldn’t be happier.
@the-ss-horniest-book-club
@eurynome827  @thesaltyduchess  @spacemansam  @sallycanwait68  @lookwhatyoumademequeue  @letstalkaboutsebbaby  @loricameback  @marvelousmeggi  @thatgirlkei  @omnomsauruswrites  @jobean12-blog 
Sorry if I forgot to tag anyone xxx
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foreverandalwayshttyd · 6 years ago
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This is a belated birthday present for my best friend/sister @thestoryofhiccstrid! Happy birthday Amber, aka the sweetest human and sissy in the world! Love you with all my heart, you deserve the world, and I hope you enjoy this haddock family fluff I wrote just for you! Love ya girl!
A New Addition
Zephyr's little heart raced with excitement - well, mostly nervousness. It had been almost five days since she had seen her mother, which was the longest she's gone without her. She was mostly nervous about seeing her again because the last time she had seen her momma, she shrieked in pain and her daddy quickly had to rush her upstairs, telling Zephyr to stay put anxiously.
It was one of the scariest moments of her life seeing her momma in so much pain. She ducked down under some furs in fear, and her bottom lip quivered as she clutched her dragon plush. Every time her mother would let out an agonized yelp from upstairs, her heart rate would increase rapidly. She even started to cry a little bit, so confused as to what was wrong with her mother.
It wasn't long before Hiccup darted down the stairs, and burst through the door, leaving it flinging open as he sprinted out of the house and through the village. And there little Zephyr was, all alone in the family room, not having a single clue as to what was going on, drenching her plush in whimpering tears. Her daddy finally made it back, as he quickly rushed inside with both of her grandmas and one of the midwives quickly following behind him, their arms full with towels, and stuff Zephyr couldn't really make out.
They all quickly rushed upstairs following Astrid's agonized screams - all except Hiccup. He abruptly stopped on his way up when he saw the furs by the fireplace shuddering. He mentally slapped himself when he remembered his little girl was probably very confused and scared. Hiccup quickly rushed over to Zephyr who was currently huddled in furs and stifling little sobs.
"Hey...hey it's okay. Come here," Hiccup bent down and reached his arms out to her, which she immediately collapsed into. He picked her up, and soothingly stroked her hair as she cried against his shoulder in fear. "I know...I know...."
"Daddy 'm scared....." Zephyr muffled quietly into his shoulder, and Hiccup continued to rock his two and a half year old daughter back and forth comfortingly. "I know little one, I know. But your momma is gonna be okay."
She sniffled, and wiped at her little eyes, and buried her head under Hiccup's head, and listened to his soothing heartbeat as she nestled her head against his chest. He rubbed her back gently, and looked down at his daughter, "Hey, it's gonna be okay. Momma will be fine. But Zephyr, your baby sister or brother is coming!"
And with that thought in mind for five whole days, it was almost unbearable to not rush home and see her momma and little sibling. It had taken two days for the little baby to be born, which frightened everyone who knew Astrid was in labor. One of Zephyr's toddler friends' mother offered to watch Zephyr during Astrid's recovery since both of her grandma's were helping Astrid, because she wasn't allowed to visit her until the midwife said it was okay because of the baby being born so early.
And five days later, just when she thought her impatient self couldn't take it anymore, her daddy finally came with the news that she could get to go home and see her momma, and meet the new addition to the family.
"Now you have to be quiet Zeph, your momma is very tired and the baby is too. So we have to be calm, okay?" Hiccup hoisted her up into his embrace when they finally made it to the doorway of their house. Zephyr nodded eagerly, holding her little hands close to her chest in nervousness. Hiccup opened the door slightly, and stepped inside the quiet house with a little creak when he walked over to the staircase that lead upstairs to their room.
Zephyr leaned back in Hiccup's arms a bit, as she held her little hand up to her mouth and looked up, worry etching her little face, not quite sure if momma was still okay. Hiccup chuckled, "It's okay. Momma is better now, don't worry." He reassured her as he made his way up the stairs with her.
He stood in front of the door to their bedroom, and slightly tickled Zephyr to wipe the nervous expression off of her face. She giggled and pushed her daddy's hand away, earning a warm smile from him. "You ready?" He asked softly, and she nodded her head quickly.
Hiccup creaked opened the door slowly, just to make sure Astrid wasn't asleep or something. Fortunately she wasn't, but was laying very still in bed as she contently hovered over a little bundle in her arms. She looked towards the door and smiled as she saw her husband peek in, and gesture outside where their little girl stood waiting. She nodded with a warm smile, and Hiccup opened the door a little wider to allow a little auburn headed girl to walk in.
Zephyr scurried behind her father, as soon as he shut the door behind them. Astrid's eyes started to swell up a bit when she caught sight of her daughter, who she hadn't seen in days. "Hi, Zephyr! Come here!" Astrid reached her hand out to Zephyr, who was clinging on to her dad's leg. He looked down at her and nodded, and Zephyr's face lit up when she rushed over to her momma.
As soon as she was in reach, Astrid pulled her little girl closer and brushed her bangs to the side. "I missed you sweet girl." Zephyr leaned against her mother's touch, and started to jump a little in excitement. "Momma!" She squealed in her little two year old lisp. She whipped her head around in guilt when her dad shushed her quietly, who by now was sitting on the edge of the bed. Oh right. She was supposed to be quiet.
Astrid chuckled softly and brushed the side of her daughters face softly. Zephyr hugged her mother's arm, and looked into her loving eyes. Something about her was different. She was definitely more pale, and her hair was really loose. But that wasn't the thing that stood out most to the two and a half year old. Her mom looked tired. Very tired. She was slumping very deep into the bedframe, just barely sitting up. She was wearing one of her old nightgowns, and one of the sleeves was slightly hanging off of her shoulder.
Zephyr was caught off guard a bit, when a little whimpering coo came from the bundle in Astrid's arm. Her mother turned her gaze to the little baby, shushing it calmly, and then turned back to her daughter with a warm smile on her face.
"Do you want to meet your baby brother?" Astrid asked with a little sparkle in her eyes. Zephyr gasped excitedly, her eyes going wide, and her head nodded enthusiastically. Hiccup and Astrid both laughed softly at her enthusiasm, and Hiccup picked a little bouncing Zephyr up and placed her on the bed and positioned her next to her mother.
Zephyr nestled into her mother's side, and Astrid placed a kiss on top of her head. Zephyr got on all fours, and crawled over to the bundle of furs in her mother's arm, and Astrid positioned the baby closer so the big sister could get a better look.
Zephyr's whole face lit up when her eyes landed on a little squishy face, who was just discovering how to yawn. Astrid pulled back the cloth a little bit, to reveal more of his face. Zephyr let out a little squeal when the baby made another coo, and squirmed in his mother's arms. "What do ya think Zeph?" Hiccup asked, leaning in closer to his little family, completely in love with how his little girl was looking at the new addition to the family.
"He's so wittle." Zephyr replied in a cute little fashion, by bringing her hands close to her face and smiling contagiously. "He is. And that's why we have to be super careful with him," Astrid said softly, as Zephyr couldn't take her eyes off of the newborn baby. He was probably one of the tiniest things she had ever seen. But also one of the cutest things she had ever seen.
The little boy wriggled in his mother's embrace, and his eyelids slightly started to open. Zephyr gasped and looked to both of her parents, who both smiled with a nod to her, and she looked back down at the little blue eyed boy. "He has bue' eyes like me!" She said happily. "All babies have blue eyes when they're born sweetie. We just don't know if they'll change yet," Astrid replied and Zephyr pursed her lips. Oh well. That didn't change anything. He was still her adorable little brother.
"Do you want to hold him?" Astrid asked the little vivacious girl, who eagerly nodded and tucked a little piece of hair behind her ear. Hiccup moved closer and helped position Zephyr a little more uprightly next to Astrid. Astrid shifted the boy around in her arms a little, getting ready to gently pass him on.
"Hold your arms out. Like this," Hiccup gestured with his arms how to hold a baby, and Zephyr mimicked her father's movements. Hiccup kneeled down on the floor right next to where Zephyr was sitting on the edge of the bed, just in case. Astrid sat up a little more, with a little wave of exhaustion rushing through her, but she shook it off.
"Now, be gentle okay?" Astrid told her softly, as she gently placed the newborn baby into his big sisters arms. Astrid supported the baby's head obviously, since Zephyr was unaware of how to do that. Zephyr looked down at her little brother with so much awe it made Hiccup and Astrid smile uncontrollably. Her little arms wrapped around the little baby was such a cute little scene, it made Astrid's exhausted self feel so refreshed.
Zephyr giggled when the baby scrunched up its face, and let out the tiniest little sneeze. Hiccup looked up at his little family. The sight of seeing Zephyr cooing and squealing over the little baby in her arms made his heart leap for joy. The sight of seeing Astrid look so much more like herself, smiling and helping prop the baby up more every time Zephyr would glance up at her mother. He thought his heart would burst with the amount of love he had for his family.
He stood up cautiously, and gently sat down next to Zephyr and looked into her big wondrous eyes filled with so much happiness. She smiled up at her daddy, and he returned a warm smile. "So, what do you think Zephyr? You're finally a big sister," Astrid said with a bright smile through her tired eyes.
"I wuv baby bruhder!" She shouted excitedly, and Astrid and Hiccup's heart almost burst at the same time. They laughed softly, and the couple looked at each other with satisfaction. Zephyr turned her attention back to the baby and started to make silly expressions towards him, and began to talk to him softly in her little lisp.
"So, was all that pain worth it M'lady?" Hiccup asked quietly, as Astrid sighed contently towards him with a gentle smile, and looked down at her two children with love in her eyes.
"So worth it."
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ittybittydeadbeat-blog · 6 years ago
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When the Christmas gift is too long for ask box :'D
Arthur offers Itty a small collection of gifts with a smile. The first and biggest container is filled with socks of a variety of kinds. “I know you’re still human, but I thought you might like them, and when you’re a little ghost again, I’m sure you’d love a nest of them.” There were fuzzy ones and regular ones and wool ones and just so many to choose from, which he hoped she would like. The second gift was a small ball on a stand, and when he snapped a switch on the side, it lit up with what looked like electric light.
He gently took her fingers, and held it to the glass, so the sparks would follow them. The next was a multitude of candies and a fluffy blanket. The last two he seemed most nervous about and he wiggled in place as she opened them. Inside the smallest one was a pair of pins, one with a skull like the one painted on the van, and one of a little gold heart. They were fastened together by their backs. “You have to have a skull one. You’re part of the family. But I thought you might like one of your own, too.”
The last gift, he seemed more nervous about. When opened, inside was a little metal and wood box in the shape of a heart. It had snow and rain and umbrellas on one side carved in, and hearts and music and socks carved against another facet. Yet another had two figures, one a tall man and the other a short girl, holding hands and dancing, their likeness clear as day. The face of the lid was a heart with a tiny crack in it, and when opened, music chimed in a melody. It was Singing in the Rain.
The inside was soft velvet, and had a little clock that ticked gently. “It’s….for little treasures.” Arthur held out a photograph of the two of them. “And to keep your memories in. So you never have to worry about forgetting. Just like I have your locket so I never forget you.“
He smiled and brushed some of her hair away from where it fell in front of her face. ”…Merry Christmas, Itty Bitty.“
“ooo!!! who are these for?!!” itty gawked at the collection of presents and as soon as they were handed to her, her eyes widened. “wait… they’re – they’re for me?!” but she hadn’t really gotten him very much…. his instance to open them shifted her thoughts away, and before she could open any of the gifts, she mirrored what he’d done with her when he’d opened hers. pulling off a bow she leaned up and stuck it on his forehead, giggling softly at the sight. finally returning her attention back to the presents, she tore open the biggest one, gasping loudly at the sight of the socks. there were just sooooo many!! more than she’d ever seen before. “i love them!!!!! they’ll make such a comfy nest!” setting the box down, she brought her feet up and yanked off the ratty old ones she’d been wearing. picking two different kinds of socks, a fuzzy and a wool one, she slipped them on and wiggled her toes excitedly. “they feel so soft too!” she probably would have played with the socks for the remainder of the day had there not been more boxes to open, and finally setting that box aside ((though she kept eyeing it eagerly)), she opened the next one. this one had her completely dumbfounded. it looked like a gumball machine, but without the candy, or without the slot. “what is…..?” when the switch was flicked, she gave a start, staring at it in wonder and awe as the lights bounced around the clear orb. as he took her hand and guided it to the glass, she made a squeak, feeling the buzz of the current through it. “arthur, you put lightning in a ball!!? how did you do that?!! does it make thunder noises too?!! is it going to rain in there?” unfortunately it didn’t do either of those things, but itty loved it so much regardless, and was already making plans to show the other deadbeats what the magical orb could do. tearing into the next box, she held the blanket up before hugging it to her chest and closing her eyes as the fluffy fabric brushed against her cheek and neck. “it’s like the socks! it’s so soft.” when she finally opened her eyes she spied the candies at the bottom of the box, and beamed. reaching in, she snagged three, and held them out for him to have. there was a change in his demeanour, even in the atmosphere around them, and she could tell he seemed anxious, and noticed him wiggling out of the corner of his eye as she opened the small box. staring down at the two small pins, she recognized right away the skull one like he had on his van, and the gold heart was just like her real one!!!! but it wasn’t the gifts that suddenly made her choke up, it was hearing his words as he explained that caused her heart to skip a beat. and for a few short minutes she just stared in shock, almost forgetting how to breathe. family. he’d said family! no, he’d said: “You’re part of the family” to be precise. tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and she had to glance away, pretending to look at the socks again. how many letters had she sent santa, asking for her family? how long had it taken for her to realize she’d never really get them back, that he just couldn’t make it happen? eventually she’d stopped asking, but it had always been her wish; on stars, on dandelion seeds, on candles, but soon too she realized none of those could make it happen either. “i – i’m….” her voice cracked, betraying her emotions. “i’m really part of your family?” it wasn’t the family she could only remember through fragmented memories, or the family she’d asked santa for in all those letters, but it was a family…. a real family. her family. no gift anyone could give her would ever be as special as those words he’d just said, because since her death nine years ago, that was all she’d ever asked for. her breath hitched as tears escaped, and she carefully placed the box with the pins down beside her. finally turning back to him, she launched herself into his arms, nearly sending him off balance from the unexpected hug. borrowing her head into his chest, she began to sob uncontrollably, clutching him tight. for a little while they just remained there, the only noise between them came from her crying, and she was grateful he let her get it out of her system. finally the tears subsided into sniffles, and she was able to pull her head back to peer up at him, “th – th - thank y – you, f – for making me part of your fa – family. i - ” a small sob escaped and she swallowed back the threat of new tears, “i love you…. i love you so much, arthur.” she’d almost forgotten that there was one gift left, and as she pulled away from the embrace, she saw it siting there. wiping tears away, itty reached for it, taking it in her small hands, then peered up at him to see if it was ok for her to open it. permission was given with a nod and she began to fumble with the wrapping paper until finally freeing the gift within. gasping loudly as she saw the box, she carefully lifted it up to study all the edges, her index finger running over the carved images, and she smiled at each one, only stopping at the carved likeness of the two of them. “that’s - ! that’s us!” she exclaimed, looking from the carving to him and then back again. “wow!!! did you make this?” setting the box down in her lap, she stopped short when she noticed the crack in the lid, her fingers running over it. tears resurfaced at the sight, and she blinked them away, not before a droplet fell on the lid. with a gentle tug, she opened the box, hearing the familiar tune of “singing in the rain”, and once more the tears returned. sitting there as the music washed over them, she got so caught up in it that she almost missed what he said, but nodded, “it’ll have the bestest little treasures…..” glancing over at the movement out of the corner of her eye, she saw the photograph, and began to grin. taking it from him, she set it down in the box, the first of many little treasures to come. her fingers brushed over the velvet fabric that lined the box, the texture making her smile as a new feeling accompanied it. his next words caught her attention, and she tore her gaze away from the gift to look back up at him again. her smile grew, and she nodded, “tha – thank you, this will really help me from forgetting, and – and keep the memories safe.” itty leaned into the touch as he brushed her hair, and scooted over to him, wrapping her arms around him as tight as she could. her eyes shut, smile never leaving her face as he wished her a merry christmas, and she gave him a little squeeze. “merry christmas, arthur. you made it the bestest christmas i can ever remember.”
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parchmints · 6 years ago
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JuLance Day 10 - Family
Check out my thread on twitter to see all the prompts at once (the tumblr app messes with formatting so I recommend twitter if you’re using mobile)! All prompts connect together to form one overarching story!
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day 10/31 - Family
Set right after the Day 2 prompt. The Paladins have landed on earth and after a brief meeting with Sam, they’re free to visit their families for a week. 
(sorry this one’s a bit rushed! I got zines to package! My hc for Lance’s fam is they all call him smth different lmao)
Day 10 - Family
It’s really easy to forget how fast the Lions are when you’re traveling in the infinite expanse of space, but on a planet as small as Earth, it’s impossible not to notice. The plane ride from Phoenix to Havana is about ten hours without layovers (and there’s always layovers), but in Red it takes one minute and forty-three seconds. Lance timed it.
He’s flying over the ocean, nearly to the large, open field behind his oceanside house when he realizes the trip from Sedona was too short--which is ridiculous because literally three minutes ago he couldn’t sit still because he was so anxious to finally get home.
But now that he’s really here, he doesn’t feel prepared. It’s ridiculous. They just spent a whole year trying to get here and Lance needs more time? What kind of backward logic is that?
As Red starts to descend, Lance sees his house--big, weather-worn, and crudely patched up all over the place, and it’s almost like he never left. Taking it all in, he feels overwhelmed with a host of conflicting emotions from pure, unbridled joy to horrible, consuming anxiety. It has his stomach tied in complicated knots and he has the irrational impulse to run away from the house, to turn Red right around and go back to Sedona.
What’s wrong with me? He thinks, feeling more and more unsettled as they get closer to the clearing that is his yard.
Then, he feels a warm presence push against his mind with soft reassurance.
Paladin nervous, Red says to him gently.
There’s no reason I should be nervous, Lance replies back.
Red growls, rough and low. I feel, Paladin. You worry they will not love you same. Worry they have moved on.
I...don’t think that.
Paladin, I feel, Red says again and really, there’s no arguing with a giant, sentient robot lion, especially Red. He’s about a thousand times more stubborn than Blue.
It’s just been a long time, Red.
Will make no matter. Paladin family miss him just like Paladin miss family, Red purrs and Lance can’t help but smile.
Alright, alright. I get it, you big softie.
Red purrs again and feels warm support flood his mind again. His nerves haven’t gone away, but he doesn’t feel quite as shaky as before.
Taking a deep breath, Lance gently lands Red among the tall grass and he knows there’s no way his family hasn’t noticed the big robot cat blowing gusts of wind all around their property. Any second, they’re all gonna pop their heads out the door with wide eyes and gape at the spectacle. At least, in theory.
Lance’s throat gets tight as seconds go by and no one comes out of the house. A part of him doesn’t want to go outside until he sees someone, until he knows for sure they’re there. It’s the early evening, so they all should be, but so much can happen in two years and that terrifies Lance more than he cares to admit.
Maybe...maybe they think it’s not safe, Lance thinks and as soon as he does, he throws himself to his feet. Scaring them all is the last thing on his mind.
With another gentle push from Red, Lance dashes out of the cockpit and steps onto Red’s lowered ramp.
Red opens his jaws and for the first time in two years, he feels the ocean air--Earth’s ocean air--brush against his skin. He can smell the salt in the breeze and he can hear the waves crashing against the shore. His breath hitches at the sensation and something in his chest balloons and swells, filling him up to the very top.
Slowly, he walks down the ramp, unable to move his feet any faster. Being here, actually being here, feels like a dream and part of him is scared he’ll wake up soon.
His feet touch the ground and it sends another wave of emotion through him, his eyes glossing over. Lance looks down at the grass and even that has him completely enraptured--it’s all just so familiar and exactly how he remembers it.
Then, Lance hears the unmistakable sound of a door hinge creaking open. Lance’s eyes widen at the noise and his stomach turns so violently he thinks he might throw up. Still, he snaps his eyes up the front door of his house and sees a whole mess of curly, long hair peeking from it.
Lance goes still as he watches the door open at an excruciatingly slow pace. He holds his breath as finally, a pair of big brown eyes emerges after the bush of wild hair and Lance can tell who it is now.
Mamá, he thinks as the door opens wider and indeed, his mother’s full form comes into view.
And she’s exactly how he remembers her. Kind, dark eyes, friendly face, and just an overall aura of goodness that radiates off her like sunshine.
Lance doesn’t move as he stares at her staring at him with her eyebrows in her hairline and her jaw hanging open. With the exception of the sounds of the shore, it’s quiet as they both look at each other, rooted to their respective spots.
“Leandro,” she says, voice full of disbelief and that362 kind of gentleness Lance has always associated with her.
And just like that, Lance shatters. Tears start streaming down his face the instant he hears his given name (it’s been so long since someone called him by it that he almost forgot it was his name) and he takes off sprinting to her.
“Mamá!” he calls, voice desperate and cracking.
His mother mirrors him--big, fat tears rushing down her face, running as fast as she can, and all the while babbling his name.
With the rate they’re both dashing to each other, it takes no time at all for them to collide. Lance’s mother is a good head shorter than him, so she wraps her arms around his middle and squeezes tight. As soon as she does, he wraps his own arms around her shoulders and lets out a sob into her hair.
“Mijo, mijo, mijo,” she says between sobs. “We were so worried.”
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. If I had any way of contacting you I would’ve--”
“Leandro?”
“Lance!”
“Mamá! Mamá! Look, it’s Tío!”
Lance’s words get cut short as a chorus of different voices call out to him and he can see through his wet, blurry eyes that the whole family is rushing out of the house now--Papá, Veronica, Marco, Luís, Marise, and even Diana with little Hilario and Ana in tow.
A fresh wave of tears hits him as they all come crashing towards him and he’s suddenly dead center of an impressive group hug.
“Stupid! You just leave for space without telling anyone!”
“WHOA! Is that the Voltron thing you talked about in your message?”
“Tío Leo, why are you crying? Is that a robot lion? Can I pet it? Tío?”
“Not now, Hilario!”
“But Mamá! I wanna know!”
And Lance can’t hold it in anymore--he starts giggling uncontrollably as he finally lets his mother go and actually gets a chance to take them all in.
“I missed you guys,” he says, wiping away at his face, but he’s interrupted by his dad crushing him into another hug.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” his father says into his ear, voice thick with emotion. Lance’s father has always been the tough-as-nails type so hearing him sound so vulnerable makes Lance cry all over again.
The others all have their turn, one right after the other, and Lance can’t understand why he was ever worried. The way they all feel about him hasn’t changed and the way he feels about them certainly hasn’t.
After he puts Ana down from their spinning hug, his mother comes up to him again and places a hand on his cheek, her thumb gently brushing the skin there. Her eyes are still damp, but full of affection as she says, “Welcome back, mijo.”
For a second, Lance closes his eyes to soak up the words, lets them wash over him like waves upon the shore. Opening his eyes, he smiles down at her.
“Good to be back.”
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